Spike paced the dressing room, fingers twitching, and almost caved to the yearning for a fag. Buffy hadn't come backstage to greet him with the other Summers women, and he didn't know what it meant. Didn't know if he'd been foolish to believe they were friends, didn't know if he'd been foolish to hope she'd be happy to see him. Her family had confirmed she was in the Bronze, so at least she was here, but… Where did he stand with her? Oz had mentioned earlier that Buffy was pissed with him, but Spike had figured she would forgive him once she realized why he'd arranged the concert without her knowledge. Maybe it wasn't going to be so easy.
Though he'd told himself he wasn't willing to push for more, each conversation with Buffy over the last several weeks had reminded him of how much he loved her. And now, back in the same town as her, back in the same building where they'd fallen in love, Spike had realized how stupid he'd been.
He wanted Buffy back, no matter what it took. No more lying to himself about it.
But did she want him? Did he have even a chance of winning her back?
The Dingoes were halfway through their set now, which meant it would be Insanity's turn to take the stage soon. Spike picked up his guitar, returned it to its stand, then went to the door and listened, fingers drumming on the jamb.
"Bloody hell, Spike, sit the fuck down," Charlie said from where he was sprawled on the sofa. "I'm about ready to knock you out. Or hand you a bottle of whiskey. You're driving me up the wall."
He shot Charlie a two-fingered salute, and softened it with an apologetic half-smile as the guitar player joined him.
"This Buffy chit's really done a number on you hasn't she," Charlie said. "You going to make it through the night?"
Spike leaned against the door and thumped the back of his head against it. "Think I screwed up again. I always seem to manage it when it comes to her."
"You did a good thing, here, mate. Not seeing how you could have pissed the girl off."
"It's…" He shook his head. "Was going to say complicated, but it's really not. She doesn't like secrets. I made sure she didn't find out about tonight until it was too late for her to help. I really should have known better."
"But she's here. She came." Spike nodded, and Charlie slapped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, mate. One glimpse of the way those leather pants frame your junk is all it's going to take for the girl to forgive you and be back in your arms before the end of the night."
Spike leveled a stare at him. "You checking out my junk again? Pouf?"
Charlie's eyelids slid to half-mast and he bit his lower lip, hand beginning a slow caress of Spike's shoulder. "You're just so much man," he said in a bedroom voice. "Gets me hot."
"Sod off."
"I know you feel it too. You want me. Don't deny it."
Charlie laughed when Spike shoved him away. "Arsehole," Spike said, then rolled his eyes at the mock-hurt expression Charlie sported. "This is all for the ladies," he said, grabbing himself. "Not you."
"Cruel. So cruel to me."
Spike clapped his arm around Charlie's shoulder. "Don't worry lad, we can still be friends." He quieted as the sound of Devon's voice echoed down the hallway, made audible by the club's loudspeakers.
"Guess who's here with us tonight?" Devon called out, and in response the crowd shouted, "Buffy!" The single word reverberated in Spike's ears. He stiffened, his nervousness returning and making his stomach turn summersaults.
"Go." Charlie pried Spike's fingers from his arm. "Go see her."
With a grateful look, Spike hurried down the hallway just in time to watch from the wings while Devon pulled Buffy onto the stage and towards the microphone. His jaw dropped as he saw her for the first time that night. Pants now unbearably tight, it took all his willpower not to rush out there, sweep her up into his arms, and spirit her back to his hotel room.
Later. Maybe. If things went the way he hoped.
Oz must have talked Devon into singing with Buffy after all, which was what Spike had hoped for. Not only did it give the fans what they wanted, which was the pair of them singing together again after a several month hiatus, but it put Buffy front and central. He hoped the reminder of why they were there would encourage the crowd to dig a little deeper into their pockets. Another few dollars from each fan added up to a lot more money raised on Joyce's behalf, and that was the whole point of tonight's performance.
Buffy took the microphone from Devon with an anxious smile and turned to the crowd to thank them for coming. Before the applause could die out, the band swung into action, Devon pulling Buffy close as the music began. Spike caught her confused expression and the way her shoulders tensed, but she quickly realized what was expected of her, especially when the roar of the crowd swelled even louder.
By the end of the first song, she was smiling and laughing, and Spike smiled along with her from the shadows. When they began 'Hither' several tunes later, it was as though she'd never stopped performing with the others. Watching Buffy sing the suggestive duet with Devon left Spike readjusting himself repeatedly, trying to ease the constriction of his pants. He wondered if they were going to do 'Yours Alone' next. If they were, he decided he was going to be the one to sing it with her, set list be damned. It was his song anyways, even if he'd given to them the rights to it. He figured he could claim songwriter's privilege. Or something. He didn't really care, so long as it was him sharing the microphone with Buffy. He'd make it up to Devon later, have the man join him during Edge of Insanity's set. Give him the final song of the evening maybe.
Spike swaggered his way into the spotlight as 'Hither' drew to a close, and when the Bronze erupted into cheers and catcalls, Buffy turned to stare at him with wide eyes. Although his palms were sweating and his pulse pounded in his ears, Spike didn't let it show. Instead, he drew Buffy into his arms and brushed his lips across her cheek, showboating for the spectators who whooped and hollered. He breathed in her scent, sweaty and musky from performing under the hot lights, and wrapped his arm around her waist. She trembled like a leaf in his embrace, and he pulled her a little tighter.
Motioning Devon closer, Spike covered the microphone and said, "Give me 'Yours Alone' with Buffy and I'll let you finish out the evening." Devon opened his mouth to argue, then for once in his life seemed to realize something mattered more than his own personal drama. He gave Spike a curt nod and moved to tell the others.
Buffy tried to pull out of his hold. "You want to maybe ask me if I'm okay with it, asshole? First you stage this whole thing without-"
He turned to face her fully, taking both her hands in his. "Please," he said. "I'd be honored if you would sing with me. You don't know how I've missed it."
She began to tremble once more. "I'm still mad at you."
"I know. And I'm sorry." His thumbs traced slow circles against her palms. She shook her head, but smiled, and Spike took the microphone.
"Hello Sunnydale! How are you tonight?" he hollered over the din, which prompted a fresh wave of applause. "Some of you might remember last summer, when I was lucky enough to sing with the Dingoes and this beautiful, talented woman…" Cheers punctuated his statement, compelling him to wait before he could continue. "And Devon has been kind enough to let me sing with Buffy for old times' sake."
As Oz began the opening chords, the sounds from the floor below faded away, leaving only the woman who was gazing up at him with wide, green eyes. Spike pulled her close once more, and forced his hand to settle on her waist rather than roam every inch of exposed flesh the way it wanted to. He used the lyrics of the song he'd written for her to tell her what he'd been too afraid to for months now: how she was still his one, his only, his everything. Buffy melted into him as she twined her voice with his, and her thumb caressed his when their hands met on the microphone. The hurts of the past year seemed to fade away with each verse, Buffy's eyes growing softer, warmer, more tender.
The final notes of the guitar ebbed into silence, the pair of them still too wrapped up in each other to remember the public venue until the deafening roar of applause caught Buffy's attention. She blinked rapidly and turned to face the crowd, acknowledging the fans. Spike kept a firm grip on her waist and whispered, "Come with me, kitten?" when she'd finished tossing kisses to the crowd. She gave him a startled look, cheeks flushing, while her breasts heaved under the see-through top she sported. He didn't give her time to disagree. Spike needed her with him, now. "Thank you. I'll see you lot again after the break," he growled into the microphone, and then tugged her into the wings.
"But what about Devon and the Dingoes and-"
"Don't give a fuck about the rest of them, Buffy." He pressed her against the wall with his body, letting her feel how much he'd missed her. "Only person I care about in this whole damn world right now is you."
"Oh," she said in a tiny voice, lashes fluttering. "Spike, what…?"
He covered her mouth with his, hot and insistent, caution and restraint thrown to the wind. He loved her so damned much. Singing with her had reminded him of how good they were together, how happy they'd been, and any vestiges of resolve to let Buffy be the one to come to him flew right out the window. Spike didn't think he could control himself anymore, not unless she asked him to back down. The way she returned his kiss, fingers digging into his hips and pulling him closer, breathy little moans whispering across his skin, made it seem like a moot point anyhow. As the music swelled onstage, he scooped Buffy into his arms and practically ran down the hallways and into her old office, slamming the door behind him.
Before he could catch his breath, she shoved him against the door, her touch desperate and almost painful. Her nails tore his skin, her teeth caught his lower lip, and the heel of her black leather boot dug into the back of his calf where she'd hooked her leg around his. "Buffy, Buffy, Buffy," he chanted into her neck, overcome by her frantic mewls, lost in her urgency. His hands ferreted their way under her skirt to the smooth, bare skin of her upper thighs. The slide of his zipper was louder than their combined pants and groans, leaving him to wonder for a split second if the moment was spiraling out of control, but then he was caught in her hot grip and forgot everything but her name and the need to bury himself inside of her.
As his pants slipped lower, freeing him more, Spike spun them so Buffy was flush against the door and lifted her higher. The press of his body locked her in place, and her soft scent overwhelmed him when he buried his face between her breasts. With one hand, he drew her panties down until she kicked them away. His fingers teased the slick flesh now bared to him until she was shuddering, and he lined himself up with her slippery entrance. Spike's eyes found hers, asking permission without the words he couldn't find the coherence to form. Buffy wrapped her legs tighter around his waist and gripped his shoulders so hard he knew there would be bruises later. She lowered her lips to his, kissing him breathless while she sank down slowly, inch by agonizing inch.
"Oh Christ, oh fuck, oh Buffy," he said into her mouth when she'd enveloped him in her slick, wet heat. His cock throbbed and pulsed with a life of its own. Throwing his head back, he gripped her by her ass and began a slow, torturous slide that would only last seconds, unless he was able to take control of himself. When Buffy moaned his name and began to shimmy up and down, flexing her thighs and forcing him to increase his pace, Spike knew it was a losing battle. He gladly gave in to her frenetic tempo. "Missed this. Missed this so much." He groaned, and she whimpered, and he only just barely held out until she clenched around him, his own convulsive release almost synchronized with hers.
Spike's knees sagged and he fell into Buffy, only the weight of his body keeping her in place. She threaded her fingers through his hair as he buried his head in juncture of her neck and shoulder, and they both released shuddering breaths. "Missed this," he said again, still unable to form a coherent sentence. He lowered her slowly, his softening cock slipping from her folds with a squelchy sound. Spike raised his head and feathered kisses over her face, one hand cupping her cheek while the other kept her close.
When he finally drew his head back to look into her eyes, Spike was startled to see tears there. "Kitten, what…? What is it?"
She gave her head a tiny shake, lips curving in a tremulous smile. "Just… you know. Intense. Unexpected. My brain's all…"
"Yeah." He rested his forehead against hers. "You're amazing. Always were." Buffy's chest hitched against him. "You still mad at me?"
"Ask me later. When my brain function returns." Buffy squirmed. "Um. I need a tissue or something. And you need to be on stage in a few minutes, don't you?"
Spike staggered over to the desk and sat upon it, pants still wide open. "One of the benefits of being the star. They have to wait for me." Buffy bent to pick up her underwear, and turned her back on him while she pulled them up and tugged her skirt back into place. Facing him once more, she stood in an uncomfortable, wide-legged stance and shifted from foot to foot, eyes darting around the room.
"Since there aren't any tissues in here… I'm just going to go to the restroom," she said. "I'll, um. See you later?"
Spike held a hand out to her, beckoning her closer, but she ignored it. He frowned. "Wish we had the time to just sit and chat. Cuddle for a bit, maybe, you know?"
"Well, star or no, they're going to come looking for you sooner or later." She drew in a breath to say something else, then seemed to reconsider and grasped the door handle instead.
"Wait!" He propelled himself off the desk to pull her to him, so he could capture her lips one more time. "You look incredible, love," he said when the soft kiss ended. "Gorgeous. I'd tell you I want to eat you up, but I think you might've sussed that out already."
She flushed, lashes lowering before she raised her head to smile at him. "You're looking pretty good yourself, Mr. Rock Star. The pants are very… um. I like them."
He released her hand and they stared at each other for several long seconds. Finally, Buffy said. "I'm looking forward to hearing you sing with your band. Which… you should be going to do now?"
"Yeah, I guess so." Spike brushed her hair back from her face and pressed one last kiss to her forehead. "I'll look for you in the crowd. Should be easy to find you. Prettiest girl in the building, yeah?" With a sniff, he slid into his stage persona and leered, "Didn't get to see your delicious titties yet. You think you could flash me while I'm up on stage, make up for it?"
"Ew. My mother is out there, pig. And on that note-"
She left in a rush, and was gone before he could say another word.
Missed this.
Spike's words ran through Buffy's head, over and over, as she cleaned up in the bathroom, a refrain echoing in time to the pounding in her temples.
Not you, but this. This. He had missed sex with her, but not her.
She'd thought, while singing with him, that there'd been more behind the looks and touches, and when he'd kissed her in the wings, she'd been sure his passion had been fueled by more than simple lust.
But after… He'd only had words of praise for her, for her body. No words of love.
You're amazing, always were. You look incredible. Prettiest girl in the building.
Missed this.
Sex had always been electrifying between them. Something to miss, no doubts there. Was that all it had been for Spike? There'd been no declarations of love to make her think otherwise, and Spike had never before held back the words during lovemaking.
Ensconced in the bathroom stall, safe from prying eyes, Buffy closed her eyes and shuddered. She'd dressed to make him want her, leave him overcome with desire, and it had worked. He'd desired her, all right.
So yay me, she thought morosely. Guess I got what I wanted, what do I have to complain about?
Buffy threw the damp paper towel into the toilet and flushed, resolutely ignoring the other worry trying to force its way into her consciousness. The one that had to do with having been so desperate to be close to the man she loved, she had ignored their lack of protection. That would have to be a worry for another day.
Right now, she had to walk out there and join her mother and friends. Watch Spike preen under the adulation of his fans, and try not to wonder what had just happened in the back office. She had to somehow make it through the night without forcing him into an awkward conversation she couldn't bear to have.
Smile plastered on, Buffy made her way to the table just in time to see Spike take the stage. Luckily, the cover of the crowd hid her dismay at how unaffected he seemed by their encounter. Here she was, barely able to put one foot in front of the other she was so overcome with emotion, while he bounded about the stage, smiling as gleefully as if – as if he'd just gotten laid. She tried to enjoy his performance, but couldn't, too busy spending each moment analyzing his face and movements. Was he thinking about her when he waggled his eyebrows at the woman in front who flashed him? When he did that rolling thing with his hips, did his thighs tremble and remind him of her? When he scanned the crowd, was he looking for her as promised? Or had it been pretty words that meant nothing to him?
She couldn't take the uncertainty, and so she stayed where she was, hidden in the dark.
Spike began the library song. Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes burned. Buffy had to force herself to breathe when he caressed the microphone, crooning into it. He seemed to focus in her general direction, but… she was so confused, she didn't know if he was looking for her, or if it was just wishful thinking. Part of her wanted to push her way to the front, to see what he would do when he saw her, but the song came to an end before she could decide. Spike frowned briefly, head cocked as if he was disappointed. Buffy's chest tightened. Did that mean…?
A flurry of movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention, and Buffy turned to see Joyce rifling through her purse. "Mom? What is it?"
Her mom gave her a tired smile. "I think this old lady has used up all her party hearty-ing for the year. I'm just going to head to the back and try to lie down."
Buffy shook her head. "No, no. I'll take you home, okay? You'll be more comfortable."
"I don't want you to miss Spike singing, sweetie. It's no big deal."
"Yes it is. You staying healthy is the biggest deal."
"Well… Maybe Dawn could take me…"
"Dawn's off dancing. It's okay, I can Miss Daisy you home and be back before anybody notices. Come on," she said. "Don't argue with me."
Joyce turned to Giles, who had joined their table while Buffy was onstage, and the older man gestured to her, making it obvious that he was offering to play chauffeur in her stead. Buffy leaned in. "You stay. It's your nephew's big night. I'll be right back. Tell the others where I went if they ask, okay?"
He nodded. "Drive safely."
Taking Joyce's arm, Buffy guided her out of the club, her ears ringing at the comparative silence when they reached the pavement. "Wow. Loud in there. Guess I'm getting old," she said with a rueful laugh. "Is your head okay?"
"It was starting to be a bit much. I think you're right, I'm better off heading home, sweetie."
"See? You should always listen to Nurse Buffy."
Buffy drove home carefully and settled her mother into bed, grateful for the distraction from her earlier turbulent emotions. Joyce admonished her to hurry back to the club and Buffy promised she would, but she found herself curling up around the pillows in her own bed, suddenly too exhausted to move. I'll just rest for a few minutes, she thought to herself as she pulled the covers up, eyelids drooping as though weights had been attached to them. She fell asleep before she could even unzip her boots.
Spike forced himself to wait until they'd broken down the equipment with the Dingoes before he pushed his way through the remaining patrons on the club floor, dashing off hurried autographs and dodging groping hands on his way to Buffy's table. She wasn't there, and Spike scanned the area distractedly while thanking those who stopped by to praise his performance. As soon as he could, he drew Dawn to the side. "Where's Buffy?"
"Giles said she took Mom home. She was supposed to come back, but…" She looked around with him. "You know, I don't think she did. I haven't seen her."
He tensed, memories of the last time she'd gone missing running through his head. "You think she's okay?"
"If Mom wasn't feeling well, maybe Buffy decided to stay with her." Dawn turned to speak with the others. Spike listened in while she asked whether they'd seen Buffy. When they replied in the negative, she said, "I'll try calling her." He nodded his understanding and climbed onto a chair so he could search the crowd more easily.
Dawn tapped his elbow. "No answer. Which only means she doesn't have her phone with her." Frowning, she added, "If Buffy didn't come back, I need a ride."
"On it. Let me just finish up here and let my mates know."
At the house, Spike followed Dawn inside, and breathed a sigh of relief when they peeked into Buffy's bedroom and saw her sleeping. "Mystery solved," the younger sister said when they were back downstairs. "I can't say I'm surprised. She's been running herself ragged making sure the gallery doesn't suffer, raising the money we need so I don't have to quit school, and taking care of Mom. We try to lighten her load, but Buffy… she thinks she needs to do it all, you know?"
"I know." He rubbed his jaw, not sure what to do. Spike didn't want to wake the girl, not when she so clearly needed her rest, but he couldn't bear to leave, either. He'd had so much he intended to say to her after the show tonight, even more so since their interlude in the back room. Dawn watched him with curious eyes as he stood in the center of the living room, deliberating. His earlier urge to cuddle up with the woman he loved had been nixed due to time constraints, and now it was all he could think about. Spike ached to curl up next to Buffy and hold her in his arms, breathe in her scent and feel her hair tickle his nose as he drifted into slumber. He'd learned to sleep without her in the intervening year, but never easily, not with his arms empty and his side cold.
"We're supposed to fly back tomorrow morning..." Dawn waited silently for him to continue. "I need to… I have to make sure Buffy and I talk before then. Really talk. I can't let her slip away again."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
His gaze strayed to the ceiling. "Be here when she wakes up?"
"I'll get you some blankets and you can make up the couch-"
He cleared his throat. "I was, uh… I think I need to be closer. Make sure she knows I'm here, with her, when she wakes."
Dawn searched his face. "If she beats the piss out of you when she finds a strange man in her bedroom, don't blame me."
"Not strange…"
"Not who she's used to either."
Spike started. "Who? There… somebody else she's sleeping with?"
"What if there was?"
"Dawn…" he begged, hands clenched.
She shook her head, eyes rolling skyward. "The only reason I'm going to answer that is because you two really do need to talk, and it's not going to happen if you get cold feet and run off. So, no, there's no one else. Buffy's been a solo sleeper for the last year." She turned her inquisitive gaze on him. "How about you?"
Rather than answer, he shot back up the stairs. Spike kicked off his boots, then gently unzipped Buffy's and tugged them off as well, frowning with concern when realized she must have simply collapsed onto her bed and fallen asleep. He thought about removing his tee, but didn't want to push his luck. After considering the hard floor and the lack of anywhere else to sleep, he slid fully clothed into bed next to her, almost purring with satisfaction when she automatically turned into him in her sleep. Buffy nestled against his body until they fit just so, hips and limbs curving into each other with practiced ease. Spike tugged her closer and, at peace for the first time in over a year, fell asleep within seconds.