And Later That Evening.......
Buffy rolled to her side again, tugging irritably at the blanket, which had twisted around her. She stared out the window, wide-eyed and sleepless. Looking at the glowing red numbers of her bedside clock, she watched 3:35 change to 36....37.... Finally, with an impatient growl, she sat up and tossed the covers off. She stepped out of bed, careful to avoid the sleeping bundles of shadow on the floor, and crept out of her room.
Down in the kitchen, she stared listlessly at the contents of the fridge. Not hungry. Not remotely hungry. She had had a second dinner when she and Spike came home from their very successful evening. A group of six vamps and a very large, spiny demon that even Spike didn't recognize had met their demise at the hands of the Slayer and her....whatever he was to her. The fighting had left them both pumped up and ravenous. Back home in the Summers' kitchen, Buffy had finished off the rest of a pan of lasagna, and Spike had gulped down two bags of blood, then they had said goodnight and parted to clean up and go to bed.
That was almost two hours ago. Now Buffy found herself pacing the silent kitchen and fighting urges more powerful than the hunger for food. She found her feet carrying her to the door that led to the basement, and stood there with her hand on the knob for a full five minutes. She wondered if it was just her or if Spike were having trouble sleeping, too.
*******
Laying on the thin mattress, which was little better than sleeping on the sarcophagus in his old crypt, Spike listened to the Slayer's footsteps as she walked around the kitchen above him. He would recognize her light tread anywhere. Seemed she was as restless as he was tonight. Although he had tried to adjust to human hours of wake and sleep, it wasn't natural for him to be laying down this time of night.
Usually he would've prowled around outside the house or sat motionless on the front porch, watching for predators, but tonight he had gone to his pallet. He lay there reviewing every word and gesture Buffy had shared with him that evening, absently stroking himself, while watching the sliver of moonlight move slowly across the floor. True memories had evolved into elaborate fantasies and an increased pace with his hand by the time he heard her enter the kitchen. He froze and let go of himself as if caught in the act, then tuned his senses into Buffy until he could almost hear the faint echo of her heartbeat right through the floor.
Now she had paused at the door leading down to the basement. There was silence for a full five minutes as she hesitated, and Spike's breath caught. He knew his heart would be thudding right out of his chest if it could. He waited....and hoped.
********** Desire and reason battled back and forth in the Slayer's mind. Her thoughts battled through already well-covered territory. All the reasons she shouldn't, couldn't, mustn't, both for his sake and hers, were resurrected and recounted and reconsidered.....then rejected. "I'm just going to see if he needs anything," she lamely explained to her rational mind as she allowed her hand to turn the knob.
*********
Spike was almost in a panic when he heard the door creak open and Buffy's barefoot tread on the stairs. Should he pretend to be asleep or acknowledge her presence? What did she expect? What did she want him to do?
He closed his eyes, listened to her coming closer, changed his mind, and let them flutter open. He caught a glimpse of her, clad in flannel pajama bottoms and a cunning little tank top, then decided to play possum after all and shut his eyes tight again.
"Spike?" she whispered. He remained silent. She shifted her weight back and forth from foot to foot and shivered slightly, then coughed discreetly. He waited.
"Spike, I know you're awake," she barely breathed the words.
He gave up the pretense and propped himself on one arm, regarding her quizzically.
"You need something?" he asked, softly.
She shrugged and didn't reply, but he could hear her pulse pounding as clearly as if it were his own, and could imagine the furious blush that was spreading across her face and neck. He decided to make it easy for her, even if he might be opening the door to another big, bad case of heartache.
"Wanna talk?" He pulled the blanket and the Hollie Hobbie comforter, which Dawn had generously added to his nest, open for Buffy to lay next to him. Without a word she dropped down and allowed him to pull the covers around her. His arm casually stayed there after tucking them in, and he remained leaning on an elbow looking down into her face. She was embarrassed by his gaze but appreciated the weight of his arm resting across her.
"Couldn't sleep," she finally mumbled. " I know I should be exhausted. It was a big evening and I have an even bigger day of work tomorrow at my other job, but......"
He nodded. "I'm not tired either." They listened to a cricket chirping madly away in a dusty corner of the basement.
He lay back down, wedging his other arm awkwardly between them and resting his head on the pillow beside hers. It was close enough that if he'd been breathing, it would've tickled her ear.
After a minute he spoke. "I've been thinking about that."
"Huh?"
"Working," he explained. "You, working at the school and the Doublemeat. It's too much."
"No kidding." The idea of another long Saturday drenched in grease made her feel physically weak with dread.
"I can help. I already asked around." The vibrating murmur of his voice was distracting her from the sense of his words. "Bartending."
"You?" she asked, dazedly, still concentrating on the little puffs of air blowing against the side of her neck.
"A little dive on the edge of town. Human bar. Cash only." He nestled a little closer until his lips practically touched her ear. "I won't make much, but..."
"Spike that's...." What was she trying to say? Generous? Helpful? Crazy? Didn't matter. All she was thinking was 'hot'! Hungry! Sexy! Touch me!!!
"Um....that's g-great," she stuttered.
"You should get that little wanker, Andrew, to get a job, too." He pulled back and his voice lost its seductive tone and took on an edge of annoyance. "What the hell is he still doing, lurking about here?"
"I'd rather have him underfoot than running amok all over Sunnydale getting into God knows what sort of trouble."
Spike couldn't help but note the obvious parallel to his own case, and he shut right up and nuzzled back into the side of Buffy's neck.
"Um, luv? Could I....move my arm a bit? It's sort of uncomfortable."
They each shifted, and suddenly both his arms were around her, pulling her in tight against his body.
"This is wrong....so wrong," she idly thought, as she pressed into him like a bird seeking shelter.
"That's better," he murmured against the top of her head and pressed his lips against her hair. "Comfortable?"
"Mm-hm." She sighed, contentedly. "'s nice."
'It's all I ever wanted,' Spike thought, remembering all the nights of shag him and leave him.
"Just rest, pet," is what he said. He kissed her head again, then began gently stroking up and down her arm with one hand. Of course, the scent and feel of her body had given him an instant raging hard on, which he tried to ignore and hoped she would, too. There was no doubt she could feel it pressed against her hip, but he'd be damned if he'd let his hormones ruin this perfect moment. He didn't know how she could stand to let him touch her after what he'd done before he left, but he certainly wasn't going to question it.
The whole essence of existence distilled down to this simple act: man- woman, touch-comfort. It was absofuckinglutely perfect. Spike closed his eyes and just breathed in Buffysmell.
******** She was all too aware of Spike's desire for her and the fact that he was nuzzling the top of her head and that it was wrong, wrong, wrong for her to be here, but Buffy was beyond caring what was right. And even though she might hurt him or herself in the long run, right now this was so what she needed.
Tired of examining feelings and motives and consequences, she just wanted to be held like a little girlie-Slayer, and Spike was a master of cuddling. The sexual tension was banked down for the night, though both were well aware of its presence, and they relaxed in a shared embrace, as the moon continued its path across the floor of the basement.
End
Buffy rolled to her side again, tugging irritably at the blanket, which had twisted around her. She stared out the window, wide-eyed and sleepless. Looking at the glowing red numbers of her bedside clock, she watched 3:35 change to 36....37.... Finally, with an impatient growl, she sat up and tossed the covers off. She stepped out of bed, careful to avoid the sleeping bundles of shadow on the floor, and crept out of her room.
Down in the kitchen, she stared listlessly at the contents of the fridge. Not hungry. Not remotely hungry. She had had a second dinner when she and Spike came home from their very successful evening. A group of six vamps and a very large, spiny demon that even Spike didn't recognize had met their demise at the hands of the Slayer and her....whatever he was to her. The fighting had left them both pumped up and ravenous. Back home in the Summers' kitchen, Buffy had finished off the rest of a pan of lasagna, and Spike had gulped down two bags of blood, then they had said goodnight and parted to clean up and go to bed.
That was almost two hours ago. Now Buffy found herself pacing the silent kitchen and fighting urges more powerful than the hunger for food. She found her feet carrying her to the door that led to the basement, and stood there with her hand on the knob for a full five minutes. She wondered if it was just her or if Spike were having trouble sleeping, too.
*******
Laying on the thin mattress, which was little better than sleeping on the sarcophagus in his old crypt, Spike listened to the Slayer's footsteps as she walked around the kitchen above him. He would recognize her light tread anywhere. Seemed she was as restless as he was tonight. Although he had tried to adjust to human hours of wake and sleep, it wasn't natural for him to be laying down this time of night.
Usually he would've prowled around outside the house or sat motionless on the front porch, watching for predators, but tonight he had gone to his pallet. He lay there reviewing every word and gesture Buffy had shared with him that evening, absently stroking himself, while watching the sliver of moonlight move slowly across the floor. True memories had evolved into elaborate fantasies and an increased pace with his hand by the time he heard her enter the kitchen. He froze and let go of himself as if caught in the act, then tuned his senses into Buffy until he could almost hear the faint echo of her heartbeat right through the floor.
Now she had paused at the door leading down to the basement. There was silence for a full five minutes as she hesitated, and Spike's breath caught. He knew his heart would be thudding right out of his chest if it could. He waited....and hoped.
********** Desire and reason battled back and forth in the Slayer's mind. Her thoughts battled through already well-covered territory. All the reasons she shouldn't, couldn't, mustn't, both for his sake and hers, were resurrected and recounted and reconsidered.....then rejected. "I'm just going to see if he needs anything," she lamely explained to her rational mind as she allowed her hand to turn the knob.
*********
Spike was almost in a panic when he heard the door creak open and Buffy's barefoot tread on the stairs. Should he pretend to be asleep or acknowledge her presence? What did she expect? What did she want him to do?
He closed his eyes, listened to her coming closer, changed his mind, and let them flutter open. He caught a glimpse of her, clad in flannel pajama bottoms and a cunning little tank top, then decided to play possum after all and shut his eyes tight again.
"Spike?" she whispered. He remained silent. She shifted her weight back and forth from foot to foot and shivered slightly, then coughed discreetly. He waited.
"Spike, I know you're awake," she barely breathed the words.
He gave up the pretense and propped himself on one arm, regarding her quizzically.
"You need something?" he asked, softly.
She shrugged and didn't reply, but he could hear her pulse pounding as clearly as if it were his own, and could imagine the furious blush that was spreading across her face and neck. He decided to make it easy for her, even if he might be opening the door to another big, bad case of heartache.
"Wanna talk?" He pulled the blanket and the Hollie Hobbie comforter, which Dawn had generously added to his nest, open for Buffy to lay next to him. Without a word she dropped down and allowed him to pull the covers around her. His arm casually stayed there after tucking them in, and he remained leaning on an elbow looking down into her face. She was embarrassed by his gaze but appreciated the weight of his arm resting across her.
"Couldn't sleep," she finally mumbled. " I know I should be exhausted. It was a big evening and I have an even bigger day of work tomorrow at my other job, but......"
He nodded. "I'm not tired either." They listened to a cricket chirping madly away in a dusty corner of the basement.
He lay back down, wedging his other arm awkwardly between them and resting his head on the pillow beside hers. It was close enough that if he'd been breathing, it would've tickled her ear.
After a minute he spoke. "I've been thinking about that."
"Huh?"
"Working," he explained. "You, working at the school and the Doublemeat. It's too much."
"No kidding." The idea of another long Saturday drenched in grease made her feel physically weak with dread.
"I can help. I already asked around." The vibrating murmur of his voice was distracting her from the sense of his words. "Bartending."
"You?" she asked, dazedly, still concentrating on the little puffs of air blowing against the side of her neck.
"A little dive on the edge of town. Human bar. Cash only." He nestled a little closer until his lips practically touched her ear. "I won't make much, but..."
"Spike that's...." What was she trying to say? Generous? Helpful? Crazy? Didn't matter. All she was thinking was 'hot'! Hungry! Sexy! Touch me!!!
"Um....that's g-great," she stuttered.
"You should get that little wanker, Andrew, to get a job, too." He pulled back and his voice lost its seductive tone and took on an edge of annoyance. "What the hell is he still doing, lurking about here?"
"I'd rather have him underfoot than running amok all over Sunnydale getting into God knows what sort of trouble."
Spike couldn't help but note the obvious parallel to his own case, and he shut right up and nuzzled back into the side of Buffy's neck.
"Um, luv? Could I....move my arm a bit? It's sort of uncomfortable."
They each shifted, and suddenly both his arms were around her, pulling her in tight against his body.
"This is wrong....so wrong," she idly thought, as she pressed into him like a bird seeking shelter.
"That's better," he murmured against the top of her head and pressed his lips against her hair. "Comfortable?"
"Mm-hm." She sighed, contentedly. "'s nice."
'It's all I ever wanted,' Spike thought, remembering all the nights of shag him and leave him.
"Just rest, pet," is what he said. He kissed her head again, then began gently stroking up and down her arm with one hand. Of course, the scent and feel of her body had given him an instant raging hard on, which he tried to ignore and hoped she would, too. There was no doubt she could feel it pressed against her hip, but he'd be damned if he'd let his hormones ruin this perfect moment. He didn't know how she could stand to let him touch her after what he'd done before he left, but he certainly wasn't going to question it.
The whole essence of existence distilled down to this simple act: man- woman, touch-comfort. It was absofuckinglutely perfect. Spike closed his eyes and just breathed in Buffysmell.
******** She was all too aware of Spike's desire for her and the fact that he was nuzzling the top of her head and that it was wrong, wrong, wrong for her to be here, but Buffy was beyond caring what was right. And even though she might hurt him or herself in the long run, right now this was so what she needed.
Tired of examining feelings and motives and consequences, she just wanted to be held like a little girlie-Slayer, and Spike was a master of cuddling. The sexual tension was banked down for the night, though both were well aware of its presence, and they relaxed in a shared embrace, as the moon continued its path across the floor of the basement.
End
