Chapter Ten: Sex and Cigarettes
Spike stood silently in the cemetery beside his crypt, now Clem's. He was wearing black jeans, a black T-shirt and combat boots. The night before he had bleached his hair - twice - and he was finally feeling more like himself.
He had also spent a lonely hour in front of a mirror, picking at the wound on his eyebrow. He had tried to recreate the old one from memory, which had proved particularly difficult since he had never actually seen it himself. He remembered what it felt like though, that jagged line dissecting his eyebrow, and he thought he had done a fairly decent job re-scarring his flesh.
Spike pushed his back up against a tree and pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. He lit it and brought it to his lips, inhaling deeply. Instantly he began choking.
"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, as he flung the cigarette to the ground and continued to cough. Apparently, his very human lungs were not accustomed to his old chain-smoking ways. He was going to have to do something about that.
Once he had fully recovered, he pulled out another cigarette and tried again.
Inhaling slowly, he took in just enough to tickle the back of his throat. It was going to take some time, but he swore he'd get used to it. Buffy wouldn't like it of course. Now that he was human, the smoking could easily kill him. But what the hell? You only lived once. Twice if you were lucky.
Enjoying the feel of the cool night air against his skin, Spike leaned his head back and let his eyelids drift shut. His mind was surprisingly calm. The previous night, he had lain awake thinking, wondering how it was that he existed. Somewhere there was an answer, and he knew it was going to take Buffy's help to find it.
Spike exhaled a long stream of smoke as he continued to finish his cigarette. As much as he wanted to know how he had gotten there, there was one thing more that bothered him. Just who the hell was he?
Before getting his soul back, Spike had had a definite sense of self. He was a demon, cursed with William the Bloody Awful Poet's personality. Then, when he had gotten his soul back, he was man and demon. But now? He didn't know what he was.
The obvious answer was human, of course. But Spike didn't feel particularly human. He didn't feel like meek, mild-mannered William. The truth was, he didn't feel any different than he had his last night on earth, the night before the battle. Reason told him that the demon was gone, that he was a human man with a human soul. But his heart told him something different.
He still had all his memories. All the memories William had made, and all the memories Spike had made. It was just that now, there seemed to be no difference between the two. But then again, he had felt that way even before he had been resurrected. Somehow, he was an amalgamation of the two, man and demon coexisting, not just in the same body, but in the same entity. That demon was a part of his soul now. Just like William's personality had always been present in the demon. Actually, it was kind of a relief. Spike didn't want to lose his edge. Human or not, he was still a warrior. He still had to be able to protect the ones he loved.
Suddenly, Spike heard an unexpected noise off in the distance. Clem had gone out for the night. He wasn't due back for hours. Spike snuffed out his cigarette and hid behind a nearby mausoleum.
The noise drew closer. As it did, the sound became distinct.
Footsteps. Footsteps padding across the thick, well-manicured grass.
Spike inched closer to the edge of the monument, and looked around the corner, waiting for the being to come into view. It didn't take long for his curiosity to be appeased and for his heart to, once again, stop beating.
It was Buffy.
She was walking past his old crypt, staring blankly at it, as she past by. She was dressed in a long black skirt and a tight, plain black T-shirt, a stake held limply in her right hand. She was beautiful. Spike's first instinct was to step out from the shadows and reveal himself. But he knew better. He had to choose his moment wisely.
Shuffling her feet through the grass, she continued absently on her patrol. She made a sorry excuse for a Slayer. Spike was afraid she was going to get herself killed.
Taking the initiative, he lit another cigarette, took a quick puff, and then flung it to the ground, landing it right in front of her feet.
Startled, Buffy stopped and looked around. "Who's there?" she asked warily.
Quickly, Spike lit another cigarette and did the same thing. He was afraid his voice would scare her. He wanted to prepare her before she actually set eyes on him.
"Okay, so you think this is funny?" she asked, tightening her grip on the stake. "There is absolutely nothing humorous about litter. Didn't your mother raise you better than that?"
"Actually, she did," he said, his face still hidden.
"Spike?" Buffy's voice shook. Even from a distance, Spike could tell that she was trembling. "Who's there?"
"I didn't mean to scare you pet," he said, as he finally stepped out of the shadows.
Buffy's eyes widened as he took a single step closer to her. Her mouth moved impotently, trying to form words that just wouldn't come. She couldn't speak. She just stood there, staring at him.
"Are you all right, luv? I didn't mean to frighten you. Actually, I've spent the past two days trying to think of ways to break the news without scaring you to death. Or getting a stake through my heart."
Buffy's eyes narrowed on him and she seemed to regain some of her instinct. "I don't know who you are," she said, as she moved steadily toward him, "but you're not Spike. Spike's dead."
Spike nodded reassuringly, compassion in his eyes. "I know. And I was. But now I'm back."
"No," she said coldly. "No!" Buffy raised her stake and lunged at him.
Quickly, displaying more agility than he might have expected of his human form, he grabbed her wrist and held her off. "Buffy, listen to me."
"No." She easily pulled herself out of his grip. "What are you? The First?"
"Not quite luv. Couldn't have touched you if I was."
Buffy stared down at her freed wrist. She could still feel the warmth of his touch burning her flesh. She looked back at him. "You're not Spike. Spike is dead. I saw him die with my own eyes."
"I remember," he said softly.
"No you don't. I don't know who you are. Or what you are. But this game? It isn't funny." She raised the stake again, tears glistening in her hazel eyes. "And now? I'm going to have to kill you."
She moved to drive the stake through his chest, but Spike grabbed her again, wresting it from her grasp and pulling her solid against his chest. He stared down at her for a split second, and then brought his mouth down to capture hers.
The sensation was mind-blowing. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Kissing as a vampire was one thing, kissing as a flesh and blood human was something else entirely. Suddenly, everything was more real to him. The feel of her body against his, the taste of her mouth, warm and sweet. Spike thought he could die right there in her arms.
At first, she didn't react at all. And then, slowly, she succumbed to the kiss, her hands clutching at his chest, her lips moving desperately across his. Spike slid his hands down around her waist and drew her closer. He wanted this to last forever. But it didn't.
Before they had even begun, it seemed, Buffy pulled away and slapped him solidly across the face. "I don't know who you are," she said, her voice shaking, her body visibly weakened, "but if you ever touch me again? I will kill you." She pulled away from him and took a few steps back.
Spike laughed to himself. "I thought you were going to do that anyway, luv."
"Don't . . . you ever call me that. I am not your love. I don't know what kind of monster you are, but when I find out, I swear to God I will make you pay for coming here like this. For taking Spike's form. For disrespecting the dead."
Buffy turned to leave, intent on storming out of the cemetery. His voice stopped her.
"It's nice to see that you really do care."
"Excuse me?" She spun back around on her heels and glared at him. "It's nice to see that I really care? Do you have any idea what Spike means to me? What he meant to me? He was everything." She shook her head absently, her eyes disconnecting from his. "I can't believe this."
She started to walk away again.
He couldn't let her go. He ran after her. "Buffy wait."
"Don't . . . you come near me," she said, spinning around and glaring at him.
"We have to talk."
"No we don't."
"Buffy," he grabbed her arm, in an attempt to stop her.
She pulled her fist back and slugged him in the face.
Spike landed in a heap on the ground. "Oh, bloody hell!" he exclaimed, as he brought his hand up to cradle his bleeding nose. "You know human Spike doesn't really take these things as well as vamp Spike did."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Spike looked up to see Buffy standing above him, her legs apart, her hands on her hips. He swiped the blood away from his nose with the back of his hand.
"Oh right? Like you didn't notice. I'm not quite the bloodsucking fiend anymore. I don't have superhuman strength. And hey, did you notice, when you touched me? I wasn't as cold as soddin' ice."
Buffy stared at him, dumbfounded. Frantically, she searched her brain, trying to make some sense of what was going on. "Spike?" she asked, uncertainly.
"Yes it's me. Spike." He pushed himself up from the ground and began wiping the dirt from his clothes. "Remember? Spike? The man you're supposed to love? The man you're not supposed to want to kill anymore?"
"Well, I don't know about that." She looked up at him cautiously, still slightly wary. "What . . . exactly . . . is going on?"
"Hell if I know. Two days ago I woke up in the school basement, naked, with a heartbeat, a reflection, and somehow miraculously cured of my pesky little sun allergy. I don't know what's going on. All I've wanted was to get back to you."
Buffy stared up into his dark blue eyes, those same eyes that had been haunting her every night in her dreams. She wanted so much to believe that it was true. Suddenly, something he had said struck her. "You woke up naked?" she asked.
"As the day I was born, yeah. I don't know whose idea of a joke that was, but I wouldn't mind giving them a piece of my mind."
Absently, Buffy drifted away from him, trying to piece things together in her own mind. "You woke up naked? In the school basement?"
"Yeah?" he said, raising a questioning eyebrow at her.
"It's like the vision."
"What vision?"
Buffy looked up at him, intently this time. "The vision I had the night I broke out of my catatonic state."
"That was two bleedin' years ago."
"No. Not the time with Glory. Now. Last week. After the battle."
"Oh God, Buffy." He took a step closer to her, trying to offer her comfort.
Buffy pulled away and began pacing, still wracking her brain. "I saw you, in this vision. I saw you, naked in the school basement. That must have been it. That's why it was so dark. Spike," she stared up at him, "you're really here?"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you for the last fifteen minutes."
Her eyes searched his face desperately, looking for proof, wanting to believe that he was real. She knew it wasn't supposed to be possible, knew it could all just be a dream. But in that moment, she didn't care. Spike was alive. He was alive and real, and standing just a few feet in front of her.
Before another thought could even pass through her head, she closed the distance between them. Putting her trembling hands on either side of his face, she pulled him to her and kissed him.
Buffy closed her eyes, and lost herself in the warmth of his mouth. The sensation was so foreign. Spike's skin was warm - hot even. She moved her hands down his chest, groping and feeling every inch of him, trying to convince herself that he was real.
She could feel the beating of his heart, pounding against her own chest. Oh God! There was nothing like it. He was alive! Really and truly alive! Buffy nearly sobbed with joy.
Feverishly, she devoured his mouth, not ever wanting to let him go. She knew she would need to breathe soon, but she didn't care. Taking the initiative, she pushed him up against the side of the crypt and fumbled desperately to find the zipper on his jeans.
"Uh, Buffy luv?" Spike pushed her away from him a fraction of an inch. "Don't you think we could find a better place for this?"
She looked up at him, slightly disappointed. "Don't you want me?" she asked, pouting slightly.
"Oh God, yes!" he declared. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. "Can't you feel it?"
She could.
Buffy let her eyelids drift half closed, and let her mouth hover near his. She could feel his warm breath tickling her skin, and the sensation was driving her mad.
"Buffy." He kissed her chastely on the lips, and pulled back as far as he could. "Maybe we should go inside?" he said, cocking his head to the side, indicating his old crypt.
"What? Oh. Okay." Reluctantly, she pulled away from him. Eyeing him suspiciously, she said, "Are you sure you're really Spike? I mean, outdoor sports never seemed to bother you before."
"Yeah, well, as thrilling as being thrown up against a wall and mounted is," he said, moving closer to her, and gently caressing her cheek, "I think I'd like to spend tonight a little differently."
Buffy gazed up into his crystal blue eyes and found that she was slowly losing herself. If she couldn't be with him soon, she would die.
Gently wrapping her hand around his, she led him toward the crypt. Once inside, she closed the door behind them, and narrowed her gaze at Spike. Laying her hands firmly on his chest, she backed him up until he bumped into the edge of the sarcophagus.
"I know what you said. I know what you want," she said, staring up at him with an undeniable heat in her eyes, "but I can't wait. I can't take this slow. Forgive me?"
"Anything," he whispered, as she pushed him down onto his back and got on top of him.
"Slow later," she said, as she undid the button on his jeans, and then the zipper. "I promise."
Buffy readjusted her own clothing and lowered herself down onto Spike, impaling herself on his hard shaft. Closing her eyes, she began to ride him slowly, reveling in the sensation of his warm flesh pulsing inside of her. She had thought she was never going to see him again, never be able to hold him or touch him or see his face. It was a miracle that he was here with her now. And Buffy desperately wanted to hold onto that miracle with all her might.
She heard Spike moan beneath her, and she opened her eyes to stare down at his face. He was staring up at her, watching her intently.
Desperately needing to feel more of him, she lowered herself down to lay flush against his chest. Closing her eyes, she flicked out her tongue and slowly ran it across his bottom lip, glorying in the salty taste of his flesh. She pushed herself up closer to capture his mouth with her own, the abrupt movement driving him deeper inside of her.
Spike groaned. Wrapping one arm tightly about her waist, he gripped the back of her head with his free hand and drew her closer. He drove his tongue inside her mouth, penetrating her a second time. Buffy felt like she was going to explode.
Spike was beginning to tremble beneath her, and Buffy knew he was close.
In the heat of the moment, he moved to flip her over onto her back, but the sarcophagus was too narrow, and instead of staying on the soft blanket beneath them, they landed with a loud "thud" on the cold floor below.
Spike pulled away from Buffy for a brief moment. He searched her face to see if she was all right. The fall didn't even phase her. Before he could even blink, she pulled him down to her, and resumed their kissing.
Spike began thrusting inside her frantically, Buffy bucking her hips wildly, meeting each fevered thrust. She wanted to feel all of him. Every last inch of him inside of her. It was all she ever wanted. To be complete. To be complete with Spike.
With a deep, feral growl, he pushed inside her one last time. Instantly she felt his body spasm, her own cresting over the edge in response. She screamed out his name, over and over again, as she clutched him to her. She couldn't stop saying it. She had thought she would never see him again. And now he was here and he was hers, and she wanted the entire world to know it.