Title: Gentle
Author: OneTwoMany
Email: onetwomany@bigpond.com
Summary: Let's fill in some of those blanks in Chosen. B/S all the way, baby!
Spoilers: Everything that ever happened on BtVS
Rating: NC-17 (this part R for language)
Disclaimers: I own nothing. Trust me when I say I'm not worth suing.
Feedback: Love it! Onetwomany@bigpond.com
Thanks: Much thanks to Juliaabra, for the wonderful assistance and for the title.

She wiggles against him, firm little body trying to find rest. It's distracting, but in a good way.

"You're wiggling worse than a stoned leprechaun."

"Just trying to get comfortable. 'Sides, Giles' told me there's no such thing."

He laughs. "What, no such thing as leprechauns? Or no such thing as druggo lep..."

His voice is cut off with what he can't deny is a highly unmanly squeak as she glides her leg between his in a manner that just had to be aimed at shutting him up. Works a charm.

Minx.

"You know, I think I'm getting there..." Her voice is nearly a purr. "Comfortable, that is. Just takes some work. Experimentation even."

Instantly, there's a dozen snappy comebacks on his lips. He knows he should probably ignore them, lie back, relax, enjoy the decadently indulgent feel on her hot, lively body pressed against his. But there's a part of Spike that just doesn't take well to peace and before he realises it, his traitorous mouth is spilling out what's left in his brain.

"Nah, you're not experimenting, Slayer, just never satisfied. Too much of a perfectionist for that."

The look she shoots him is pure incredulity, green eyes flashing beneath knitted brows. But he's not rightly sure whether she's angry or amused. So unreadable sometimes, his girl. It's part of what fascinated him, draws him to her. The others, he can read like an open book, but when it comes to the Slayer he's often damnably wrong. Can't help but wonder whether he's offended her. Hopes he hasn't, even as he wonders when he started getting so antsy over a little bit of teasing.

Then, "really?" She asks. "You think that? That I'm too much of a perfectionist?"

He's hurt her. Or ticked her off at least. But he's not gonna run away now. Always been a truth teller and damn proud of that, too.

"Yeah, I do. Don't mean that as an insult." He explains gently, his hand rhythmically, unceasingly caressing her shoulder. "Just a fact. You're obsessed within makin' everything perfect. But sometimes it can't be. Sometimes you gotta make do."

It's not something she can easily accept, no matter whether she wants to. She closes herself off to his words, screws her eyes shut and turns so that her hair veils her face. When she finally answers, her voice is so soft he can hardly hear her.

"Even when everyone is depending on me?"

"Even then. Mostly then."

When she doesn't answer, Spike sits up slightly, gets a better look at her hair-veiled face. Always a mystery, she is, and he respects that she doesn't share easily. But he still hates it when she hides.

A moment's hesitation, fingers hovering slightly above her face, and then he pushes a strand of gold back behind her ear, allows his touch to linger on her flushed skin. Her profile is solemn, jaw clenched, but there's a glint of water in the corner of one closed eye.

"Just do your best, Buffy." He says gently. "It's all we can expect. And knowing you, it'll be more than enough."

Buffy. Her name still tastes strange on his lips - sweet and potent; forbidden and sinful, intoxicating as fine liquor. He knows he has the right to use it now. And he does, oftentimes, let it let it slip out more and more. But mostly, he still prefers to savour the privilege. Keep it for private moments, like this.

And so in public, around the Scoobs, she's pet, luv, slayer, love. Neutral, familiar terms, at least coming from him. Surprises him, that he'll now so willingly divide their lives, willingly hide their growing intimacy for the sake of appearances and efficiency. Yet another encroachment of that knightly chivalry on his tattered sense of self-interest.

But his self-pity vanishes when she finally turns slightly to shoot him a watery smile. "You always do know just what to say." She whispers, voice smooth as silk as it softly glides soothingly across his raw nerves. So strange, this relationship, which enflames and cools in turn.

And then it hits him. Fuck, if she isn't complimenting him. Genuinely, truthfully, without prompting and for something other than sex! He feels a rush of manly pride, and a rush of unnatural warmth that almost makes him feel alive. All he wants to do in that moment is kiss her. So he does. Thoroughly.

"Part of my manly charm." He replies, after God knows how long, when he finally has to break the kiss to let her breathe.

He's probably grinning like a maniac, but he couldn't care. Not when her expression is filled with humour and kindness and lovely, genuine kind of tenderness that turns his brain to pudding. Spike hasn't known a lot of kindness in his unlife, and not whole a lot of tenderness either. Ironic that he should receive both now from a slayer, a creature hardened for battle and death. A killer of his kind, whose delightful little body is curled next to his in this brief moment of peace.

She gazes up at him with large, liquid eyes, then reaches up to caress his face. He thinks he can feel every whirl of her fingerprints as her hand runs gently across his cheekbone then through his hair. He simply watches her back, stares into the brown-green depths of her eyes and wills her to look into his soul.

The one he got for her.

He doesn't know how long they stay like that, each lost in the connection. But, finally, she breaks the silence.

"We really did fuck up, didn't we Spike?" She asks with a melancholy smile.

He chuckles a little. "Bolloxed it up right good. Re-wrote the bloody book on dysfunction."

"Yup. Bad as it could be." Her words are serious, but her lips are upturned and her eyes are bright. "Which I guess proves your point that I'm nothing if not a perfectionist."

He can help but laugh. And then she giggles too. Soft, gentle sound. Makes him happier than anything to hear it, to see and hear her happy. Even if it's only for a moment. He thinks, also, that it's probably good that they can laugh again at something that was so painful. Makes him think that maybe - just maybe - there's hope.

"I just wish..." She begins to speak, but her voice drops off. He can feel her body tense a little, muscles preparing for flight. He's certain that she's gonna withdraw back into herself, that this moment he wishes could go on forever is about to draw to a sudden halt. But then she seems to draw strength from somewhere, and speaks again.

"I just wish that we had more time."

But at least the clock's still ticking. He forces a smile, although he imagines it's a little sad.

"Got all the time in the World, pet. Even if the World does end tomorrow."

She grimaces. "That sounds a little too familiar."

That it does.

"Let's just hope this time there's a happier ending, yeah?"

She nods. "Well, we're already off to a better start."

"Yeah. Much, much better."

Then she kisses him like she means it, and he pulls her closer again. Her arms and legs glide around him, and let him in again. It's slower this time, gentler, as if they want to fill every last moment with pleasure and passion and connection. And as he moves inside her, her warmth and strength leaking into him, Spike buries his face in her neck and whispers into her ear.

"Best night of my life, Buffy. And already my best start to a day."

They're still making love as the sun begins its final climb into above the abandoned town of Sunnydale. Time is running out, but for this moment, at least, they've found a way to stand outside it.

End.

Thanks to scarlettfish, Zoriah and Juliaabra for the much-appreciated beta-ing.