Title: Chosen

Author: Tiana

Feedback: Please and thank you: tianabelle@hotmail.com

Disclaimer: ME and Joss own all.

Summary: Takes place in Chosen. (Spoilers for that ep.) The basement scene as I imagined it...

* * * * * Chapter 1: A Choice * * * * *

The pendant twirls in front of him, dangling from the chain caught in his fingers. Spike feels the cool concrete of the basement wall pressing into his shoulders, penetrating the black cotton of his t-shirt. Stray beams of moonlight coming through the high windows catch the jewel, throwing sparks.

He can still feel her against him. Lying in his bed last night, letting him wrap his arms around her. The last few days with Buffy have been...mind-boggling. And confusing. And yes, terrifying. Just when he had begun to resolve himself to never reaching her, he reached her. In that dark, abandoned house, she actually reached out to him. And not for lust or any ulterior motive, but because she needed him. Him. Him and the strength of his love. Not one of the Scoobies or the Watcher or anyone else. She needed only him. A smile touches Spike’s mouth as he remembers her words of a few years before. "I never need you, Spike." She spat those words at him, trying to hurt him. At the time, those words burned. And they burn him still, but in a new way. Because she does need him. Things have changed. He has changed. And finally, she has allowed herself to see it, to see him. It’s all too new and scary to accept, but Spike is slowly allowing those thoughts to enter his head. Buffy may love him. It is what he has wanted for three years and now that it seems to be possible, he is both wracked with fear and strangely calm.

She called him a champion. Not in words, but in actions. He doubted it and she walked towards him, confirming it with each step closer. The cool metal of the medallion hit his hand, followed by the tingling warmth of her skin. And all of a sudden, he was a Champion. He felt the flutter of his soul deep inside react. Gazing at the gold in his hand, Spike knows there is something coming. Something big. And now that he has accepted the title of Champion, he will have to face it. And for once in his over hundred years of existence, he knows, knows with certainty that he will not fail. Buffy’s belief in him has opened a wellspring of strength inside him, which has been waiting to be tapped. Waiting for the moment when it would all come together.

Sitting in the dark on his cot, Spike remembers the feel of Buffy’s hand, warm on his cheek last night. Thank god she didn’t leave him down there in the dark. And she did not stay out of pity, she stayed out of something else. Something still undefined. The tenderness of her hand resting on his face is what he keeps coming back to. The warmth is still there for him.

* * * * *

God, it’s cold for a summer night in Sunnydale. Buffy rubs her hands up and down the back of her arms out on her porch. It seems ominous somehow that the weather isn’t pleasant. Even the jet stream knows something bad is coming. She smiles at the thought before her mind returns to the difficult subject of current events. The smile falls away quickly. She could be leading them all to slaughter. She could be one of those slaughtered. These kind of doubts cannot be shared in the Scooby group. It’s important that she be confident Buffy, Slayer Buffy. But again, alone with her thoughts, the doubts are there. Is this a crazy notion? Will Willow turn all vein-y and dark again? No. She has to believe in Willow. Believe in Giles for believing in Willow. She can do it. Her eyes focus on something off in the distance as her mind runs over the plan for the thousandth time since they agreed to it. It has to work. It’s the only way. Otherwise, this world doesn’t have a chance. No matter what she told Angel, the world is doomed if they fail. He won’t be able to stop The First.

No, it is up to her. To all of them in that house. Buffy takes a deep breath. And him. It’s up to him, too. He is the unknown factor. The one that could turn the tide. She knows he is in the basement. Probably pacing or sitting on that cot. The one that suddenly seemed much more comfortable last night when she was in his arms. She closes her eyes, sliding back into that feeling. He was gentle, never touching her in more than a caring, protective way. She realizes how much she has missed by not letting him hold her like that before. Even the Slayer needs to be held.

She had curled back into his body after she banished The First from the basement, the idea forming in her mind of how they would fight it. Willing to wait ‘til the morning to figure it all out. Feeling the firm, but yielding planes of his body against her before falling back to sleep. In a nighttime of sleeping tightly against her, he had absorbed her body heat. When they woke there together in the morning, she stroked his hand and was startled to find it warm. Nearly human. And she scared herself a little with how much she wanted it. How much she wanted to wake up with a human Spike. And eat breakfast with him, kiss him goodbye on the porch, watch him walk out into the sun to some normal, human job. See the morning light shine on his back as he got in his car. She would run out for a last kiss through the car window before getting herself ready for her normal, non-Slayer job. What a world. Her eyes popped open as she felt his lips against the back of her neck. The sunshine-y world dissolved quickly. Kind of boring, really. But the part with him was good. The smile turned up the corners of her mouth as she thought of waking up in his arms every morning without an alarm clock. Just waking to that light touch of his lips against her nape. She began to move more, showing she was awake, and his lips moved away. Buffy bit back a sigh of disappointment. Time to get up and be the Slayer.

After all that has happened since that light kiss on her neck, she should be exhausted. But she is not. In fact, the night buzzes in her like so many fireflies. Buffy has always come awake by the moon. Guess it makes the Slaying easier to find her alertness in the late night air. Glancing over her shoulder towards the house, she knows what else has her body humming. Spike. Alone. And possibly waiting for her. She rubs her hands over her face, willing things to fall into simple, logical place. The fight is set, the plans are laid. There is nothing else for her to do in that regard. She won’t get any stronger or any faster tonight. In fact, there is only one thing left that she wants to do. Buffy trembles like a schoolgirl. Will he want her the same way? Has it been too long? Why does it always take her so long to figure these things out? And why is she shaking? She mumbles to herself, "Get yourself together. It’s not the end of the world. Or maybe it is. Either way, go. Just go." Running her hands over her clothes and hair, she nods, decision made.

He hears a noise. And before he can see her, he can sense her. The scent of the warm nighttime air follows her in. The sound of her step on the stair makes Spike begin to wonder if his heart is starting to beat. He swears it skips. There was no guarantee she would return to him tonight. While activities continued around the house, he had been in the basement for hours, contemplating the near future. Contemplating the fact that his stretch of time on this earth could be ending. Digging deep inside for the strength to face it. And here is one source of that strength, clicking down the stairs. She has been alone for as long as he has, and he wonders where her mind has been in these hours before the storm.

Spike gathers in the amulet and stands up, resisting the urge to run to her. He knows that is not what tonight is. When she comes out of the light and he can see her face across the room, Spike suddenly does know what this night is, what this night will be. Twenty feet apart, their eyes meet across the dark, cool room. Hers are soft and intense and completely entrancing. Spike finds he cannot move. His hand tightens on the amulet, the sharp edges biting into his ivory skin. The pain wakens him a bit from his trance and he tries a smile. She returns it and then takes a step closer to him. This time, Spike is sure he is breathing, as he finds he was holding it. He manages to find words, the silence deafening. "I was wondering if you were coming, luv."

"I’m here." Buffy’s voice is soft, kind. Spike is still getting used to that tone. It has slipped out of her at times this year but never more than it has in the last few days. He loves that tone, despite the terror that grips his heart when he hears it. She is growing closer to him by the second and yet she hasn’t moved another step. Finally, when he is sure he can no longer take it, Buffy takes another step towards him. One hand moves in slow motion to the top button of her blouse. Spike finds his gaze following her movement. She undoes the top button and his eyes snap to hers again.

"What...what are you doing, Buffy?" The familiar terror grips him again. He hasn’t been with Buffy in that way in so long. Not since he got his soul. But wait, maybe he is getting ahead of himself. She slept in his arms for two nights now and they only held each other. Only. He wants to shake his head. Not only. Never has he felt so very close to anyone than when she was there with him. Truly there. Truly with him.

Her voice breaks into his reverie. "I think you know, Spike." The second button pops open, further revealing her delicate neck. He swallows.

"Buffy, you don’t have to..." Her single finger lifted in the air cuts off Spike’s words.

"This has nothing to do with ‘have to’, Spike." He looks at her in confusion, touched with a bit of wonder. "I want to. I want...you." She is almost shy as she lets the words slip out. "Do you...?" The question lies unasked, words unneeded.

Spike cocks his head at her. The language of her body, the tone in her voice, the expression in her eyes. This is not about lust. Not about proving that she is alive or that she is desired. None of that falsehood they played with last year. She wants him. And not any old him, but just him. Just Spike.

"Do I ?" He can’t believe she is asking, but at the same time, he is relieved she is. It means she understands. She respects his wishes, something he always craved.

In a flash, Spike is in front of her, mere inches separating their bodies in a pool of moonlight. His voice drops, deeper, rougher. "Always, Buffy. Always."

* * * * * Chapter 2: Right Here * * * * *

The speed of his movement startles Buffy, even after all these years. Her hands freeze on the next button as she looks up into his dark blue eyes. His platinum hair catches the light, glowing in the dimness. Spike starts to place his hands over hers. He hesitates, pulling back slightly, before moving them forward again, covering her hands with his own, stilling them.

"Buffy. Are you sure?" His body reacts to touching her, an internal fire suddenly flaring to life, and Spike struggles to remain calm. His hands shake slightly.

"I’m sure. Don’t get shirty with me." Buffy cracks a wide smile, instantly breaking the nervous tension.

"Give the Slayer a new word and she takes pleasure mangling the bloody English language. You’re not even using it right, luv." Spike laughs.

"Don’t really care, Spike. Plus, now I think you actually are getting shirty." She bites into her bottom lip, studying his face. The seriousness of what she came to the basement for is returning quickly, despite their brief bout of playfulness. Buffy moves her hands out from under Spike’s, turning one of his to reveal the medallion still clutched there. "Any ideas what this is going to do?" She knits her brow, looking up at him.

Thankful for a moment’s distraction from the urges of his body and heart, Spike shrugs. "None. So far, it’s just a shiny bauble. Can’t imagine it’s going to stay that way, though." He strives to sound offhand, but his worry is palpable in the cool, dark room.

Buffy peels open Spike’s fingers to see the amulet better. She runs one fingertip over the jewel inside, watching it glint in the moonlight. When she looks back at Spike, her eyes are shiny, wet. She looks back down quickly and her voice is so quiet, he can barely hear her. "I’m...scared, Spike."

Spike slips one finger under Buffy’s chin, tipping her face up to meet his gaze again. "Buffy, luv, you can do this. You’re..."

Buffy cuts him off. "No. Not for me. I’m not scared for me. Well, I am...but that’s not what I meant." She darts her eyes down and back up, searching his serene blue look. "I’m scared...for you." Taking a deep breath, Buffy closes her eyes slowly and then opens them, locking her eyes onto his once again, her gaze unwavering. "I don’t want to...I don’t want to lose you."

Spike is struck dumb for a few seconds. He opens his mouth, but still can’t find words, so lets it close again. Buffy covers the pendant in his hand with her own. "I wish I could take this thing back...but I can’t. You are the one." Her grip tightens, pressing the jewel between their hands. Spike is left further adrift than before. He has the surreal feeling of watching this conversation from a distance. How can Buffy be saying these words to him? He said those very words to her the other night. She is the one. He’s not the one. He’s Spike, the vampire. The hopeless, obsessed, stalker vampire. Right? Only he knows it’s not true anymore. He hasn’t been that vampire in a long time. He can’t hide in that disguise. Buffy has found him out. Dragged him into the light to be the man he can be. She believes in him. She believes in the man. She believes he is a Champion. And her belief is allowing him to believe it, too. The movement of Buffy’s hand on his snaps Spike back into the moment.

His voice is firm, confident. "No, Buffy. You’re right. You can’t take it back. It’s mine now. No matter the...cost." His eyes well suddenly, as it hits him that taking this power on could kill him, and that in dying, he would lose her right when he’s finally found her. There’s no way this bauble is just going to make him stronger. He knows full well how magic works. There are always consequences. Always. She knows it, he knows it.

Buffy’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as she continues to look at him. The feelings she cannot share are there for him to see. There for the world to see, if they want to look. Spike wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her so much the taste of her burns his throat. His whole body hums in desire. At the same time, she has come to him tonight. It is her move to make, the next step is hers.

He can see the decision made in her eyes. A light clicks on as her hand takes the amulet away from him. As Spike begins to protest, she places it on a small table. "Just keeping it safe." They mutely decide to put the tears aside with it for the moment. Buffy’s hands light on the next button of her blouse, her eyes never leaving Spike’s. The tears there are burned away by a growing heat emanating from her body. Spike can feel the waves off her skin, warming him. The next button is open and Buffy’s shirt is held closed by just one lone pearl button. They both look at it, hard. Spike knows if she opens it, it won’t be long before their bare bodies are entangled. If she freezes, the whole thing is a train wreck. Even before her hand moves down the few inches to the button, he knows the answer. It is written across her face, open and wanting. As her finger slips the button through the hole, she moves a step closer to him. The force of the heat is palpable and Spike instinctively takes a step back. She moves to him again and again, he matches her with a step backwards. It is not a retreat as much as a dance, a mirroring. Her shirt undone, Spike reaches out with one finger, slightly unsteady as he closes in on her skin. She moves to him again, closing the distance with one step, so that his finger collides with her breastbone. He flinches away, but then brings his fingertip back to the same spot. He trails down her skin, marveling again at how perfect she is, how buttery and golden and smooth. And warm. Warmth like the rising sun. Which, luckily, isn’t rising for quite a few more hours.

Buffy shudders, his light touch maddening in its erotic, but chaste way. Spike’s finger dips lower, circling her belly button before turning and sliding all the way back up the strip of bare skin exposed by her open shirt. As his finger continues up her neck, she lifts her chin, reacting to the path and pressure exerted by that one finger. Buffy’s heart is in her throat, her thoughts a jumble. Is this really happening? Has she come to Spike’s bed, such as it is, to make love? Not to fuck or assuage some lasting sorrow, but to love him? To let him love her? Her mind, dizzy with questions, snaps back into place as she feels Spike’s hand cup her cheek.

"Come back to me, luv." His voice is soft, smooth like marble. God, he knows her well. Can see her mind spiral away from the world. From the man in front of her. The eyes. It’s always been his eyes. Even glittering gold, she couldn’t help but stare into them. Windows on the soul, indeed. Even before, there was something to see. Didn’t need a soul. Now, though, the extent to which she can drown in those pools is unnerving. And comforting. The weight of his love there nearly buckles her knees. "Don’t think about anything else, Buffy. Just be here. With me." The last two words are almost a question and Buffy nearly flinches. She is the one that has made him this way. Questioning. Never getting too close. Never letting him...or anyone...all the way in. What a waste.

For the second time, she affirms, "I’m here." Now to prove it. "I am right where I want to be."

To demonstrate, Buffy takes Spike’s left arm and slides it inside her shirt and around her waist. She does the same with his right arm, inhaling at the feel of smooth flesh sliding against her bare back before his hands meet in the small of her back. "Right where I want to be." In his arms. Unspoken, but true. Spike cocks his head. He should be a Champion more often. She moves into him, her body pressing into his, curve against angle, molded and fit. Buffy holds that position for a few seconds, willing into memory the feel of his body matching hers. She has somehow known how this would feel since the first night they fought. Always a perfect fit, perfectly matched. It’s no surprise no one ever won those fights over the years. Not truly, not finally. She holds back the maudlin thoughts that this could be the last time she holds him like this. No evil has been too big or too bad yet, no apocalypse unstoppable. Only, she did die stopping the last one... Buffy mentally slaps away these thoughts and lifts her head from Spike’s black-clad chest. "Right here."



The moonlight catches his blond hair as he dips his head towards hers. Buffy lifts her mouth, letting her eyes slide closed. They are both holding their breath and then...contact. Buffy’s entire body loosens in relief. She has waited too too long for this feeling. She leans into Spike as their mouths taste, re-learning each other. His lips are firm and warmer than she remembered. She opens her mouth a bit wider, touching his bottom lip with her tongue. He welcomes her in and their tongues slide and dance for moments on end, their mouths hungry for this connection. Slick and warm and searching. Finally, Buffy breaks the kiss, gasping. She doesn’t move back, but stays with her mouth an inch from Spike’s. Breathing hard, she lifts her eyes to his as her hands move up his back, untucking his t-shirt so she can reach under and touch his skin. That cool, alabaster skin of temptation.

Spike’s mind races, one thought tumbling after another in rapid succession. Buffy. Her mouth, her lips, her tongue. And now her hands. It is more than he remembered and more than he hoped. She is fervent in her desire, but also patient. This will not be rushed. Grabbing another quick kiss, Spike moves back a few inches so he can better see her. His hands come from behind her to run up from her waist, skimming her breasts under her shirt. Reaching her shoulders, he leans down to press his lips to the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. She likes that spot kissed. This he remembers. By the way she takes in a breath and digs her nails in to his back, this fact has not changed.

His mouth kisses a trail outward along her shoulder, moving her shirt to expose her bronzed skin. His hands push the shirt further open, down her arms to her elbows. Then, missing her mouth already, Spike snatches up her bottom lip again, renewing their kiss. Buffy pulls her hands out of his shirt and lets her own blouse drop to the floor. Scrambling, blind from the ongoing kiss, she pulls his t-shirt up further, revealing his finely sculpted abs. Her hands slide further up under the shirt, pushing, insisting. Releasing her shoulders, Spike lifts his arms, letting her pull his shirt over his head. His hair is mussed in the process and Buffy smiles.

Reaching up with one hand, she runs her fingers into his hair slowly, further scrambling it. Her mouth nearly brushing his, she whispers, "I always liked it this way the best..." He chuckles, but is cut off by another heated kiss and the intense sensation of skin on skin. Naked from the waist up, he feels her breasts crush into him and he wants to pull her closer still. Wants to feel every inch of her against him, blanketing him in her humanity, her heat. The small part of him still doubting the reality of this moment is silenced when he feels her slender fingers tucking into his waistband, working the button loose. He grabs her hands in his own, squeezing. Not trying to stop her, only telling her he feels it, feels her. Welcomes her.

Buffy steps back, keeping one hand on his waist. Spike sees her eyes run over him like a gentle caress. Her voice is thin, trembling slightly. "Is it wrong to call you beautiful? You are." She runs her free hand down his chest. "Here." Her hand lifts and touches the side of his face. "Here." Hesitantly, her touch light and then firmer, she rests her full hand flat over his still heart. And the place she imagines his soul burns. "And here. Most importantly, here." Her smile is shaky, full of an emotion she cannot yet vocalize as she lifts her eyes back to his. Spike will not ask it. He will not ask more than she has given him tonight by simply coming down those stairs. Every second since then has been beyond asking, beyond telling. She has never spoken to him like this before and he only wants to hear it, let it wash over him like a cleansing. A welcome, soothing balm to the soul that is finally feeling like his own.

* * * * * Chapter 3: Together * * * * *

Spike takes her hand from his chest and kisses the palm, the grazing of his lips impossibly light.

“Buffy...” His voice is soft, barely audible.

She takes a small amount of pleasure in realizing that her words have left him dumbstruck. He doesn’t always have to do the talking. His voice is full of questions, of wonder. She aims to eradicate those questions, answer that wonder. Returning to her earlier task, Buffy works the buttons of Spike’s jeans as he simply stares down at her. For the first time in months, there is a weight lifted from his chest. A revelation sweeps through his body. She has forgiven him. He finally believes it to be true. It is written in the soft light of her eyes, in the gentle set of her mouth. Though he knows he doesn’t need to, he finally feels like he can breathe with her. He feels free.

The buttons undone, Spike’s jeans hang low on his hips. Spike wakes from his surprise to take Buffy’s hand. He pulls her toward his bed, narrow and rumpled. Turning her, he gently sits her on the edge of the bed. Kneeling down, Spike reaches up under her flares to grasp the zipper on her tall boot. The rasp of metal is loud against the concrete walls. Pulling the boot free, his hand runs over her warm foot. He leans down, laying a kiss on the top of it. His eyes lift, meeting her gaze above this kiss. The green nearly taken over by the pupil, her eyes are dark, deep. He repeats the action with her other boot before moving up to her waist. Undoing the fastenings, his strong hands press into her taut skin. He remembers how tiny she is, how delicately strong. Soft skin covering muscles of corded iron. Always a woman to him despite it all, skin yielding and warm. But the Slayer too, power tucked into a tiny package. The combination intoxicates Spike. He pulls the pants lower and lower, revealing her soft hips, lean legs, baring her to him.

Biting into his bottom lip, he stands and stares down at her. Seconds tick by as she locks into his gaze. Spike’s eyes sweep down her body and then back to her eyes. In the few seconds he left them, they have changed. He has never seen quite that look in her eyes. Yes, last year, she would look on him with lust blazing and burning in the green depths. And at times this year, she has given him a look that suggested something more...affection, caring, maybe even love. Just minutes ago, her look called out to him, telling him there was love present for him, even if she couldn’t, can’t say it. Buffy’s eyes always speak to him. He has always been able to find the truth in those eyes. The combination of love and lust emanating from her tonight sears him, burns into him with a palpable heat. He fights the urge to cover her body with his immediately, remembering that he wants to savor this moment. His memory of being nervous is completely squelched by the passion building inside him.

Buffy, leaning back on her hands, studies Spike. Standing there, vulnerable and beautiful, she sees him as he truly is. A man in love. And a man she loves. All the baggage of the last five years drops away with a thud. His soul has erased all of the badness and shown her how hard he struggled to be good, even back then. The soul he wears on his face, in his eyes, in the soft words he speaks. He has become the man she believed in. She tries to tell him this with her eyes. She knows her words will come out wrong. Buffy sits up, looking up the ridges and ripples of his chest towards his face. His head slowly tilts to the side, waiting to see if she will take the next step. Both her hands lift up, appearing in front of her face before she even realizes she has started moving. They come to rest on the skin just above his jeans. As her warm hands make contact, Spike inhales. Her hands slide up, skating over his chest lightly, mapping the terrain of his body with her fingertips. When she cannot reach any higher without rising from the bed, she draws her hands back down to his jeans, catching in the fabric and pushing. Pushing gently at first and then harder, more insistent. With a small smile, she yanks the jeans down his body, letting her fingers drag down his legs, loving the reaction she hears from above her. Spike closes his eyes after gasping. He feels her getting the jeans all the way off, lifts his feet to help. Then, that dancing touch skims back up his body before disappearing. Disappointed, Spike opens his eyes. Buffy is partly reclined on the rumpled bed, licking her bottom lip. She smiles, small and intimate. God, she is delicious when she wants to be. When she wants to allow him in. Spike stands there, completely naked and wanting so bad to touch her. Buffy’s right hand comes up and ever so slowly, she extends the index finger then crooks it, calling him to her.

That’s it. Spike needs nothing more than the small gesture of welcome. Quickly, he moves his body over hers, both hands grabbing the sides of her face, finding her mouth with unerring accuracy in the dim light. Their lips fuse, gentle then rough and back again. Mouths tasting, hands roaming, skin sliding on skin. The truth of the coming dawn falls away, the knowledge of the possible apocalypse pushed into the back of their minds. Right now, all that exists is this room, this other person, this night.

The air in the room is heavy. Thick, dragging their movements into slow motion. Their kisses become tender and searching, now that the first need for contact has been quenched. Spike’s hands move up and down Buffy’s torso, remembering the way it feels to have her there under him, to breathe in her scent. He re-learns her body by touch alone, though he has not really forgotten an inch of it in the past year. If anything, it has become more seared into his mind. She makes tiny sighing sounds which pierce him with their sweetness, sounds of contentment in his embrace.

Buffy twists her hands into Spike’s platinum curls, remembering how she has always teased him about this hair, but secretly loves it. Loves the way it blazes there, bold and defiant. Much like him. As Spike’s mouth moves down her neck, she moans, her whole body loosening and further molding into his. He sucks and nips his way down her neck, tasting, testing. She wants to clutch him to her chest and hold him there. The lump she has been able to hold off until now thickens in her throat. Why did she have to give him that amulet? She felt its power in her hand, the dull weight of it ominous. Felt a twist in her gut as she held it out to him. It couldn’t be helped. He is a Champion. It is his destiny to bear it, she is sure. Buffy knows from destiny and can see his scrawled across his sharp features. He will face it tomorrow when she leads them all into the Hellmouth. And while she wants him by her side more than anything, another part of her wants to send him away. To keep him alive…or undead. Or whatever. Just in one piece. Buffy shudders, a sob struggling in her throat to get out.

Spike feels the tension and the shake in her body and stops his movements. Shifting up to look into her eyes, Spike sees faint trails down her face. Tears? “Buffy, what is it?”

Pressing her lips together, Buffy shakes her head, unwilling to put her fears into words. The tears come faster. Spike leans forward, kissing away the moisture, the salt burning his tongue. “Don’t, luv.”

Her grip on his arm is strong. A bit too strong. Spike flinches slightly. She only loses control of her Slayer strength when she feels her emotions slipping. Looking at him furtively, Buffy whispers a few words. Despite his highly sensitive hearing, Spike cannot quite make them out. He leans forward, breaking eye contact to put his ear close to her mouth.

He feels her warm breath first and then, “Don’t leave me, Spike. Don’t.” Startled, Spike turns to face her.

“Buffy. I’m not going anywhere. Right here with you.”

Her eyes stay wide and scared, and he can see other words bouncing around in her, struggling to get out. “But I…I…” He holds very still, waiting. “I…can’t lose you.” Not the exact words, but good ones nonetheless. He is willing to wait for those others.

Without speaking another word, Spike dips his head back to her mouth and takes one sweet, soft kiss from her lips. The warmth of her body under him beckons. “Won’t lose me, Slayer. I love you.” Right as the last word drops from his mouth, Spike covers her mouth with his. No sense in risking the awkward silence. She may not love him, but she needs him, believes in him, wants him, cares for him. All good things. The love can come later. He finally feels that is something that could happen and for tonight, that possibility is enough.

Buffy slides her hand down his body, guiding him to her opening. She needs him inside her. She is wet with the need and he is startled to find her so ready so quickly. As he breaks the kiss, that familiar cocky grin slides into place. “Slayer. Didn’t know you cared.” He winks at her, allowing her to join him in playing, relieving the pain in her chest, her struggle with words she can’t say. Hands planted on either side of her head, Spike shifts his hips, teasing her entrance. She gasps, reaches up to clutch his shoulders.

“But I do. Spike. I do.” And with that, he slides into her, filling her to the limit of pleasure. Buffy inhales sharply, reminded in one brilliant flash of how he feels inside her. How he brings the power of his feelings into this act, enters her with emotion. Spike’s complete abandon is something she has always craved, even envied. The way he can throw his whole self into life, not holding back, not living to regret something he did not do. He tastes life more fully than most humans with beating hearts. She tainted her actions last year by using him for sex and she is determined to reinvest these motions with feeling. To have him feel the way he always makes her feel. Buffy looks at him, finds him watching her face, a look of pure tenderness written there. Never breaking the eye contact, he moves in her, one slow thrust. Buffy fights her tendency to look away and maintains the contact. Her eyes flutter in pleasure as he drives slowly into her again. Her fingers dig deeper into his shoulders and she makes a mental note that she is almost certainly hurting him a little bit. She just can’t release him, though. She just can’t let go.

Thrust after thrust, Spike plants his affection, his love, his tenderness deep. And Buffy rises to meet him, accepting all of it, all of him, her hips rolling to meet his. And through it all, their eyes never leave each other. In the shadow of the basement, she cannot see the color in his eyes, but she knows the blue like she knows her own hazel. She knows those storm cloud eyes are locked onto hers and it is comforting, soothing the ache in her heart.

Spike burns. Her body, her core is blazing hot, but it is even more than that physical heat. His heart seems to burn, maybe his soul? He still doesn’t fully understand his soul, how it works, what it means, but something is certainly filling him with a steady warmth. Buffy’s eyes speak volumes to him, of love and possibility and a future he doesn’t dare contemplate.

Buffy slides her legs up and around his waist, sliding her bare legs against his hips. The muscle in Spike’s jaw clenches as he realizes how close he is to losing control. Being with Buffy after all this time and with all this emotion heavy in the air is making it very hard. Seeing this reaction only emboldens Buffy further. She snakes her hand under his chin, pulling his face down to hers. Breaking eye contact to kiss him, Buffy lets her other hand slide around his back, trailing her nails up the skin there. Spike draws very close to complete sensory overload as he drives into her warmth, feeling her legs wrapped around him, her fingers dancing over his cool skin and her mouth, her soft, insistent mouth on his own. When he sees that his time is drawing near, Spike slips a hand between them. Buffy’s eyes widen as she feels his fingers pressing into her sensitive skin and is amazed at the sensation that comes screaming through her, literally. Wave after wave of tremors as Spike thrusts harder, deeper, faster. Buffy grabs his face, bringing those eyes back to her own. They glint in the moonlight and she feels close to falling into the depths reflected there. Just as Buffy’s body begins to convulse, shuddering and trembling, Spike arrives at the edge and plunges right over. His roar reverberates through the room, mixed with Buffy’s sounds of pleasure. Their bodies continue to move together for moments after, seeking the last fragments of their climax. And still, they match gazes, eyes wet and shining. As they come down, the events and people outside the basement threaten to crash back down on them. Buffy fights it, willing herself to stay right here, in his arms for the night. Not to think of the coming light. She refuses to release his face, her eyes searching his, desperate to memorize everything about this evening and about him. Her Slayer instincts tell her to do it and she is unwilling to examine why.

Spike can feel every inch of his body, can instantly feel every inch of hers in contact. He rolls to the side, pulling her with him. She finally lets go of his face, but will not let go of his baby blues. Spike smiles, just a little, brushes a long strand of hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear. His hand trails down her neck, sending a shiver through Buffy’s body. Out of instinct, his eyes cut briefly to the window, gauging the nearness of dawn.

“No.” Her whisper is faint, but snaps his eyes back on hers instantly. “Don’t look out there. Be in here. Okay?” Spike nods, brushing his lips across hers, pulling her tighter against him. He knows she means much more than him just looking outside. For the next few hours, their world is going to begin and end inside these four walls. Until the sunrise. Then, and only then, will they rejoin the world, face the coming evil.

Together.





~The End~