Chapter 20:

“So...what club are you going to sign up for?”

Buffy and Spike were walking down the hallway towards the lunchroom, and Buffy was learning an important lesson. When you’re a teenager and you’re uber-horny, conversation? Not such a priority.

“Uh...dunno yet.” She was wearing a tank top, and he was staring at her boobs like there was no tomorrow. Buffy shifted uncomfortably, not because of the staring, but because of what it was doing to her. I could’ve worn a jacket, but no, the stupid weatherman said it was going to be warm today...

“Isn’t your mom ready to, you know, hit the roof? She doesn’t seem like the wait-ey type.”

Spike shrugged. “Haven’t found a club I wanna join just yet.” They entered the cafeteria. “Damn, ‘m hungry,” he said, looking around with a smirk. “Gotta get me somethin’ to eat.”

He would make with the innuendos in the middle of the lunch room. “Uh, yeah, I’m hungry too,” she stuttered.

He grinned at her. “Pouting, are we?”

“Nope. No pouting. Not even a tiny bit!” Oh, great. Now she was stuttering, too.

“Are you two about to have orgasms? Because there’s a utility closet on the second floor that I think you’ll find is very useful.”

Spike let out a sigh. “Hello, Anya,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Sorry I interrupted you hormone-fest. I know you’re grouchy because you’re horny,” Anya said cheerfully. “But I think I found a solution to your problem.”

“’f it’s got anything to do with utility closets...”

“No, idiot, it’s about how your mom wants you to join a club,” Anya said impatiently. “I don’t think it actually counts as a club, but your mother is a fairly stupid person, so I doubt she’d notice the difference—“

“Get on with it, yeah?”

“You could join the Halloween dance committee!”

Spike blinked. “Thanks, Ayn, but ‘m not one for school spirit.”

“Or any kind of spirit,” Buffy said sweetly, mostly just to get back at him for the eating comment. He cast her a sardonic look.

“Spike, it’s the easy was out! You’re the easiest person I know!”

“Spike’s easier than me? Damn,.” Faith joined the group, usual grin in place. “Rock on, stud.”

“I think she meant lazy,” Buffy told her.

Faith shrugged. “Whatever. We gonna sit down, or what?”

They all walked towards their normal table, Anya giving Spike a steady list of reasons why joining the Halloween committee was a good idea. As they sat down she finally said, “And anyway, you wouldn’t have to dress up if you don’t want to.”

Okay, Anya was so not being helpful. Spike just being...Spike was hot enough. Spike in a costume, assuming it was something sexy? Mouth-watering. “But he’ll want to wear a costume,” she said perkily. “Won’t you?”

“Uh, no,” Spike said, as though it should be the most obvious thing in the world. “Why the bloody hell would I wanna do that?”

She smiled at him flirtatiously. “’cause if you do, I’ll wear something sexy and you’ll get to ogle me all night.”

“That so?” He looked her up and down, smirk growing.

They were still staring at each other—a bad habit, Buffy had decided—when Xander sat down, a lunch tray loaded with fries and pizza in his hands. “Man,” he said, “That line when on forever. I though I was going to—sweet mother of Zeus, would it kill you guys to stop that?”

Willow and Tara joined the table. “What’s the matter, Xander?” Willow asked.

“Them! They’re doing the googly-eyed thing and it’s so incredibly annoying and embarrassing and you know, I don’t think you’re listening either since you’re making out with Oz!” Xander slumped down and banged his head on the table. “Witness the frustration of the sexless guy,” he muttered.

Anya patted his hand. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said. “I plan on giving you many orgasms as soon as we get home from school.”

“But I don’t get kisses now?” Xander whined.

Anya pointed at the pizza. “Garlic breath,” she reminded him.

Buffy was laughing when she saw a flash of green out of the corner of her eye: it was Lorne, cornered by Cordy near the drink machines. Buffy nudged Spike. “Look,” she said, eyes glinting mischievously, “Our friend is in trouble.”

The table fell silent. After a moment Faith said, “Think we should go help him?”

Silence. Lorne was shaking his head emphatically, and Cordelia looked like she was really to kill him. Her pointy little nail jabbed him in the chest.

Still more silence.

Finally, Xander said, “Nah. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

“’course he can,” Spike said. “He’s been doin’ the gay thing for years. He can handle one desperate bint.”

“Uh-huh,” Buffy agreed, eyes fixed on Lorne.

“Maybe we should go help him?” Willow suggested.

“Yeah, let’s do that. ‘m hungry anyway,” Spike said. He stood up; Buffy and Faith did, too. Everyone else remained seated.

“Chickens,” Faith said, grinning.

“We have a healthy sense of self-preservation. Confronting Cordelia would be both difficult and time-consuming,” Anya informed her flatly.

Spike snorted. “Right, then. Let’s go save the sodding day.”

Lorne was still shaking his head when they approached him. For a moment they all held back, even Buffy, simply because Cordelia looked pissed off in a big way. It was Faith who gathered her courage and strode into the battlefield. “Lorne, where the hell have you been? Anya’s dyin’ to hear if you got laid last night.”

Lorne looked confused. “Honey, I didn’t—“

“Don’t bother lyin’, it’s cool. You don’t want Her Highness telling everybody about your faggetry.” Faith linked arms with Lorne. “But I know you had a date, so once we get away from her, you’re gonna describe just how much cock you got.”

Faith led Lorne, still stuttering denials, away from Cordelia—who turned to Buffy with cold eyes.

“Okay, what’s up with that? You said you’d hook him up with me!”

“I never said you could go all intimidating on him,” Buffy defended herself. Cordy wasn’t in the least bit satisfied. “You lying, backstabbing, no-good little—“

“’ey. Shove it, you little bint,” Spike snapped. He took Buffy’s hand. “C’mon, luv. Gotta go here the details of our rainbow’s date.”

Any other time she would have insisted on standing her ground, but after the night they’d had she was too tired to do anything but let him gently tug her back to the table. Plus also, protective Spike was the cutest thing she’d ever seen. “I thought you said you were hungry?” she asked as she sat down.

He shrugged. “Bit peckish, is all. It’ll wear off.”

No wonder he’s so skinny, Buffy thought. He never eats!

Not that she was complaining, or anything...

“Oh, good,” Anya said in a relieved voice upon seeing the blonde duo. “Lorne wouldn’t tell us what happened until you came. I was getting impatient.”

“Wait.” Buffy frowned. “I thought the whole date thing was just Faith’s way of getting Lorne away from Cordy?”

“It was,” Willow told her. “Anya wants to know what Cordy said to him.”

“Oh, okay.” Buffy turned to Lorne. “What did she say before we came and rescued you?”

Lorne fanned himself dramatically, sighing. “Honey, it was a nightmare like you wouldn’t believe. That female is so determined, I thought she’d press a gun to my head if I didn’t go along with her little scheme. I swear, there was nothing I could do but give in.”

“Give in? What the bloody hell d’you mean, give in?”

“I mean, Sweetcheeks, that you rescued me too late. I am Cordelia Chase’s date to the Halloween soiree,” Lorne said with a dramatic sigh. “And by then, my dears, she’ll have given me a makeover that will simply stun you all.”

Willow whispered, “No green hair?”

“None. Not even the tiniest strand.”

“I’m sorry, Lorne.” Tara offered her sympathy quietly.

“That sucks,” was Xander’s contribution. “Welcome to the butt-monkey club—ow!” he yelped when Anya pinched him.

“Bloody hell,” Spike muttered, heaving a sigh. “I need a fag.”

“Well, hot stuff, I don’t usually sleep around, but if you’re offering...” Lorne trailed off with a playful and slightly suggestive grin.

Buffy pouted and hooked her arm in Spike’s. “No stealing my man,” she told Lorne.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetie.”

Buffy laughed, and the lunchroom banter continued.

~*~

She was in a pretty good mood when she got home, considering. Spike had Lorne had bother been whiney that afternoon, Spike because of the “soddin’ committee”, and Lorne because of the “Wicked Witch of the West, and not just her costume, darling”.

She’d even gotten kissage from Spike before he dropped her off at the house. The kissing had been on the road, this time; she and Spike were working hard to disprove the “we can only get it on in the driveway” theory.

She was in such a good mood, in fact, smiling when she walked through the door.

The smile disappeared when she saw her mother standing by the stairs. Joyce looked at her kindly—an expression that was foreign to Buffy.

“Buffy, honey, we need to talk,” she began.

Buffy started jabbering before her mother could make her listen to another lecture. “You know? Not really. Because I’ve got lots of homework, and I’m not really big with the whole talking thing—plus, I was thinking about maybe cleaning my room, so—“

“Buffy.” Now her eyes had more of the familiar hardness. “In the kitchen, now.”

She went quietly, but her mind was spinning. If Joyce decided to give her another argument after that thing with her dad, she was going to go insane. As in, certifiably.

She sat down at the table and looked at her mother expectantly. “What?”

Joyce sat down, too. She compressed her lips—nervously?—before saying, “Buffy, Dawn told me what your father said to you.”

“Yeah, cuz I never would’ve guessed that,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “Why the hell haven’t you kicked him out yet?”

“Buffy Anne Summers, you will not use that tone with me!” Joyce scolded. Buffy fought not to role her eyes Whatever, Mom.

“I didn’t kick your father out because it would have been rude, Buffy,” Joyce continued. “I have, however, decided that maybe we should get a divorce.”

Buffy toyed with her hair. “Great. Have oodles of fun with that.”

“Buffy,” Joyce said reprovingly, “You need to stop being so apathetic. I know that since you’re a teenager you want to rebel, but—“

“But what, Mom?” Her temper finally flared up. “You know, maybe if you would pay more attention to me and less attention to those stupid parenting books, you might actually find out something useful!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Joyce cried. “Buffy, I haven’t even told Dawn about this yet!”

“Oh, thanks ever so!” Buffy exclaimed. “The one thing I’ve ever gotten that Dawn hasn’t, and it’s bad news!”

To her surprise, Joyce didn’t yell or try to punish her. Instead she simply said, “You’re right.”

Buffy blinked. Invasion of the body snatchers much? “Huh?”

Joyce sighed. “You’re my daughter, Buffy. I’d like us to at least respect one another.”

“Why should I respect you?” Buffy asked—nastily, but she couldn’t really help it. She was still pissed off in a big way.

“Well, for one thing, I’m your mother,” Joyce pointed out, an annoyed look on her face.

Buffy sighed exasperatedly. God, this trip down Bizarro Road was not fun. “Look,” she said, “I’ll respect you, okay? I’ll respect the crap out of you.” She paused, searching for the right words. She wasn’t exactly good at emotional speech type things. Finally she said, “But you can’t expect me to respect you until you show me...until you show me that you love me, and that you know that how you’ve treated me was bitchy and unfair.” She stopped at that, tensing herself for the outburst she was positive would come. No one got away with calling their mothers bitchy.

But instead of the expected scream-fest, Joyce just nodded slowly. “I respect that,” she said softly.

Buffy cracked a small smile at her mom’s joke. “I’m gonna go upstairs and do my homework.” She left the kitchen.

“Call me if you need anything,” Joyce told her.

Now, that was a first. “Okay.” She grabbed her bookbag and headed up the stairs.

“Oh, and Buffy?”

Buffy stopped right before the stairs would conceal her from the lower half of the house, about halfway up the staircase. “Yeah?”

Joyce smiled, the warm, motherly smile that Buffy hadn’t seen in a long time, if ever. “I love you, sweetheart.”

Tears prickled at her eyes. “I love you too, Mommy,” she whispered, before fleeing up the stairs so things wouldn’t get over-emotional.

And thank you.

~*~

“Yeah, she actually apologized—well, sort of.” Buffy twirled the phone cord around her finger.

“Wow,” Willow said on the other end of the line. “Your mom actually said sorry? I wish mine would.” Willow’s parents had gone through a bout of severe anti-Wicca, resulting in many of Willow’s books and figurines being destroyed.

“It was pretty nice,” Buffy admitted. “Like, the first time we’ve ever been civil. Enlightening.” She smiled, though she knew Willow couldn’t see it. Reconciliation made her happy.

Willow laughed. “Have you reached nirvana, Oh Wise One?” she teased.

Buffy frowned. Nirvana? “The band?”

“No, silly! In Buddhism, Nirvana is a state of higher being, where you understand everything and you’re in harmony with the universe.”

“So, it’s like an extended orgasm, only minus the screaming?” Buffy winced as soon as the comment came out of her mouth. She’d been hanging around Anya—or maybe Spike—way too much. Not that I could ever really hang around Spike too much, no matter how perverted he makes me...

“Hello? Earth to Buffy! Come in, Buffy! Buffy? Are you there?”

Buffy snapped out of her Spike-induced trance. “Huh? Sorry. What?”

The redhead on the other end of the line gave a mock sigh. “People in love are so boring.”

“Oh really, Miss I’m Dating the Guitarist, isn’t he hot????” Buffy did her best Cordylike squeal.

“Oh, hush,” was Willow’s only comeback. Then, “So, did Spike sign up for the committee?”

Buffy nodded, then remembered she was on the phone. “Yup. They had a meeting after school, I think. He dropped me off and went back to Hell High.”

“So, I’m guessing you guys are going as a couple?”

Buffy grinned. “Yeah, we are. He won’t tell me what his costume’s gonna be, though.”

“Oz won’t, either. He just says he’ll be hairy.” Buffy could almost hear Willow’s pout. “I really wanted to know, too.”

“Guess we’re doomed to failure,” Buffy said cheerfully.

“You sound happy,” Willow grumbled.

She forced sexy costumed Spike images out of her head. “Huh? Oh, no, I’m just—I haven’t told him what I’m going to be, either,” she babbled, “So I guess we’re kinda even. What about you?”

“I have no idea.” Willow sounded faintly panicked.

“You should wear something sexy,” Buffy said, giggling.

“Uh, Buffy? You’re talking to Willow, not Faith.”

“I didn’t mean, like, Playboy bunny.” Oooh, bet Spike would love that... “Just, you know, cute. Less—Amish-ish than what you usually wear.”

“Amish-ish?”

“You know what I mean.” But Buffy was laughing, too.

When their giggles subsided, Willow asked, “So, what are you going to be?”

A wicked smile grew on Buffy’s lips. “Well,” she began, “He said his favorite color was red...”

~*~

 

Chapter 21:
When Spike signed up for the Halloween committee, it was a week before the dance. That week seemed to fly by unnaturally quickly after that. Anya had been right about the committee; as long as he sat there and occasionally offered sarcastic commentary, they didn’t give a flyin’ damn about how much work he actually did. And much to his delight, his mum bought his excuse.

So the week was goin’ smoothly, all things considered. He was having a little trouble finding all the stuff he needed for his costume, but he was pretty sure he’d be able to find it all before the dance. It was a wonder how convincing you could be ‘f you slammed someone against the wall and demanded that they do what you say.

Now it was two days before the dance, and he and Buffy were walking around Sunnydale, doing what was in Spike’s opinion both the most wonderful and the ponciest thing on the planet: holding hands.

“I mean, it’s not that I don’t like vanilla,” Buffy was explaining. “It’s very comforting, sometimes. But there are lots of other ways to get your fix that are way more exiting, you know?”

“Wait. Thought we were discussing ice cream, pet.” He watched her blink, clearly confused.

“We are,” she said. “What else would I be talking ab—ooooh.” Now she blushed, licking her lips nervously. “I get it.”

Spike chucked, but decided not to put her on the hot spot for too long. He’d been horny as hell the past few days, and her bein’ all little and cute and mad made him even hornier, so teasing her wasn’t exactly the smartest thing in the world. “Right, then. I know your favorite ice cream flavor. Next question.”

“Um...” she frowned. “How’d you get the name Spike?”

He smirked. Well, he couldn’t help it. “What, you don’t think it’s m’ real name?”

“Mr. Giles calls you William.”

He could feel his smirk fade when he realized that he’d have to tell her the truth. “Old girlfriend thought ‘f it,” he said shortly. “When I was reinventin’ m’self.”

“Reinventing?” Buffy said curiously, completely unaware that to Spike, discussing this particular topic was like dripping lemon juice in a gaping wound. “Reinventing how?”

She wriggled her hand, and he realized that he was squeezing it far harder than was strictly necessary. He dropped it like a hot iron. “Look, before high school, I was...” he sighed. “I was different, a’right?”

“Different?”

Shrinks had tried to pry all this shit out of him before and they’d all failed. How the bleeding hell could this one girl make him spill his whole life’s story with just one question?

Oh, right. He was head over bleeding heels in love with her.

“I went by William,” he began to explain.

“And that’s so bad?” Buffy interrupted.

He almost glared at her. Not quite, but almost. “’s a nancy-boy name,” he grumbled. Oh, damn. Now he sounded like a pouty child.

“I like it,” she announced, cuddling closer. “It’s all sweet and old-fashioned. Manly.” Just when he was starting to think he’d steered her away from the topic, she gave him that cute little scowl of hers and said, “And you’re not going to distract me. Tell me about the girl who gave you the name.”

Damn that chit and her pigheadedness...oh, who the hell was he trying to kid? He loved it.

What he didn’t love, though, was this whole “life story” game. Vanilla ice cream was all well and good, but reliving past trauma? Not exactly his cup of tea—except that he didn’t drink tea, but—“Bloody hell,” he said out loud, raking a hand through his hair. “Can we sit down, pet?”

“Wow.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “That bad, huh?”

“Uh, yeah.” He spotted a bench and practically ran over to it. She followed quickly, sitting down next to him and fastening her eyes on his face.

When they were both sitting he took a deep breath and said, “Listen. What I’m about to tell you...’ve told others some of it, what they needed to know. But you—I think it’s only fair that you know the whole story.”

She nodded. “And I have to make with the silence afterwards?”

“Yeah.” he nodded emphatically, grateful that she understood.

“Okay.” She snuggled closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. The late afternoon sun turned her hair into a halo. “Story time.”

The fact that she was cracking jokes didn’t piss him off the pay it would’ve if it had been the whelp. Instead, it made him feel a bit happier, a bit more ready to deal with his not-so-wonderful past.

“Right. Once upon a time, there was a sorry little 13-year-old git who went by the name of William Walsh.” He paused, remembering.

”He’s turning into a complete rainbow!”

William stood in his doorway and watched his father argue with his mom. It was a fairly regular occurrence.

“Riley! You will not use that sort of language in my household!”

“Your household? I’m your Goddamn husband!”

“Well, you’re acting like a child!”

“So, that’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You think I’m too young for you!”

“Riley! Your diversionary tactics are not going to be successful! I am attempting to discuss your near-verbal abuse of William, and I am going to!”

“Maggie, he’s got a British accent, he dresses in tweed, for crying out loud, and he writes poetry! Bad poetry! He’s a complete faggot!”

“Riley! Your close-mindedness—“

“Don’t even start! If you can’t fix the kid, I will.” Riley whirled around. “Will!” He barked. “Get your sorry ass in here!”

He edged in timidly. “Yeah, Da?”

Riley’s hand crashed across his face. “Drop the accent and start acting like a real man,” his father ordered. “And stop whining! I should just beat your ass, like my father did.”

Will was lying on the floor long after his father left.

~*~

“Uh, Spike?”

He snapped out of his trance. “Yeah?”

“You done with the staring?” she asked, waving a hand in front of his face for demonstration. “I mean—“

“No, ‘s fine,” he reassured her. “Just some damn bad memories, is all.”

She kissed his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“’s not your fault,” he assured her. “To tell the truth, havin’ you here makes it that much easier.”

“So...”

He took the prompt. “M’ parents are right arseholes,” he said, “But you know that. M’ dad used to beat on me a bit...never serious stuff, just whacks every now an’ then,” he hastened to assure her when she gasped. “He thought I was a poofter like Peaches.” That brought a grin from her. “So I decided to fix it...make m’self tough so that he’d be scared to swat me ‘round.”

”William...is that what they call you?”

He stared nervously at the girl next to him. At the time, exploring the bad side of town had seemed like a good idea. Now, though, it made him sick. Why he ever chose to listen to Faith when she told him that a night out in Sunnydale would be fun...”Uh, yes. I mean, that is my name,” he stuttered.

“Such a pretty face you have,” Drusilla murmured, tracing a sharp fingernail across his cheekbones. “So sharp...like nails, but softer. Like—“ she stopped, and her eyes grew wide, as though she’d just made a great discovery. When she stared up at him again, a sly smile was on her face. “Like a spike.”

“A—a spike?” he stuttered. “My face is like a spike?”

She nodded solemnly. “It has power. I can see it, all around you. Can you see it?”

“Sorry, but no,” William said honestly.

“But it is there...all around...my Spike. Such power,” she breathed.

He scooted away from her. “I—my name isn’t Spike,” he stuttered frantically. “It’s William.”

She shook a scolding finger. “Naughty Spike, not believing what Mummy tells him,” she purred, scooting closer, stroking his cheekbones. “He shall have to be punished.”

“Uh—not so close, please. In fact, I’d prefer if you—“

Something at the far end of the room caught his eye: it was Buffy, laughing and joking with that ponce Angel. It was the first time he’d seen her since his little anti-poofter stunt at Cordy’s pool party; and just like then, she glowed.

But her glow—her beautiful smile, her happy face—wasn’t directed towards him. It would never be directed towards him. That fact, one that had haunted him after the pool party, was reinforced just then. And it hurt.

He turned back to Drusilla, forcing himself to—smile? Not exactly. The smirk that Faith had taught him was firmly in place. “What’re you gonna do to me, baby?” he purred, sidling closer to her, putting his arm across her shoulder, and thanking God that Faith had made him wear jeans and a t-shirt instead of a tweed suit.

Drusilla seemed to know that she’d won him over; her smile became pure lust. “Such awful, awful things,” she purred, stroking his cheekbones. “My Spike.”

Smiling, he lowered his head and kissed her. After that, it was nothing but hands and lip and tongue...and William was lost forever.

~*~

“Spike? Hello, anyone there? Spike!”

He blinked; Buffy was snapping her fingers in front of his face.

His eyes locked with hers. “It was you,” he said quietly.

“Huh?”

She was cute when she was confused...he shook his head. “I was at a club, here in Sunnydale...you were there, too, guess you were visitin’. Faith hooked me up with this bint I‘d never met b’fore, said that we were both English so we already had a lot in common. At first I didn’t like her, thought her right loony, but then...then I saw you.”

“What—what’d I do?” Buffy asked guiltily.

“Nothin’,” he answered simply. “You were just standing there, flirtin’ with Peaches. But right then, I knew you’d never be mine. So I turned to Drusilla.”

She reached out and touched his face; but unlike Drusilla, she just cupped his cheek. “And the name?”

He gave her a wry smile. “Dru was a nut case,” he said. “She thought m’ cheekbones were spiky.”

“Wow. Not so much. Yummy, yeah,” she added with a smile, “But they’re spike-free.”

“Yeah.” He smiled wistfully. Dru had been insane, but he still missed her—which probably made him off his bird, too.

”Crying about your crazy chick?” his dad said sarcastically from his room.

He didn’t even bother to look up. “Shove off, Da,” he said, longing for the bottle of Jack he’d hidden under his bed when he heard his father’s footsteps.

“You’re not to use that language with me, Will,” Riley said coldly.

Spike heaved a sigh. “Right, then.” He leapt to his feet and walked toward his dad. Though he was rather a lot shorter than the military officer, his anger and grief made him more intimidating.

He looked his father straight in the eye and said, in a clear American accent, “Fuck off, Dad.”

And then he pushed his father out the door and slammed it in his face.

He turned the lock before Riley could muscle his way in; his Da might be less intimidating than he was, but the man had muscle.

When the door was safely locked, he slumped back down on the bed and picked up the bottle of Jack. Drusilla, baby, he thought as he drank. Why’d you leave me? What’s Peaches got that I haven’t? First Buffy, then Drusilla…he was love’s sodding bitch, and worse, that bastard Angel always got what he wanted.

So he drank himself into oblivion, into sweet, merciful darkness. That was one thing that Dru had taught him before she turned her eyes on Angel. The light hurt—it burned you, consumed you. But the darkness was kind, and gentle. When darkness took you over, all you felt was peace.

~*~

“So…what happened?”

Spike once again snapped out of his trance. “Oh, you know, the usual. Dru got frisky with Angel, and I became an even more pathetic sod than I already am.” He’d told her she deserved to know the whole story, but there were some things that he was never gonna tell anybody.

“Oh.” For a moment she was silent; then she said, “Is that when the Jack came in?”

God, she could read him like a book. “Yeah. Drinkin’, smokin’…I tried everything to make me forget her.”

“Did you?”

He focused on her face. She was quiet, her eyes downcast, almost like—

Like she was shy. Unsure.

He gently tilted her head up, smiling into her eyes. “Buffy, luv, what happened then…it was over. I’ve been over Dru for a long time—and what I feel for you, what I felt for you even then, is far greater than anything I ever felt for her.”

Tears came into her eyes. For a moment Spike was confused—what the bloody hell was she cryin’ for?—but then she leaned forward and kissed him, right there on the park bench.

They clung together, both drawing solace from the other. A few moments passed as lips melded—Spike clutched her face, and she wrapped her hands around his neck. It was a close kiss, an intimate one, but more loving than passionate.

When they separated, Buffy reached down and gently squeezed his hand. “Thanks for trusting me,” she whispered, smiling.

He smiled back. “You’re m’ girl,” he said honestly. “’d trust you with m’ life.”

“And your heart? Do you trust me with that?”

God, this conversation was getting’ maudlin, wasn’t it? But Spike could tell it was a serious question. “Yeah, kitten.” He kissed her hand and then stood up, drawing her with him. “I really do.”

~*~
 

Chapter 22:

~*~

“Oh my God, Willow, I so do not look sexy! I look like—like Tinkerbell!”

“Tinkerbell wore green,” her friend pointed out sensibly.

“Well, okay, Tinkerbell in a vat off...ketchup,” Buffy said, before renewing her freaking out. “The point is, I look completely stupid!”

Willow studied her friend carefully. Short red dress, cut raggedly at the hem. Hair teased into gentle curls. Red, red lipstick and fingernails.

“Um, Buffy? If it didn’t sound really gay, I’d say you look hot.”

“I so do not!” Buffy insisted, before turning back to the mirror and staring in it, head cocked. “Do I?”

“Look at it this way, Buffy. If tonight when Spike sees you—if his eyeballs go ker-plunk when he picks you up—then you’ll know he thinks you’re hot!”:

“But...what if his eyeballs don’t go ker-plunk?” she whined. “What if they go mush, or they burn up because I look so dumb? Oh no, what if he starts laughing!” Buffy went into panic mode. “He’ll laugh and probably look all sexy doing it but I won’t be able to jump him because there’s no ker-plunky eyes so he doesn’t think I’m hot!!!!”

“Okay, you guys are acting, like, really dumb.”

Buffy made a face at her sister. “Who asked you?”

Dawn shrugged and came into Buffy’s room, plopping herself down on the bed next to Willow. “You shouldn’t be worried,” the thirteen-year-old informed her older sister. “Spike’s completely in love with you.”

“What?! He is not!” Buffy practically yelled. Just the thought freaked her out in a big way. It had only been almost three weeks since Giles had made them do the project. Granted, it felt like practically forever—but the fact was that every time she was around him she was horny and he was horny too. Thinking about love and all that stuff would only make everything more complicated.

“He so does,” Dawn shot back. “After Dad was such a bastard to you? He was hanging outside the house, and when I talked to him, he was all, ‘I gotta go find my girl’.” Dawn arched an eyebrow at Buffy. “I mean, duh!”

“Wait—I’m confused,” Willow said, frowning. “I thought Dawn was the evil bratty little—“

“Things are starting to change,” Buffy cut in hastily. “Dawn—he really said that?”

Dawn nodded. Strangely enough, she didn’t bother confronting Willow about what the older girl had said. “Yeah. He was all with the being protective and stuff.”

“Aww, Buffy, that’s so sweet!” Willow exclaimed, a huge smile on her face.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said, trying hard to hide the fact that inside, she was jumping and squealing.

She adjusted the small red dress again, peering at herself intently in the mirror. Things had been getting better with her mother; Joyce had agreed to find some errand that would get Hank out of the house long enough for Spike to pick Buffy up. Which was good, because although Buffy had no idea what her boyfriend would be going as, she was pretty sure it wouldn’t be in the realm of normal, and if Hank saw her dress he’d totally flip.

She was about to ask Willow if she looked okay again when she heard the doorbell ring. Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, Wills!””

She heard the door open and close; her mother voice floated up the stairs, followed by a low British rumble that she knew was Spike’s. Someone laughed, and then Joyce called up the stairs, “Buffy! Willow! Your dates are here!”

Buffy gulped, hard. “You know what, guys? This was a bad idea. Bad, bad idea,” she repeated, bounding over to the closet and rifling through it for something a little less sexy. “Willow, why did I let you talk me into this?!”

“Um, I seem to remember you talking me into wearing this!” Willow squeaked, motioning to her skimpy ghost outfit. “Don’t you have a blanket in there or something?”

“Okay. You’re not wearing blankets, or shawls, and Buffy if you put that stupid cloak thing on I will so kick your ass!” Dawn exclaimed. She grabbed first Willow’s, then Buffy’s arm, and dragged them over to the door. “Now, get your asses out there and go greet your boyfriends!”

I so officially hate Dawn now...for real, Buffy amended as she edged toward the steps. Spike wouldn’t like it—he wouldn’t remember what he’d told her—and she’d look like a complete idiot at the dance!

All thoughts of looking like bad vanished when she came halfway down the stairs and saw him.

She was pretty sure that Oz and Willow were doing the whole mushy greeting thing, but her eyes were glued to Spike—and, more specifically, what he was wearing.

He’d gone completely punk rock. He was wearing faded jeans, fastened with a black belt. Gone was the duster and neat, slicked-back hair—he wore a torn vest with safety pins randomly stuck through it, and his hair was whiter than usual and sticking straight up. He even had eyeliner on.

On any other high school guy, it would have looked ridiculous. But on him...

Oh, crap. I really shouldn’t have worn a thong. It was soaked through.

She wasn’t sure how long she stared at him, occasionally licking her lips, only faintly conscious that he was staring at her, too. She came to her sense when her mother cleared her throat.

“So, um...” She looked him up and down, trying not to salivate again. “What are you going to sign in as, Billy Idol?” Because there was a costume contest, they all had to sign in at the door.

“And what’ll you be goin’ as?” Spike shot back, looking her up and down. “Tink after Charles Manson got to her?”

“I asked first.” Buffy pouted at him.

He smiled slowly. “Well, I was gonna put in “The Sexiest Bloke At The Whole Soddin’ Dance, but yeah, Billy Idol’ll do.” He raked his eyes up and down her body again. “Your turn, Tink.”

She took a deep breath and walked down the stairs until she was looking him in the eye. “Remember when we had that talk outside school and you told me I looked like a pixie?” she asked, quietly enough that her mother wouldn’t hear.

He grinned at her. “Be damned hard to forget that, luv.”

“Well...” she motioned to herself. “Pixie. Dressed in red, cuz it’s your favorite color.”

His mouth went open a bit, and then a look came into his eyes that Buffy had only seen there when they kissed. Before she even had a chance to gulp, he grabbed her and kissed her—right in front of her mom, Willow, and Oz.

Despite the embarrassment factor, she returned the kiss eagerly, her tongue wrestling with his, her fingers buried in his hair. God, he was so hot—and this time she wasn’t talking about how he looked. His mouth, his hands, his entire body was burning into her. She could feel his hard-on press into her belly—well, either that or it was the zipper on his jeans, but she really didn’t think zippers were that big, and it wasn’t like it was a foreign feeling or anything...

Her mother’s voice cut through her half-lucid thoughts. “Buffy? Buffy, honey, I thought you were going to a dance!”

“Huh?” Buffy pouted when Spike’s lips went away from hers. She noticed everyone staring at them and blushed. “I mean...yeah...dance. Let’s go!” And then before Joyce had a chance to reprimand them, she grabbed Spike’s hand and dragged him out the door.

Once they were freely outside, Spike smirked at her. “Naughty girl, snogging your boyfriend and then runnin’ scared.”

“Hey! I wasn’t the only one who was snogging, mister,” she said, poking his chest. “Besides, how am I supposed to not snog you when you’re standing there all sexy in those clothes?”

His smirked grew. “So now ‘m sexy?”

“Oh, please. I’ve told you that like a million times bef—hey!” she protested as he grabbed her, lifting her feet off the pavement of the driveway in process.

All protests died when he proceeded to “snog” her right in front of the car.

She was just starting to really get into it when someone tapped their shoulders. They broke the kiss to see Oz standing there, completely expressionless as usual. “Dance?” he reminded them.

Buffy looked over at the DeSoto; Willow was already sitting in the backseat. “Right. Dance. The dance...that we have to go to, because we paid for tickets and not showing up would be very bad and—why don’t we just get in the car?”

Spike and Oz were both staring at her, Spike with an out-and-out incredulous look on his face, and Oz with one eyebrow raised—which for him was like staring at someone openmouthed.

Buffy gave them both what she hoped wasn’t a very insane looking smile. “Sorry,” she apologized, before running for the car and practically diving in.

She slammed the door and slumped against the window. “I am such an idiot,” she muttered, watched Spike and Oz. Oz said something and Spike laughed—Buffy would’ve bet any amount of money it was about her.

“I dunno, I thought it was kinda funny.” Willow grinned at her mischievously from the backseat. “You got all flustered and silly and stuff.”

Buffy made a face at her friend. “You’re one to talk. Oooh, Oz,” she put on a high voice, “You dressed up as a werewolf, that’s so sexy—hey!” They burst into laughter as Buffy glared at her friend indignantly, rubbing her head where the soft slipper from Willow’s foot had hit her.

Their laughter died down—Spike and Oz were still talking. “So...” Willow said finally, “Are you as nervous as I am?”

Buffy frowned. “’bout what?”

“I think Oz. wants to—you know,” Willow said. “And I mean, it makes sense, since we’ve been going out for, for almost four years, but at the same time I’m just really nervous about it all. Are you?”

For a second she had no idea what Willow was talking about. Really nervous about—ooh! She wrinkled her nose. Ew! Willow and Oz doing the nasty! Wait, Willow said they hadn’t yet. And—she think Spike’ll want to? Her mind flashed back to the erection he’d been sporting in her foyer. Okay, so he wanted to—and she did, too. The only problem was...”I’ve only been going out with him for a few weeks!”

“So?” was her friend’s response. “Faith says you guys have had big-time, um, sexual tension for kinda forever.”

“Well, yeah, but that so doesn’t mean I’d be willing to just—“

“Hey, guys.” Oz opened the back door and slid in next to Willow.

“Gettin’ lonely without me?” Spike asked, getting into the front seat and tweaking Buffy’s nose.

A nose that she immediately wrinkled at him. “You wish,” she shot back. “Me and Willow were having the funnest time ever. Weren’t we, Wills?”

Willow giggled. “Well, if funnest was a word, then yep, that would be us.”

“Hey! Funnest is so a word!”

“Think Red’s got a bigger vocab then you,” Spike taunted with a grin. “Makes sense that she’d know what’s a word and what’s not.”

She scowled at him. “Hello, girlfriend here! You’re supposed to back me up!”

“Sorry,” he said with an unapologetic grin.

“Besides,” Buffy continued, ignoring his apology, “Funnest is so a word. It’s in the Scrabble dictionary.”

“Does that count?” Oz wondered.

“Yuh-huh.” Buffy beamed in triumph. “If it’s in the dictionary it’s a word, right?”

“I didn’t know you played Scrabble,” Spike said, eyes narrowed and twinkling.

“Oh, no, mister, I am so never playing you,” she told him. “You’d kick my butt with all the weird British words.”

“And you’d use California bint words, so we’d be even,” he replied.

“Aha!” she shrieked, bouncing up and down. “See? You just used one! In America, bint isn’t a word!”

He just gave her a look. Of the long, slow, he wanted to kiss the hell out of her variety.

And just like that, her reservations about the—well, the making of the two-backed beast—went flying out the window. Because when Spike looked at her like that, she just wanted to jump him.

“Guys? Halloween dance?” Willow reminded them.

They yanked their eyes away from each other. “Uh, right,” Spike said. He jammed the key in the ignition and started the car. As he was backing out of the driveway, Buffy caught his eye and licked her lips flirtatiously.

He ran into the ditch.

Grumbling under his breath, he de-ditched the car and brought it out onto the road. Buffy patted his hand consolingly; in the backseat she could hear Willow stifling a giggle. Even Oz looked amused.

Something told her this was going to be a long, long night.

~*~
 

Chapter 23:

Thinking back, it was a damn lucky thing they didn’t hit every inanimate object on the way to Sunnyhell High, and a few that were completely out of the way. It wasn’t really his fault, Spike mused. Bloody hell, he’d driven down the highway going ninety before and not gotten into a wreck simply because there was no way he was gonna hurt his baby if he could help it. And to be honest, the cargo he was carrying with him right now was much more precious than his car—but said cargo was also extremely distracting.

If that little red skirt slid up one more inch, he’d go completely mad.

It was bad enough that her entire costume was geared toward him. His knees had practically buckled when she’d told him just why she was wearing that particular outfit. The fact that she’d remembered his confession and cared about it enough to model an entire costume around it—she’d never know how much that meant to him after all the years of hoping. Sod the fact that she’d mentioned she had a thing for weird seventies clothing once—hers was still the more thoughtful costume.

When they finally arrived at the high school, he wasn’t the only one who breathed a sigh of relief.

Willow and Oz hopped out, holding hands (a feat that in Spike’s mind was damn admirable) and, after thanking Spike for the ride, headed towards the lit-up school.

He looked at Buffy expectantly. “Ready for this, pet?”

She shifted uncomfortably, causing the skirt to ride up a bit more on her thigh. Oh, bollocks The skirt wasn’t the only thing going up…”I dunno,” she said, oblivious to Spike’s problem. “It’s kind of weird. This is our first official we’re-a-couple thing.”

“We went to the beach the other day,” Spike pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but I was talking about school stuff,” Buffy admitted.

He smiled indulgently. She could be so cute when she acted the innocent…”I think the cuddlin’ before Calc mighta given us away, personally.”

“That or the butt-squeezing in the hall.” His girl gave him a scolding frown; he just responded with a smirk.

She kept telling him she still hadn’t forgiven him for that little event, but he knew she thought it was damn sexy. And anyway, if she insisted on short skirts and those little thongs that she thought passed for knickers, well, she was lucky all he did was squeeze her ass. “Yeah, that too.”

She sighed and put her hand on the door handle. “You’re such a pig, Spike.”

“You know you love it,” he shot back. She was about to get out of the car, wearing a rather familiar look of disgust, when he stopped her.

He couldn’t help it. It was more than just lust because of the costume; he wanted her, everything she was, everything he’d come to learn about her in the past few weeks. “Buffy,” he whispered, searching her eyes in the dim light of the parking lot.

“Yeah?” He saw her try for a flip smile, but the seriousness of the situation didn’t seem to allow it.

He thought about kissing her. To be truthful, he thought about doing a lot of things to her, included and not limited to throwing her in the backseat of the DeSoto and making their first time a quickie in the school parking lot. But instead he just smiled at her. And if it was rather predatory—he’d just put it down to the makeup.

“You do look beautiful, Goldilocks,” he said.

Now she did smile. “Thanks. You do, too.”

He fought not to laugh, keeping his face completely expressionless as he arched an eyebrow at her. “Do I, now?”

She screwed her eyes tight shut in humiliation, cheeks coloring as bright red as her dress. “I am such a blonde. I meant you looked sexy, and hot, and—“ As she babbled on about Spike’s manly attributes, the man in question slipped out of the car and came to stand in front of her.

Her eyes popped open when he gently grabbed her shoulders and pulled her upright. “Oh.”

He smiled and kissed her, letting his tongue come out to play for just a moment before pulling back. “Wanna go in, now that you’ve puffed up m’ ego beyond repair?” He grinned at her to let her know he was joking.

She snuggled into him, making a face when the safety pins poked her cheeks. He watched her rub them indignantly. “Okay, there are definite downsides to that costume,” she informed him, before sighing. “I really can’t put it off any more, can I?”

“Think it’s inevitable, pet,” he said, reaching over the car and slamming his door before doing the same to hers and starting to guide her to the school.

She sighed in resignation. “Here we go…”

~*~

Faith accosted them the second they walked in the door. “Spike!” she yelled to be heard over the music, “where you guys been? You’re supposed to get it on after the party!” Not surprisingly, she was dressed like what Spike thought was maybe supposed to be a Goth chick. Leather, dark makeup—hell, for all he knew she could be a dominatrix, though Snyder might’ve had a problem with her signing in as one.

“We weren’t getting it on!” Buffy piped up, a little too defensively.

“Not the way Willow tells it,” said the dark-haired girl, grinning. “She says you guys practically did the nasty in your foyer. By the way, exhibitionist much?”

“I’m not—“ Buffy began indignantly. Spike cut in. “Faith, everybody got a table yet?”

Faith nodded. “We would’ve gone in the corner so we could get our kink on, but everyone’s favorite prom princess snagged the middle one,” she reported, leading them to it.

Spike followed Buffy, eyes on her delightfully wriggling ass, as they wove through the mass of people bouncing to the heavy music. Sure enough, his mates were all at a table that had definitely been picked out by that Cordy bitch.

And the bitch herself was sitting in the middle, wearing a Playboy bunny outfit and talking to a de-greened Lorne.

“I so totally get it!” she said. “I mean, if I have to see one more Louis Vuitton knockoff, I will completely lose it.”

“Ugh, I know where you’re coming from, honey,” Lorne commiserated. “I mean, Lord have mercy, if you can’t afford it, don’t buy the tacky knockoff from the honey on the street corner.” He shuddered illustriously. “It’s enough to make anyone absolutely insane.”

Cordy patted his hand in a friendly fashion. “You know, we are totally bonding!” she exclaimed, looking delighted at the fact. “It’s really too bad you’re gay and weird and stuff!”

“Aww, darling, don’t make me blush!”

“Sickening, aren’t they?” Anya, dressed as a 50s waitress, asked Spike as he sat down. “They’ve been doing this since they got there. I think they gave each other orgasms while they did their hair over at Cordelia’s house this afternoon.”

“I thought Lorne fancied men,” Spike said with a frown.

“He does,” was Anya’s blunt answer. “I mean they got orgasms from fixing each other’s hair. They understand each other too well. It’s frightening.”

The whelp, who was sporting a rather corny pirate outfit, patted her hand. “Diplomacy is an option, sweetie.”

“Humph,” Anya pouted. “Tact is for cowards.”

Spike was about to respond when his own date plopped her adorable little ass in his lap, wiggling it just as enticingly as she had when she was walking.

“So,” she said coquettishly, “Having fun yet?”

Bloody hell—he should have worn underwear. Or, better yet, one of those metal underwear things the virgin chits always wore in the movies with the poncy knights. Because God help him, he was gonna let her know just how much fun he was having in a minute, and he wasn’t entirely sure how she’d react.

“Uh, yeah,” he said in a voice that sounded strained even to him. “A blast.”

“Good,” she said, taking his hand in her own. “Dance with me?”

“Luv, I don’t—“ He began to refuse her, but then a slower song came on. The song itself was rather insipid, something about belonging together, but the chance to hold his girl close like there was nothing more important or precious in the world to him—the chance to really express his feelings without worrying about her running scared—looked damn good at the moment. “—really like the song,” he finished, nipping at her bottom lip, “But yeah, let’s dance.”

She gave a little squeal and hopped up, practically dragging him to the center of the dance floor. At first Spike was worried that she’d want to talk to him and thus distract him from the divine feeling of loving her without any sexuality (though of course he was turned on by the whole thing), but she just laid her head on his chest beneath his chin, leaving him staring at the shimmery wings hanging from her back.

They revolved slowly, and as time passed, the world dissolved for Spike. The people, the room, even the music slowly disappeared, until the only thing that existed, the only thing that mattered, was the exquisite girl in his arms. He inhaled her scent and rubbed her arms. ’s like heaven, he thought reverently.

He was so absorbed in his poetic thoughts that he didn’t notice Buffy slyly maneuvering him towards the darkest corner of the room. If he had, he would have stopped it, because what he wanted from her at that moment didn’t have the slightest thing to do with sex. But he was too busy being in heaven. He’d forgotten that angel though she was, his girl had a downright demonic bent to her. He’d forgotten that when she got horny, she tended to get demanding.

He remembered when she shoved him up against the wall and attacked him, plundering his mouth with her own.

He found himself rudely ripped out of his mental heaven and dragged into one that was, while more physical, still equally perfect. All thoughts of not wanting sex fled from his head, to be replaced by one simple impulse: need—Buffy—now!

His arms came round her and he pressed her into his erection, gripping her bottom firmly, tangling her tongue with his. Her fingers came into his hair, making the gel far less stiff. When her hands slid down to his vest and firmly pulled him closer, he couldn’t help himself—he growled and slid one hand from her ass up to the breasts barely concealed by the pretty red fabric.

“Wait—“ Buffy panted, seeming to suddenly realize where they were—“Public place—bad.”

“Sod it,” Spike growled, his lust-addled brain wanting only one thing. Still, lust or no, part of him was mocking his own single-mindedness: Bit schizophrenic, aren’t you, mate? One second you’re practically spouting nancy-boy poetry ‘bout no sex, and the next you’re damn near spewing in your pants.

“Spike!” Her hand stopped him when he moved in to kiss her again. “Where are your—ah!—parents?” She slapped his chest half-heartedly, he supposed as a punishment for finding her nipple beneath the cloth of her dress and pinching it.

“Party,” he replied without thinking. “One of those all-nighters, won’t be back till November second at the earliest sorts of things.” When he realized what he was saying, and what she was suggesting, he stared at her incredulously. “Are you sure?”

For a second, just a second, he thought he saw fear flicker through her eyes. If he’d been sure he had, he would’ve called the whole thing off, intense world-ending horniness notwithstanding. But he was so lust-addled that when he blinked, the fear was gone, to be replaced by a quietly resolute face that had his eager brain figuring maybe he’d just been imagining things.

“Positive.” She leaned in to kiss him again, a hot kiss that left them both breathless.

“Right, then.” He hoisted her a bit higher, pressing her against his erection for one last second, before placing her on the floor. “Wanna get the hell outta here?”

She bit her lip. Now she really did look nervous. “Should we—you know—stay for awhile? Just so everyone doesn’t laugh at us?”

Was she getting cold feet? Spike decided to give her a chance to back out. Interlacing their hands, he said, “Sure. We’ll stay for an hour or so, a’right?”

She nodded, straightening her dress. Her gaze fell to their joined hands, and she smiled. “Wanna dance for real?” she asked playfully.

He nodded enthusiastically. Maybe romance would help her forget the shagging—not that he didn’t want that, too, but now that his lust was abating slightly he was starting to wonder if it was the wisest thing in the world for either of them. Well, she said she was ready, and I sure as hell am… “Sounds good,” he said, and he wasn’t just talking about the dance.

She led him back out to the dance floor. Spike closed his eyes as he enveloped her in a tight embrace, willing her to forget whatever urge was driving her to be so very forward. God knows, ‘f she comes on to me ‘ll be powerless, he thought. But I want her to be sure. What it all comes down to is, I want her to be sure, and I’m not sure that she is.

For both their sakes, he prayed that she was. It was ultimately her decision, because Spike wasn’t ever going to take advantage of her—but he’d seen what happened to girls who made love with a bloke before they were ready.

If Buffy wasn’t fully prepared for what she wanted to do, then he’d end up breaking her heart and completely unable to do anything about it. If he refused her because he thought she wasn’t ready and she was ready, that would break her heart—but she’d break her own heart, with him as a rather willing participant, if she told him she was ready and she wasn’t.

Damn, luv, I hope you know what you’re doing.

~*~

 

Chapter 24:

It turned out that when you were both horny and nervous beyond the telling of it, an hour really just crawled by.

Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She and Spike had danced twice since the slow dance that had resulted in making out in a dark corner, but neither time had been as magical, and she was starting to wonder if losing her virginity to him on Halloween night was a good thing.

Not that she didn’t want to, because she did. But she was also kind of scared, and just a little worried that maybe she wasn’t doing the right thing. Part of her thought that they should wait.

But every time they got within five feet of each other, they both got unbearably horny. Didn’t that mean that the next logical step in their relationship was sex?

She sighed. It did, and she knew it. So...why was she so damn nervous?

Fingers brushed her shoulders. She jumped before realizing that they belonged to Spike. “Sad thoughts, pet?”

She shrugged and put on a bright smile. “Just impatient.”

This had to be right. It just had to be.

She shivered when his lips brushed her neck. “A few more minutes is all, and then we’ll say we’re knackered an’ head on home,” he promised.

As his lips continued to play, her head fell back. When he did things like that, all the nervousness went away.

“And in the meantime,” he added, devilry in his voice, “Just watch Little Miss Popular an’ her date. They’re right funny, they are.”

Buffy giggled. Cordy and Lorne had been having dramatic fashionita heart-to-hearts for the entire dance so far and showed no signs of stopping. They’d moved on from Vuitton to the agonies of high heels—Faith and Tara were both watching them, Faith with a huge grin, and Tara with a look that said what Buffy was thinking: she didn’t even want to know how Lorne knew about high heels.

“Yeah, bet this is the best date Cordy’s ever had. Finally, someone who understands her.” She giggled again, watching Lorne place his hands over his heart dramatically.

“Now, now, pet, don’t get catty.” He placed a hand on her waist, squeezing gently, his tone amused. She grinned at him unrepentantly.

“Oh, come on. She totally deserves it.”

“Damn straight.” Faith, apparently having tired of watching Cordy and Lorne’s tête-à-tête, plopped down next to the blonde duo. “My plan completely backfired, yo. I thought she’d be freakin’ out by now.”

“Wait—your plan? You planned this?”

“Hell yeah, B. Whisper in the right ears, and all of a sudden everybody thinks Queen C’s got herself a case of temporary syphilis.” Faith grinned broadly.

Buffy laughed incredulously. “You didn’t,” she said, but her eyes shone with approval.

Spike shook his head. “You bints’re insane,” he informed them.

Buffy snuggled him. “That’s why you love us,” she told him, staring into his eyes. The room was rather dark, and colors were dim at best thanks to the tacky disco ball hanging from the ceiling, but she was sure she could see the deep blue of his eyes all the same.

For a breathless moment their eyes stayed locked, communicating silently. She could feel his want, both in his gaze and poking her bottom, just as she was sure he could feel his. And in addition to lust she read something else in his eyes—something that made her shy away every so slightly. It was deep, it was dark, and it went beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Seeing it in his eyes was frightening.

Feeling it in her heart, though, was worse.

Which was why she hurriedly broke the rapport between them and called out to Lorne, “Hey, Lorne! Why aren’t you dancing?”

Lorne, oblivious to the intense staring that had been going on, smiled at her and said, “Well, sweetie, no one’s asked me just yet. Is that an offer I hear?”

Buffy looked over at Spike questioningly. He smiled and said, “Have fun, kitten.”

She grinned and stood up, delighted that she’d be able to have some nice, non-intense fun. “Well, come on, then. Let’s shake it!”

“Sure thing. Doesn’t your gorgeous hunk of blonde beefcake want to come?”

Buffy laughed outright at that. No one could cheer her up quite like Lorne. He was great at lightening things up. “Sorry, I don’t think he wants to be ogled today.” She giggled at the black look on Spike’s face.

“Ah, well, the best laid plans of mice and men…” Lorne sighed dramatically before holding his hand out to Buffy. “Shall we?”

*

Spike watched Buffy dancing with what he knew was a moody look on his face. It was a familiar scenario—which, considering that she was now his girl, was distinctly disturbing.

For a second there, he’d been sure he’d seen just as much love in her eyes as he himself felt—but then she’d looked away. It frustrated him to no end. Why was she so skittish? It wasn’t like they hadn’t both been burned. After the disaster that was their parents, they should’ve both needed some pretty intensive therapy. Yet it was Buffy who ran scared at the idea of love.

“So, stud, what’s on your mind?”

Spike sighed. “Faith, when’d you lose your virginity?”

Faith shrugged. “I dunno…when I was ‘bout fourteen. Why’s it—holy shit! B’s a friggin’ virgin?”

“Uh, yeah.” He exhaled slowly. He oughta feel awkward, talking to his friend about his sex life, but if anyone could offer advice, it would be Faith. She definitely knew enough about the subject.

“Is she givin’ it up tonight?”

Despite the flippant words, Faith’s tone was serious; Spike answered in kind. “Says she wants to.”

“Do you?”

He arched a sardonic eyebrow at her.

“Well, okay, I know you are. What I was askin’ is…right. Bear with me here, because this question is totally health class. But—do you think she’s ready?”

He nearly growled in frustration. “See, that’s what I was thinkin’ before. But how in hell can she not be ready when she drags me over to the corner and practically rapes me?”

“Do you love her?”

“What’s that got to do with it?’ Spike grumbled. He’d had a nice little rant going on there…”And when the bleeding hell did you get so bloody perceptive? It’s a bit scary, y’know?”

Faith put her hand over her heart. “See, now I’m hurt. I’ve got mad skills, buddy. If there’s one thing I know about, it’s sex.”

Since he’d just been thinking the same thing in his head a minute ago, he couldn’t really disagree. “So spill your wisdom, O wise one,” he said with a smirk.

“’k, then.” Faith leaned back, not in the least perturbed by his teasing. “You got bouncy with Drusilla when you were what, 14?”

“Um, yeah,” he said, shifting uncomfortably.

Faith saw his discomfort. “Hey, if you’re a slut, so am I,” she said with another grin. “Anyway, my point is, by then you’d been knocked around by your dad forever.”

“Yeah?” he prodded, more than a little irritated at the mention of his git of a father.

“Well, you got—you know—what’s the word? Older, bigger—“

“More mature?” Spike supplied.

Faith snapped her fingers. “Mature, right, that’s it! You got way mature faster than any of us. But B…man, she’s been living in dreamland for years. She only wised up a few weeks ago. Give her some time before you guys fuck.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” he exclaimed through gritted teeth. “But if she wants to, what in hell am I s’posed to do, refuse her? You know it’d kill her!”

He sighed. “It’s just...complicated,” he admitted, slumping down in the chair.

“Least you’re thinking about it,” Faith mused, tracing the top of a cheap glass filled with punch that someone had left at their table. “Lotta guys wouldn’t even bother—they’d get straight to the good stuff.”

“Yeah, but with her, might not be good.”

Faith rolled his eyes. “Trust me, those guys don’t give a fuck about how she feels afterwards.”

When he realized fully what she was saying—that she was glad he wasn’t the type of guy who’d just get into Buffy’s pants for the hell of it and laugh at her afterwards—he felt rage fly through him. Not at Faith, of course; her advice was spot-on. No, he just felt a blinding, deadly fury towards anyone who’d dare touch his girl and then throw her away like she didn’t matter.

Well. That certainly boded well for their relationship, didn’t it? Him worrying about her “readiness” like they were in some Victorian novel one second, and then the next turning into that mad Yank Charles Manson at the mere thought of someone using her. At this rate, the psychiatrists’ couch was gonna get pretty damned familiar…

He heard the song end and sighed. Things were no clearer than they had been when Buffy left his lap. He still wanted her like he wanted to breathe, was still dying to finally have her on his bed, beneath him, surrounding him.

But what about the after? He didn’t just want her just the once, or until he got tired of her. He wanted her for keeps. Hell, he was only eighteen, and he knew that his bastard of a Da, along with half the adult population in the world, would smile and call what he was feeling “puppy love”—but he knew it wasn’t. He trusted her with everything, loved everything she was, and would die for her in a heartbeat. If that wasn’t love, then Spike was stumped as to what was.

The only problem—well, not the only problem, but the problem currently bitch-slapping him in the face—was that he wasn’t sure she felt the same, and if she did, he wasn’t sure she was ready to accept it.

Damn. Hadn’t he thought that just a few minutes ago? Now his thoughts were going round in circles. This couldn’t be good...

He was about to obsess some more when a laughing Buffy deposited himself on her lap. Faith grinned and slapped him on the back. “Later, stud.”

“So.” She grinned at him. “Ready to go?” Her hand slipped down his back, coming to rest right above the waistline of his jeans—and God help him, he wanted it to go lower.

“Buffy.”

His tone of voice was serious; she immediately became so. Sliding her hand back up to his shoulder, she said, “Yeah?”

“I—I care ‘bout you,” he said, so quietly that even as close as they were he knew he could barely be heard over the pounding music.

She met his eyes squarely. In them he’d seen fear, friendship, affection, mischief—every emotion under the sun but one.

Did she love him? Could she love him? Could I act any more the poncey poet if I slipped right back into the tweed suit? Is she even wearing any knickers under that outfit? All pretty good questions…

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I care about you too, William,” she whispered. For once, his given name didn’t sound poncy and weak. It couldn’t, not when she was saying it.

Her hand curved down again, this time slipping into his pocket and squeezing. He clutched her waist as sensations roared through him.

“Bloody hell,” he said in a voice that even he knew sounded strangled, “You tryin’ to kill me, luv?”

She grinned. “Not yet,” she purred, before pulling him to his feet. “C’mon, Billy Idol,” she said, running her fingers through his spikey hair. “Let’s go so I can show you just how much I do care.”

Sodding hell, he thought again as she dragged him to the door. Her touch was firm, confident—her body, at least, was as ready for his as his. Excitement shot through him. Guess it’s time.

~*~

Buffy was actually sort of worried about the whole making love thing. Spike Jr. was making it kind of obvious that Spike really, really wanted her, but what if his brain didn’t want to, didn’t think they were ready yet? Given that he was a teenaged guy, she thought it was kind of unlikely…but this was Spike. He’d said and done some things that no normal teenage guy did. Why shouldn’t he be reluctant to make love with her?

But when he slammed her against the car door and kissed her even harder and more desperately than he had in her foyer, she realized that he wasn’t exactly a reluctant participant in this whole making love thing.

She poured her whole self into the kiss, trying to help him. She hadn’t been his biggest enemy for three years without learning a thing or two about him—he’d been nervous back there, worried about her. Why, she wasn’t exactly sure, but after the whole “I care about you” thing—well, she’d just have to put all her concentration into showing him how un-reluctant (eager? Wasn’t that what eager meant? She was having a little trouble thinking…) she was.

His hands snaked down to her thighs just as she grabbed his ass—they moaned simultaneously. They’d touched before, of course, but now, knowing what was about to happen—it made every caress so much more intense.

After a few minutes of some truly amazing lip action, Buffy broke away. God, he was the only person who could make her forget that she kind of needed to breathe to live…

“Drive home,” she managed to get out, staring at the pavement in front of her. Well, she couldn’t stare at him, could she? Every time she caught even a glimpse of the whole 70’s bad boy thing she turned her underwear into Lake Michigan. Uncomfortable in a big way. Of course, if we just got in the car and I took them off…nu-uh. Bad Buffy, she scolded herself mentally. You are not going to be devirginized in a car, even if it is the car of a seriously sexy guy that you’re about to have hot steamy sex with anyway… Almost unconsciously, she whimpered.

That must’ve been the last straw for him, because right after the whimper, she blinked, and the next thing she knew, she was sitting in the passenger seat, he was jamming the key into the ignition, and they were leaving Sunnydale High so quickly that they almost hit the brick sign on their way out.

“Hey!” Buffy shrieked as he veered to avoid it, “Like killing the welcome sign wasn’t bad enough!”

He shot her a smirk. “You know you loved it,” he shot back.

“I didn’t even realize it was you,” she grumbled, even though she totally had. Rumors had been flying around the town for weeks about who knocked down the precious sign. Buffy had known—or thought she’d known—that Spike was the biggest butthead ever, and he’d come to town the same day the sign had been knocked down. For her, it wasn’t exactly rocket science.

“Liar,” he accused, amusement laced with the ever-present lust entering his voice.

She stuck her tongue out at him. She didn’t mean it to be sexy, she really didn’t. She stuck her tongue out at Dawn all the time!

But as soon as it appeared, the car swerved, jumping up onto a sidewalk. Buffy almost screamed before he managed to right the car. “Okay, you are so trying to kill me, aren’t you?” she got out, still clutching the seat.

“’Course not, Blondie,” he said with the familiar smirk. “That comes later.”

You could tell she was horny when even his usual innuendos totally turned her on.

Buffy turned to the window in a mock pout; inside she was grinning wickedly. Note to self: keep tongue in, she thought smugly. Because for some reason—well, okay, I know the reason—my boyfriend thinks it’s super-hot.

Her smile widened when the car slowed, and then stopped, in front of Spike’s house.

He cut the ignition and leaned back, clearing his throat nervously. “Here we are,” he said in what to Buffy’s ears was a tone of forced casualness.

“Yup,” she said, just staring at him. God, she wanted him so bad…

“Wanna come—er, I mean, d’you wanna go in?”

“Sure,” she said, still forcing herself to be nonchalant even though now that they’d arrived, she was just as nervous as he.

“Right, then.” He got out, walked round, and opened the door for her. When she grabbed his hand and he pulled her out and towards him, tangling her up in another kiss, she moaned and leaned into him.

Funny how, even though her feet were firmly planted on solid ground—even though now she could feel the door pressing up against her back, even as a very horny Spike pressed up against her front—funny how even with all the contrary evidence, she felt like she was falling. Even funnier how she wasn’t sure if Spike was falling with her or not.

And funniest of all? She didn’t care. Because as they stumbled into the house together, as clothes began to be shed before they even reached the stairs, she wasn’t concerned with falling at all. All she wanted, all her entire body and mind and heart was focused on, was him. Spike. Her former enemy.

And now—a happy smile curved her lips, pressed hard against his.

Now he was hers. Maybe not forever, not yet anyway, but for a little while. For now.

I just hope that’s enough.

~*~

 

Chapter 25:

He slammed the door closed and locked it, pressing her back against the hard wood. She made a satisfied sound in the back of her throat and arched toward him, seeking more of his warmth, more of the wonderful friction that was sending tingles throughout her body.

His hands found the hem of her dress, slipping upwards. She thrust her hips forward, hoping he’d attend to the soaking wet there—but he continued upwards, unhooking the front clasp of her bra and cupping her breasts in his hands.

Their moans were simultaneous. “God, Buffy,” he panted, leaning his forehead against hers, gently rolling her nipples between his fingers, “Wanted this for so long…”

She gasped and clutched at him. “Shirt off,” she ordered breathlessly.

A second later, when he went to shed it, she realized that maybe she’d made a mistake in ordering him to do so, since when he was unclothing himself he wasn’t touching her.

She solved the problem by pushing his hands away and pulling the vest and shirt off herself, making a satisfied sound when she lay her hands on his abdomen, feeling the muscles rippling there.

He chuckled. “See somethin’ you like?” His hands went over her breasts and skimmed down, down, until they rested on her ass.

Two could play that game. She smiled at him slyly. “See, feel…” She slid her hand down and squeezed his erection. She licked her lips when she felt it jump under her touch. “Taste,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him.

He groaned into her mouth before attacking her with his tongue. Hands slid over skin, both of them rejoicing that they could finally be as close as possible without reservation.

When his hands lifted her ass into the air, Buffy eagerly wrapped her legs around his wait. “Bed?” she murmured when he nipped at her ear. “Oooh, God…”

“Mm,” was her only answer, but judging by the stairward stumbling, she guessed that was where they were going.

Somehow—later, Buffy would mull over it, and still not be able to puzzle out exactly how they’d managed it—they got up the stairs and into Spike’s room without falling or breaking their liplock. When they entered the room, though, they both stopped.

Buffy unlocked her arms from where they’d been around his neck and slid down his body, feeling his hard-on jump at her movements, before taking a step back. Spike stared at her with his head tilted sideways, clearly trying to puzzle out what she was doing. “Something wrong, pet?”

She would’ve liked to answer that, but the thing was, she really didn’t know. It had just struck her, all of a sudden, that the first time she’d come in here had only been a few weeks ago, and that then, she’d thought she hated him. There had been some crazy-bad UST going on, but she’d still been clinging to the idea that she wasn’t even a bit attracted to him.

Look how far we’ve come.

“Buffy? You in there?” Spike reached out and brushed a finger along her face.

She smiled up at him. “Yeah. Present and accounted for.” Her voice was soft. “I’m glad we’re here,” she admitted, glancing up at him shyly—which she knew was weird, given all that had been going on.

“You’re not the only one.” His hand cupped her cheek, tracing her features. “God, I still can’t believe…”

“What?”

He made a frustrated noise. “’s nothin’.”

“No, it’s definitely something,” she insisted. “Now tell me.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“I just—‘ve been havin’ arguments with m’self all night long, ‘bout whether or not you were ready to—you know,” he confessed with an embarrassed grimace.

“What?” He’d worried about her being ready? How dumb was that? Stupid Spike and his stupid overprotectiveness!

Although—she had to admit this to herself—most guys wouldn’t even have bothered with the worrying, they just would’ve boinked her and gone off whistling. And it was kinda cute, this Billy Idol-wannabe rocker guy telling her that he worried about them having sex.

“I know, ‘s completely poncy, but—“

Wow. He looked stressed. Buffy decided to be the nice one in the situation—she moved forward and slipped her arms around his waist, turning her face up, deliberately pouting. “Spike?”

He gulped. “Yeah?”

She wriggled a bit, pressed herself against his leg. When he felt what she was doing, he gasped.

She reached up and pulled his head down. Just before their lips met, she whispered, “I am definitely ready.”

*

Well, that was nice to know, ‘specially considering that he was about to pound her into his bed.

If that wanker Angel hadn’t grumbled a million times about how she wouldn’t give it up, Spike would’ve never guessed that she was a virgin—she was just so damned enthusiastic. She pulled at his pants, kissed his neck and his chest, until he was just as frantic as she. He’d wanted to give her a hugely romantic seduction, but somehow, he couldn’t manage it. Even as he fondled her perfect breasts and stared down at her in complete disbelief that this beautiful girl was his, a certain part of his anatomy was demanding to be satisfied.

“Bloody hell!” His scattered train of thought was cut off when Buffy finally succeeded in getting his pants off. Kicking them across the room, she reached down and gripped his cock firmly in one small but very eager hand.

Just the feel of her—knowing that she wanted to make him just as happy as he was determined to make her—was almost enough to make him go off, right then. He closed his eyes in a frantic effort to regain control. “Buffy, luv—“

“You need to be inside me?” His girl’s voice was slightly amused. She kissed the tip of his nose.

“Well, yeah, but—“

“It’ll hurt,” she finished.

He opened his eyes. “You readin’ my mind, or something?”

She rolled her eyes. “Puh-leeze. Spike, this is so the same thing every single guy ever says to his virgin girlfriend. I’ve read, like, a million Avon romances, you know.”

He chuckled. She might be able to predict him, but he was surprised by her almost every time she opened her mouth. “I love you so much, you know that?”

As soon as he said it, they both froze. Spike mentally slapped himself—good job, you sorry git. Spend all night wonderin’ if she’s ready and tryin’ not to scare her away, and then you blurt out a declaration of love. You really are worse than the poofter. He steeled himself for what he was pretty damn sure would be rejection.

*

Buffy was kind of shocked, and part of her was scared as hell, but she was starting to think that was kind of the normal course of events. One second she was all over him and the next her not-so-lucid brain was screaming at her to cut it out. She wasn’t entirely sure if that was love, but…well…she was wondering, more and more, if maybe Spike being in love with her wasn’t such a bad thing. Which considering that I like bit Dawn’s head off earlier for saying he was is pretty good progress…

So instead of running scared, she just smiled at him. “I love you, too,” she told him, curling her legs round his back.

“God, Buffy.” Spike gazed down at her worshipfully for what felt like the millionth time that night. She was nowhere near tired of it. “’ve waited so sodding long…”

She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, gripping him tightly. “Me, too,” she told him. “I mean, I guess even when we were fighting, I sort of knew…it was always too much fun.”

He chuckled. “That it was, pet.”

She smiled in response, edging just a little closer, trying to make him realize that she wanted less talk and more him being inside of her. She was so going to rape him if he didn’t just…

“Oh!”

She squeaked. She actually squeaked. He entered just the teensiest bit, and she squeaked!

But apparently it was a good squeak, or something, because he groaned louder than he had all night and slid forward a bit more. “God…so…bleeding…”

She barely heard him; her thoughts had spiraled away the second the friction started as heat shot through every part of her body, centering on the area that he was currently entering, making her want more—making her feel so incredibly—

“Wonderful,” she breathed happily, clutching him. If this was what making love was like, why had she waited so long?

“Damn right.” He came up against her hymen and paused. “Buffy, I know you said it was old news, but—“

“This’ll hurt,” she said impatiently. “I know! And if you don’t just do it, I really will rape you!”

The look he gave her almost knocked her out, it was so hot. “Save that for later, pet,” he growled, before flexing his muscles and thrusting as quickly as possible.

Just like when he’d entered her, white-hot fire shot through her veins—only this time, it was fire of the painful, make you want to cry variety. She stifled a scream, fingers digging into his shoulder.

“Buffy—pet—I’m so sorry, I did tell you, the first time always hurts, oh baby please stop, you okay, Goldilocks? We can stop if you want to…”

Stop? Through a fog of fading pain and mounting desire, she heard him offer to stop. Oh, no. That was so never happening. Not right now, anyway.

She reached back and grabbed his ass, holding the cheeks tightly. “Spike?” Despite the aggressiveness of her actions, her voice was soft.

He halted his litany immediately. “Yeah, luv?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “You sound like Angel.”

Buffy forestalled his laughter by rotating her hips, making them both gasp. “Oh—“

“Bloody—hell—“

After that, all coherent thought completely fled. All Buffy knew was that he was moving inside of her, and licking and gently biting her nipples, and she was running her hands up and down his back and kissing him like there was no tomorrow—but then, even if there wasn’t, she didn’t really care, as long as he kept making her feel like this, as long as he kept driving her toward the point that she could feel, just out of reach…

She ran her tongue up his neck, tasting salt. “Love you,” she panted, meeting his thrusts with her own. She could feel her orgasm—so very close—she wanted to reach it, but at the same time, she wanted these incredible feelings to keep going forever.

*

That admission—free of any urging on his part—just whipped Spike into an even greater frenzy. “Buffy—so sweet—fuck—love you too—oh, bleeding—incredible—“ He’d never been in anyone tighter. Her (now former) virginity, combined with her petite frame, made her exquisitely tight, and she was wet as hell.

Her exquisite body, combined with the fact that she was just as enthusiastic as he was, that the bed frame wasn’t pounding up against the wall due only to his thrusts, made him want to stay here, like this, forever.

But he could feel himself coming. He was babbling incoherently, praising her, blurting out obscenities, kissing her frantically—and every move she made, every little groan or endearment or hell, every sodding breath, had him closer.

He reached down, down, curving his hands first around her breasts and then around her pussy, finding and pressing down on her clit.

“Oh—my—God—Spike!” Buffy came with an incoherent scream that he thought might be his name. Her hands dug into his shoulders, still moving with him as he continued to thrust into her, nearly losing his mind at the sensation of her already incredibly tight muscles spasming around him, squeezing him like nothing he’d ever felt.

She came down slowly, finally opening her eyes and smiling at him. “I love you,” she whispered again, leaning up and kissing him before deliberately squeezing him with her vaginal muscles as tightly as she possibly could.

For Spike, that was the end of the line. He came with a roar, saying her name over and over again like a prayer, clutching her wait frantically as he shot into her.

He collapsed next to her, pulling out as gently as he could. “Bloody hell, Buffy,” he gasped, fighting for breath.

“Agreed,” she said, her hand over her heart. “Is it—always—that wonderful?”

He couldn’t stop himself—a smile spread over his face. “You thought it was wonderful?”

She stared at him. “Well, yeah,” she said, unconsciously echoing a favorite phrase of his.

He pulled her closer to him, rejoicing inside when she automatically rested her head on his chest. “Not entirely sure, kitten,” he replied. “With Dru it was always damn hot, but not…not like this.” He said the last part quietly, staring down at her face. She was so beautiful, fresh and innocent yet so damn sexy it almost undid him. What had he done to deserve her?

And now she was pouting. “Humph. Better not be thinking about Drusilla.”

“Buffy, ‘m head over sodding heels in love with you.” He nipped her lip affectionately. “Wasn’t thinking of anyone but you…and m’ dick,” he added, grinning.

She slapped his chest halfheartedly. “Butthole.”

“Not just yet, kitten,” he teased, earning another slap. He laughed, and then made her giggle when his laugh caught on a yawn.

“Let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

She snuggled into him; he reveled in the feeling. Lying there in his bed, with his girl at his side and post-orgasmic bliss weighing his body down, he was happier than he’d ever been before.

“Okay.” The word followed the deed; just a few minutes later, she was sleeping, mouth half-open in a soft snore.

He smiled at that. She was unbelievably adorable. He adjusted her head ever so slightly so that they were both more comfortable before kissing the top of her head.

“See you in the morning, luv.”

~*~

 

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