Chapter Eight: In the Basement
Spike was lying on the cot in the basement, staring up at the ceiling. He was supposed to be trying to sleep, but he couldn't. And it had nothing to do with being a creature of the night.
Damn that magnificent poof! Damn Buffy too! Who the bloody hell did they think they were anyway? Dwight D. Eisenhower and Douglas McArthur, leading their little troops off to victory? He hated seeing them together. The way they worked, the way they came together like they had never been apart. And that wanker had been staring at him all day. All day and all night, until Spike had just wanted to pop his bleedin' caveman head, right off his bleedin' caveman body. What did she see in him? The big nancy-boy ponce!
Spike didn't want to think about what they were doing right now. He had heard Buffy's little speech about "no regrets," and telling people that you love them. No doubt, she was upstairs in her room right now, showing dear old Peaches just how much she loved him. Spike wanted to throw something. Get up and punch a hole in the wall. Something! But he couldn't. There was going to be a fight tomorrow, a fight to save the world. Whatever was going on upstairs, he still had to save Buffy. He couldn't desert her now, no matter what it was she had chosen to do with her last night on earth.
Spike closed his eyes and listened to the sounds filtering through the basement floor. Most of the ruckus had died down, but he could still make out the distinct sound of small, bare feet pattering across the floor every once in a while. The girls' light murmurings also invaded his ears. They were afraid. He could hear it in the tones of their voices. They were all trying to put up a good front for Buffy, but he could tell they were terrified.
Footsteps.
He heard footsteps, moving across the kitchen and stopping at the basement door. The door opened and someone stepped inside. He didn't even bother to open his eyes. It was probably one of the little bints, coming down for a forgotten piece of laundry or something. Maybe one of them had left a stake on the training room floor.
The door closed, and Spike heard the unmistakable sound of the door being locked. His eyes shot open and he sat up on the cot. "Who's there?"
He saw someone moving down the stairs. A cold shock surged through his body when he realized who it was.
"I thought you'd know my footsteps by now." Buffy descended the last step and came to stand at the bottom of the stairs.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly expecting you." Spike got up and looked around for something to do. He couldn't just stand there and talk to her. He needed to be doing something. Instinctively, he reached for his duster, which was strewn over a box in the corner. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He turned to look at her, resting his hip against the box. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Want to tell me all about Angel and his shiny, new, uncursed soul?" he said, sarcastically.
"You know?"
"'Course I know." He took a drag of the cigarette and threw it to the ground in frustration. "I admit, you guys weren't really up there that long. Is the old sire losing his touch? Well . . . come on . . . really. He never actually was that good to begin with."
"You speaking from personal experience?" She raised a cynical brow in question.
"Bloody hell, no!" Spike nearly popped a blood vessel. "I was talking about Dru! Always did come back to me in the end."
Buffy just stared at him. "Are you finished?"
"You know what?" He moved up closer to her. "No. I'm not. You want to spend the last night of your life shagging that nancy-boy poof? That's fine. But you have an army to run. You're getting too caught up in your own little personal problems, all of a sudden. You won't make an effective leader if you don't stop it right now. Think Buffy! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"
She shook her head at him in obvious frustration. "I have as much right as any of those girls up there, to spend this night however I see fit." She began moving toward him, with determination.
Spike backed away with each step.
"You think that makes me an ineffective leader? Maybe it does. But I've saved the world enough times, to spend this night how I want." She backed him up against the wall. "To seize the moment and do what I have to do."
Buffy stared up at him, her eyes suddenly softening. He felt like he was drowning in the hazy warmth of her eyes. "Buffy . . ."
"Spike." She placed her hand tenderly against his chest.
A pang of jealousy instantly swept through him. He knew she had been with Angel. Hadn't she? What was she doing, coming down here and cozying up to him? What was he getting, the consolation prize? Why had she bothered to come and see him at all?
"What do you want from me, Slayer?" His voice hardened. "What is this? Suddenly you're the bloody USO, come to rally the troops? Well, you shouldn't have bothered." He knocked her hand from his chest and stepped away. "I'm not a soldier in your army. I'm fighting for myself. Not for you." He lied. "So don't bother telling me that you care. Go back to your precious golden boy and leave me alone."
Spike seethed silently, his back turned to her. Why had she come to see him? To make it up to him? To sooth his wounded ego? Well, he didn't need her sympathy. Or her pity. He'd fight beside her when the time came, no matter who she was shagging. It didn't matter to him. He just wished she'd leave him alone and let him grieve in peace, while he still had the luxury.
He felt Buffy move up behind him. He steeled himself as she advanced.
"I kissed Angel," she said, matter-of-factly.
Spike felt like someone had just driven a stake through his unbeating heart. Instinctively, his hand came up to clutch at his chest. Other than that, he couldn't move.
"I kissed him." She took a single step closer.
"I heard you the first time, luv."
"But that's all."
Spike spun around and stared at her, his eyes searching hers feverishly. "But the curse, it's been removed."
"I know."
"Then why . . .? Buffy, why?" He didn't understand. Suddenly his anger melted away, replaced by a heady feeling of confusion.
In an instant, she closed the distance between them and came to stand just a hairsbreadth away from him. "Because, I don't love him."
"But," he tried to find the words, "it's what you wanted. What you've always wanted. The only reason Angel left was because--"
"I know."
"I don't understand."
"Yes, you do." She moved closer so that they were now touching, her body molding intimately to his.
Spike's eyes widened for the briefest second, as he realized just exactly what it was she intended to do. "Wait," he pulled away from her again, needing to escape the confusion that her nearness was causing him. "Buffy, why? Why me? Why not Angel? Cordelia says he's more than willing."
"He was."
"Then why me?"
"Because . . . I love you."
Suddenly Spike felt like the entire Hellmouth had opened up and swallowed him whole. "What did you just say?"
"I said that I love you Spike. You. Spike. I love you." She moved forward and stopped a comfortable distance away from him.
"Do you know what you're saying?"
"Yes. I do. Spike, I had to tell you. If the world does end tomorrow, you had to know. It wasn't fair of me to keep it from you any longer. I'm sorry I waited this long."
Spike could feel the borrowed blood humming through his veins. He felt lightheaded, and slightly disoriented. "You mean this?"
"I do. Spike." She came up to him and placed both of her hands firmly on his chest. "I love you. And if this is our last night on earth together, I want to spend it with you."
Spike looked down at her, searching her eyes for any hint of delusion or deception. He found none. She meant it. She wanted him. Oh God, she loved him!
An involuntary shudder coursed through his chest as he realized just how lucky he was. How happy he was. If he did die tomorrow, he would die the happiest man on earth. It didn't matter what tomorrow would bring. Tonight, they would have each other.
Trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to overtake him, he closed his eyes and leaned closer, kissing her tenderly. Buffy wrapped her arms around Spike's neck and pulled herself closer to him, their bodies molding together.
Oh God it had been so long! Too long.
Without even thinking, Spike picked her up and carried her over to the small cot. It wasn't the exact setting that he had imagined when he had fantasized about making love to her again. But it would have to do. They couldn't go upstairs. That would really traumatize the little girls, not to mention Angel. No, the basement would have to do. After all, it wasn't the worst place they had ever been together. At least the cot was soft, and there was a pillow and a blanket.
Spike lowered Buffy down gently. She opened her eyes and stared up at him, their gazes locked heatedly. He moved to pull away, but she protested.
Spike smiled. "Give us a second, luv." He moved a few inches from the cot, still clearly in her line of view, and began removing his clothes. He could feel Buffy's eyes wandering over his body. He grew hard at the sensation.
When he was finished, he turned and moved toward Buffy. She was laid out on the cot, staring up at him. He knelt down beside her on the floor, and she pushed herself up to a sitting position to look at him.
Slowly, he ran his hands along the hem of her tank top and gently pulled it over her head, revealing the creamy expanse of her breasts. Their eyes never breaking contact, she laid back on the bed and Spike moved his hands to the waistband of her pajama bottoms. It didn't take him long to remove the offending garment, and the little lace panties beneath. Soon Buffy was lying before him naked, her magnificence exposed for his eyes alone.
Spike drew in a sharp, shuddering breath as his eyes scanned her body. It had been so long since he had seen her like this. He wanted her so desperately. And thankfully, she wanted him.
Raising his eyes to hers, once again, he slowly raised himself from the floor and slid onto the cot beside her. The little bed was too small by half, but it was all they had.
He rested his hand on her knee, and gently slid it upward to rest on her thigh. "Buffy," he whispered, unable to help himself.
"Spike, I want you." She reached up, cupping her hand around the back of his head. She pulled him closer, their lips barely touching.
He could feel her warm breath flickering across his lips. It sent shivers down his spine.
"Make love to me. Please."
That simple word, "Please." It was his undoing.
Spike closed the distance between them, capturing her mouth with his own, claiming her as his own. Buffy moaned and wriggled up against him, wrapping her leg about his waist and drawing him closer. Spike ran his hand up her side and lovingly caressed her breast.
He wanted this to last forever. But he knew it couldn't. This might be their last night together, and he wanted it to be perfect. He wanted to savor every, single moment, as if it were his last.
He concentrated on her mouth, for what seemed like hours, their hands roaming each other's bodies. Exploring. Trying to recapture long-ago memories.
Finally, he broke away, and began exploring with his mouth. He trailed sweet kisses down her neck, then across her collarbone. He stopped at each of her breasts - teasing her nipples, suckling, doing whatever he could to bring her pleasure. His mouth roamed lower, covering nearly every inch of her flesh, until she was trembling beneath him.
"Spike please," she whimpered.
Reluctantly, he tore himself away from the tantalizing taste of her flesh, and laid himself flush against her. He looked down into her cloudy, hazel eyes, and caught his breath. "You know I love you, don't you?" he asked, his voice breaking with emotion. "I love you Buffy. Oh God, how I love you."
She smiled at him, a small tremulous smile, and then pulled him closer. "I know. Please, Spike, now." Her mewling cry was pleading and desperate.
Spike parted her thighs and positioned himself between them. Buffy leaned her head back, closing her eyes, and exposing a sinful view of her throat. The pulse there called to the monster inside of him, but he could never ask her for a taste. He was beyond that. He was a man now. Not a monster. Buffy wouldn't be with him if he was. He had to resist the temptation.
Spike entered her slowly, savoring every second of the sweet friction between them. He heard Buffy moan as he slid deep inside of her, filling her as completely as he could. She began to move against him, urging him to thrust into her.
He couldn't tear his eyes from her face. He watched in awe as she gasped with each thrust, her body moving in perfect cadence with his own.
This wasn't like the other times; that first time in the abandoned building, that time in the alley behind the Double Meat Palace. This was so different.
Of course they couldn't make a lot of noise because of all the unwanted company upstairs, but it was more than that. For once, they weren't trying to hurt each other, weren't trying to prove who was stronger or who was in control. They were together because they wanted each other, simply because they wanted and loved each other. For the first time, their lovemaking actually was lovemaking. It was sweet and pure, and real. Driven by genuine affection. And acceptance.
Spike wanted to cry from the joy of it all, damn ponce that he was. Always was a sissy, nancy-boy. He didn't care though. He was with Buffy. She knew what he was. Had always known. And she didn't care. Man or demon, poet or monster, she loved him. And he liked to think she always had.
Spike could feel her tensing around him. She was close. He tried to prolong the moment for as long as he could, giving just enough to keep her from going over the edge. She was panting now, writhing beneath him, begging him with her body for release.
"Spike." She opened her eyes and stared up at him, her eyes two dark, endless pools of unfulfilled desire. "Spike," she put her hands on either side of his face and pulled him down to her. She held him there, their mouths just inches apart, for what seemed like an eternity, staring into his eyes. She inched herself forward to kiss him gently on the lips, then she pulled his head farther down her body, resting his face against the side of her neck.
Spike could have sworn he felt his heart flutter. What the bleedin' hell did she think she was doing? "Buffy." He tried to pull away from her, but she wouldn't let him.
"Please, Spike. It's all right. Just now. Do it now. Oh God, please!"
That was all the coaxing he needed. He was already on the brink himself. He was too far gone to resist the temptation any longer.
He kissed her neck once, sweetly. And then, without another thought, Spike shifted into gameface. He tried to catch his breath. Why did he even need to breath? God, the things Buffy did to him.
He pulled back a few precious inches, and got ready to strike. He didn't even need to be biting her. He could already feel his body getting ready to spasm. Just the promise of penetrating her tender flesh was driving him over the edge.
Before it was too late, he let out a small, animal roar, and sunk his fangs deep into Buffy's neck. She screamed out, as he tore her flesh, and Spike was afraid that he had really hurt her. He tried to pull back, but she wouldn't let him.
She was moving against him again, and he could feel her inner walls pulsating against his hard shaft. She was climaxing around him, and it was too much for him to bear.
His mouth filled with the warm rush of Buffy's blood, Spike thrust inside her one last time. Instantly he crashed over the edge, spilling himself inside her. Oh God, there was nothing like it! The warm taste of Buffy's blood in his mouth, the feel of her hot flesh trembling around him, the scent of her body sweet and aroused. He loved all of it. Every last inch of her. And everything she had done for him.
Slowly, trying not to hurt her, Spike withdrew his fangs from her neck and his face shifted effortlessly to its human form. He kissed her wounds tenderly, licking the stray drops of blood away with his tongue. Buffy cooed unconsciously, as his mouth cooled her warm flesh.
Finally, Spike turned his head and rested it against her neck. For a long moment they just lay there, perfectly still. Buffy was still breathing heavy, but other than that, she didn't try to move. Spike could have stayed with her like that for the rest of eternity, however long that was.
Finally, he knew he had to pull away.
Relinquishing the warmth of her cradling limbs, he lay down beside her, and pulled her close, spooning her against him. He looked down at the unmarked side of her neck and placed a small kiss there. "Why did you do it?" he asked, his voice heavy with emotion. "Why did you do it luv?"
"Because," Buffy said, "it's what you deserve." She ran her hand along the arm that was holding her, and covered his hand with her own. "I love you Spike. And I trust you. I know what you are. And no matter what happens, I had to show you that I love all of you. The man and the demon. You had to know. I didn't want you to deny who you are. It wouldn't have been fair."
"Who cares about fair, pet? I could have hurt you."
She turned her head to look over her shoulder at him. "No you couldn't have. You could never hurt me. I know that now. I love you Spike. I'm just sorry that I didn't tell you sooner."
"Water under the bridge," he scoffed.
"I wish it were just that." She turned back around and settled down into his arms.
"Buffy?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you want me to bite you?"
He heard her laugh to herself and felt, more than saw, her smile. "Yes Spike, I did. I know, I know . . . not really a smart move for a Slayer. But hey? The world could end tomorrow," she said offhandedly.
"That's not funny," he admonished.
"No, it's not. But the point is, I wanted it Spike. I wanted to know what it would feel like. With you."
"And now that you know?" He raked his blunt, human teeth over the flesh of her bare neck.
She shivered against him. "I want to feel it again," she whispered, the surprise in her voice, even apparent to his ears.
"Well, that can be arranged luv. After all, we do have all night." He brought his mouth down against her neck, and kissed her again.
