Chapter Eleven
Giles replaced the phone. "She's left," he said. "A flight to Manchester. Said she didn't want to wait for the direct flight. I told her she could be in danger from Spike..."
"Do you really think he's that dangerous?" Willow bit her lip.
"H-he seemed-" Tara began, but shrank when they both looked at her.
"What?" Giles said.
"He seemed okay to me," she mumbled.
"He's good at gaining people's confidence," Giles said.
"He had yours," Willow observed.
"Yes, well, I was just pretending," Giles said, turning away and looking at some files. The two girls glanced at each other and smiled.
"I really don't think he'll hurt her," Tara volunteered.
"I thought he liked her," Willow agreed.
"William Dashwood likes one thing, and that's money," Giles snapped, turning back to them. "He enjoys the thrill of stealing and selling and cheating and lying, and when it comes to women he is incorrigible."
Tara and Willow were silent.
"She said he was an idiot," Willow said eventually.
"Who, Spike?" Giles laughed. "He's anything but an idiot."
"Buffy," Spike whispered. "I want to make love to you."
Buffy shifted in her seat. "Tell me how."
"I want to kiss you until your lips are bruised. Taste your mouth. Lick your teeth. Feel your tongue against mine."
"Just kiss me?"
"We're naked."
"Uh-huh..."
"I kiss your mouth and my hands move down your back, holding you to me, feeling your soft skin under my fingers. Right down your back to your buttocks, so I can cup them in my hands, pulling you closer."
"Are you naked too?"
"Nearly. Your hands are under my clothes, pushing my shirt away, unfastening my fly while I trail kisses down your throat. God, Buffy, your throat..."
"What about it?"
"It's so soft. Pale gold, like treasure. That little dip above your collarbone..."
"Yes...?"
"It fits my tongue. Perfectly. I could just lick you there forever. Taste your skin. Do you know how good you taste?"
"As good as you?"
"Your fingers in my hair... I move lower, my fingers touching that sensitive skin on the insides of your arms, while my mouth brushes your breast..."
Buffy closed her eyes. "And what does it do there?"
"Feels all the hairs on your skin stand upright. Your nipple hardens as I breathe against it."
Buffy was breathing pretty hard herself. "And-?"
"I lick your nipple."
Buffy shuddered.
"Take it in my mouth and suck it. Between my teeth and bite it gently."
"Harder," Buffy breathed.
"My hands are moving down your body, down your luscious legs, wrapping them around my waist. The rough denim against your smooth thighs."
"Yes," Buffy said.
"And you're pulling down my jeans, skin against skin, your legs against my hips, and I'm hard against you Buffy, so hard for you."
"And?"
"Fingers," Spike gasped. "Fingers between your legs. Feeling how wet you are. How hot. Like a bloody hot spring, Buffy, bubbling against me. I can feel your clit, hard and swollen-"
"Like you?"
"And I'm rubbing it, two fingers, licking and kissing your breast, slipping a finger inside you-"
"God, yes-"
"And you're so tight, God, I want to fuck you so hard-"
"Fuck me, Spike."
"Not yet. I want to taste you first."
"Taste me?"
"You taste so bloody good. My mouth is moving down your ribs, your hard stomach, Jesus, you're sexy. Right down to those curls between your legs, damp and springy, and I move your legs further apart..."
"And then?" Buffy asked desperately.
"...Remain in your seats until the seatbelt sign is off, on behalf of British Airways we do hope you had a pleasant flight..."
Buffy's eyes opened. Around her, people were fastening seatbelts and gathering possessions around them. Buffy was alone.
She did hope she hadn't been panting.
She gathered her things and shuffled out of the aeroplane with the other passengers. Outside it was dark, and Buffy realised she'd been travelling a whole day. Driving to the nearest airport. Getting a flight to Manchester, the closest to London she could get. Then another flight to Stansted. Hours and hours of waiting. Delays. Baggage problems. Buffy didn't even have any luggage, but she was still delayed.
She sleepwalked down to the train station and tried to make sense of the terminal. Eventually she said to the guard, "I want to get to Kings Cross. What do I do?"
He muttered, "All day travelcard," and pointed her at a machine.
Buffy bought her card and dozed on the train, changing at Liverpool Street and getting off at the now familiar Kings Cross. I could get used to London, she thought, looking about her as she set her feet into the purposeful London walk of the crowd around her. I like it here.
Most of it.
There were no lights on at Giles's house, and when Buffy knocked there was no answer, either. She sat down on the step to wait, figuring if she went to the museum she'd probably miss him going out another exit. Stay where you are, her mother had told her when she was little. If you and I ever get separated, stay where you are. I can find you better if I know where you were last.
So Buffy stayed where she was, and leaned against the lintel, watching people go past. No one looked at her. Londoners never did. No one made eye contact, not even in shops or restaurants. English people were so private, she thought drowsily. Even when you know them, they never give anything away. Giles never does. Spike-
I must be dreaming, she thought. I could swear that's Spike walking towards me.
Oh, Jesus. It is Spike. And he looks really mad.
God, I'm in bad trouble.
Buffy cowered into the doorway, hoping Spike would think she was one of the million London homeless, but he came straight towards her, grabbed her wrist and hauled her to her feet.
"What the fuck did you think you were doing?" he snarled.
"What?"
"Sodding off and leaving like that? Leaving the country? Jesus, Buffy - do you have any idea - any idea-"
He looked slightly terrified, Buffy realised. He thought he'd lost his grip on her. Thought he'd never be able to take her to Angel and his psycho group.
"Get off me," Buffy said firmly.
"The hell I-"
"Spike, I have mace. And I have heels. Get off me right now or I'll scream so loud your eardrums will break."
"And you think anyone will listen?" Spike said nastily.
Buffy opened her mouth and Spike slammed his hand over it.
"Okay, shut up. Why did you run?"
"Because you were a bastard."
"What did I do? You were the one who said someone else's name-"
"You said-" Buffy began, but she was too hurt to continue. "Just go away."
"No," Spike said, still gripping her wrist, fishing in his pocket with his other hand. "No."
Buffy watched as he got a key and fit it into Giles's door.
"Since when did Giles give you-"
"Who says he gave it me?"
Spike pushed the door open, hollered, "Oi! Giles? Anyone?" then hauled Buffy after him into the kitchen where, without even switching on any lights, he opened the fridge and rummaged through until he found some vodka.
He drank straight from the bottle.
"You," he said to Buffy, shuddering slightly as the cold alcohol shot through him, "are the biggest bloody trouble I have ever met."
"Oh yeah? You're not exactly an easy ride either," Buffy said, and regretted her choice of phrasing the second she saw Spike's amused, enquiring face.
"You always seemed to find it easy," he said, taking a step toward her, bottle in hand.
"That's not what I..." Buffy faltered. Damn, why did he have to look so hot when he was mad? This would be a lot easier if she didn't fancy him much.
Spike stepped closer again. Giles's kitchen wasn't large, and Buffy was backed up against the table. Spike was a foot away from her. She could smell his hot skin.
"Why did you go?"
"I-" Buffy's mind wasn't working. This was really bad. Why did he fry her brain like this? She was like a dog on heat. One sight, one smell, one taste of him...
God, what she'd give for a taste of him...
Spike lifted the bottle and took a deep drink, watching Buffy the whole time. "Drink?" he offered.
Buffy felt like she needed it. She grabbed the freezing bottle and tipped a lot down her throat.
"Careful-" Spike said, but Buffy wasn't listening. The alcohol, so cold, burned through her and she shuddered deliciously, gripping the table with her free hand for support.
"It's strong," Spike finished, looking at her with something indefinable in his eyes.
"Blegh," Buffy said, and he smiled slowly.
"Yeah," he said, taking the bottle back and putting his lips where hers had been. He regarded her thoughtfully. "Not a big vodka drinker?"
She shook her head, making a face. "No," she gasped.
"More?"
"God, yes."
She took two more swigs, drinking hard and deep. It was sharp and horrible, like drinking paint stripper, but it made her feel calmer and sort of heavier. Buffy wasn't a big drinker, she'd never gone out and drunk while she was underage, and it always amazed her how much and how casually the Brits drank. Giles had wine with dinner every day, and sometimes with lunch, too. Willow and Tara met up in the student bar most evenings and their friends got totally off their heads several nights a week. As students, they'd been drinking for years anyway.
Buffy was a lightweight, and the vodka went straight to her head, numbing her nerve endings, heating her veins, dulling her senses. It was a while before she realised Spike was even closer than she'd thought.
"You could have got into trouble, running off like that," he said, as Buffy hefted herself up onto the table so she wasn't so close to him.
"Giles says I'm in trouble anyway," Buffy said. Spike reached for the bottle and she held it away from him, feeling as if the alcohol was her only friend, something to defend her against Spike and the weariness of the day. She drank some more.
"Easy, love, it's not lemonade," Spike said, and Buffy glared at him. "You'll get drunk."
"Maybe I want to."
"You do?"
"I don't want to have to think," she slugged some more, "about the Angelus," glug, "and Riley," glug, "and this stupid ring," another glug, as she waved the ring at him, "and you, and, and..."
"And?"
"And what Giles is gonna say when he finds you here..."
"What if he doesn't find me here?"
Buffy looked up at him in drunken incomprehension. "Wha'?"
"What if we go somewhere else?"
She shook her head. "You can. I wanna stay here."
Spike raised his eyebrows. "Buffy?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you drunk already?"
She scowled at him, and Spike laughed. He took the bottle from her and drank a little more, before placing it carefully on the floor.
"Okay," he said, putting his arms around her, "I think you need to go to bed."
But Buffy, feeling her body held against Spike's as he tried to pull her to her feet, shook her head and grabbed his face and stuck her tongue down his throat.
Spike had always been told that a gentleman didn't take advantage of a woman, but he wasn't feeling much like a gentleman and anyway, it was hardly like she was a stranger. So he kissed her back, tasting the alcohol on her cold mouth as Buffy pressed her hands into his face, feeling his cheekbones, hurting him with her strong fingers.
"Bloody hell, girl, are you trying to brand me?"
Buffy looked up at him with big eyes and licked her wet lips. Spike let out a groan and went back for more.
He lifted her up on the table and she wrapped her legs around him, fitting him perfectly, her small breasts pressing against his chest. She still had her coat on, but Spike made short work of the buttons, feeling her nipples spring to life under the fabric of her top. Buffy made little effort to touch him more than she already was. She hugged him closer and used her legs to push his pelvis against hers.
"Buffy," Spike gasped with his last ounce of sense, "you're really drunk."
"Uh-huh."
"We don't have to do this."
She looked hurt.
"Don't you want to?"
"Well - yes, of course I do, but-"
"Good." Buffy kissed his mouth, licked his cheekbones and his ear, nipped his neck with her teeth, while Spike struggled for breath. He pushed her coat over her shoulders, but she wouldn't move her arms for him to remove it completely. Instead he reached up under her top to feel her ribs, her breasts, heaving in their lacy bra, and Buffy moaned against his neck.
Spike shoved her top up, pulled down one lacy cup and took her nipple in his mouth.
"Spike," Buffy moaned. "Oh, Spike..."
His hands were on her jeans, unfastening the belt, the button, the zip. It was tight, but he slid one finger inside and pressed it against her damp gusset.
Buffy writhed against him and her hands slid over his body, under his t-shirt to play with the little line of hair that led down his stomach to his jeans, then followed it further, unzipping and finding him hard in her hand.
Spike closed his eyes as her fingers closed around him, then he pulled away and yanked Buffy's jeans down to her ankles, throwing her boots across the room when they got in the way, making her giggle.
But she soon stopped giggling when Spike moved her naked legs apart, laid her back on the table and parted her folds with his fingers. He slid into her, hot and hard, and Buffy moaned loudly.
She was too drunk to come, but Spike knew he'd only last a few minutes before he exploded into her. Moaning, wriggling and writhing, Buffy lay there as he thrust hard into her, her hands on his hips, her eyes closed, whispering his name.
Spike came, and Buffy threw her arms around him as he fell heavily down on her.
"You didn't come," he said to her.
"That's okay."
"Did we just have sex on the kitchen table?"
Buffy giggled. "Quite a cliché."
"Yeah." Spike kissed her softly. "Do you have a bed we can go to?"
She nodded and pushed him off her. Spike pulled out and stood up, fastening his jeans, and caught Buffy as she swayed.
"Oh, God."
"Buffy?"
She looked up at him. "I think I had too much to drink." She blinked and swayed nauseously. "Definitely too much."
"Bed, then."
"I don't think-"
"Not that kind of bed." Spike out his arm around Buffy, picked up her clothes, and led her up the stairs. He took off the rest of her clothes and tucked her into the single bed she'd occupied so many weeks ago when she first came to London. Where she'd had that first dream about Spike.
"Don't leave," she cried as he opened the door.
"I was going for a drink," he said.
"Come back."
She was drunk, Spike told himself as he went to the bathroom and rinsed out a tooth mug. Really drunk. Amazing, really. Still, that was what abstaining until you were twenty-one did. Spike had been drinking since he was about thirteen, until he could sink a whole bottle of something potent and still walk in a straight line. Buffy was going to be smackered tomorrow. Hangover city.
She was asleep when he went back in, but when he took off his clothes and slipped in beside her she held him like a teddy bear, nestled her head into his shoulder, and sighed sleepily.
Then she threw up.