Chapter Thirteen: Secrets and Lies
I must not think about Spike, Buffy told herself as she drove to work and remembered making out in his car. I must not think about Spike, as she parked up and swung her legs out, this time covered by a businesslike skirt, not a leather duster. I must not think about-
You know, the railing on the gallery balcony is just like the one on the hotel balcony...
The sheets on the bed in that painting are like his...
That man is wearing a leather jacket...
Oh fuck. I have to stop this.
It was a Saturday, and both Willow and Tara were helping out, charming difficult customers into buying expensive pieces. Buffy looked over yesterday's sales figures. She couldn't believe how well the gallery was doing. All this fantastic stuff suddenly coming her way, and people practically queuing up to buy. She had several customers on waiting lists, waiting to haggle over the next piece by their new favourite artist.
It was midafternoon when someone knocked on the office door. Buffy, not looking up from the computer spreadsheet she was working on, didn't look through the door window as she called, "Yeah?"
The door opened.
It was Spike.
"You know, I just love you in glasses," he said.
Buffy quickly took them off.
"What are you doing here?"
"Nice to see you too." He held up a bag. "Brought your clothes back. Bet you looked adorable in my jeans."
"I'll have them sent over to the hotel-"
"'Have them sent over'? My my. Aren't you just the little businesswoman."
He had that familiar quirky smile, the gleam in his eyes. He knew what was coming.
At least, he knew what he wanted to come.
"Well, I am a businesswoman," Buffy said. "Look, running a business."
"Six day weeks."
"Saturdays are busy."
"All days are busy, from what the bit tells me." He looked around the office, full of unpacked and half catalogued crates. "Place is doing well."
Buffy shrugged. "It's like I got a fairy godmother or something. Well, maybe two. Fairy godsisters. Gay ones."
Spike's eyebrows flickered at that. "None of it due to your hard work?"
"Well, I-" she narrowed her eyes at him. "Are we having a conversation?"
"Stranger things have happened."
Yes, Buffy thought, most of them to me.
"Look," she said, "about last night-"
"I'm still recovering."
Buffy tried hard not to blush, and failed.
"You were," his hand reached out and traced her cheek, "amazing."
She closed her eyes. "You-" abruptly, she stepped back. "Stop that."
"Stop?" He put his head on one side. "There's a new word. I never seem to hear that from you."
"Well, maybe I should say it-" she realised he was teasing her, and frowned. "I mean it."
"Oh, and you meant it last night," Spike came around the desk and Buffy found herself trapped between it and him. "'Stop, Spike, don't ever stop...'"
He was awfully close. Buffy was backed up against the desk and Spike slipped one knee between hers.
"No," he mocked gently, "you never tell me to stop. Or at least," his breath was hot on her ear, "you never mean it."
His hand slid up her thigh.
"I mean it now," Buffy said, but the words were hardly audible. "I want you to... to stop."
Spike's lips brushed her earlobe. "Make me."
She put her hands on his shoulders, but she didn't push him very hard, and when he started kissing her neck, she didn't stop him at all. She knew she should, she was sure she wanted to, but she didn't. She couldn't.
"Tell me to go," Spike murmured, and his voice hummed through her.
"Go," Buffy whispered hoarsely.
"And say it like you mean it."
His hand slid up under her skirt. She could feel his heart beating against her chest. Her nipples were hard. Her legs were parting themselves.
Buffy glanced over her shoulder and saw the office door was open half an inch.
"Someone could-"
"Come in," Spike was stroking her hip now, "and see us," he bit her collarbone, "making out right here on your desk."
Buffy was panting. This had to stop.
But right then Spike kissed her, and she really wished he hadn't, because once he started kissing her there was no way she could ever stop kissing back. He was addictive. He felt so good, and tasted so good, and his hands were all over her, kneeding her breast, slipping just inside her knickers and very gently fingering the dark curls there.
Buffy had no recollection of her own hands unfastening his fly, she only realised she'd done it when Spike moaned softly because she'd taken him in her hand and was stroking him.
"Red," he hissed against her neck, "or her girlfriend, they could come in here," his finger flicked her clitoris, and Buffy gasped sharply, "and see us. Just look in through the window," he reached up and pulled the clasp from her hair, inhaled its scent, "and see us."
Buffy could hardly think. He was so big and hard, and she was getting so hot, squirming wetly against his fingers. She pulled him towards her, rubbed him against her, and covered his mouth with her own when he groaned in pleasure.
She lifted one leg around his waist to draw him in closer, and then he slid up inside her, and both of them froze for a brief second, before movement became important, that glorious friction, sliding and thrusting and trying hard not to make a sound.
"Why so quiet?" Spike whispered in her ear.
"The door is open," Buffy squeaked, as Spike reached inside her blouse and fingered her nipple. "The gallery is full of... people..."
"Don't you want them to hear?"
"What? Are you-" she broke off, because Spike dipped one finger between them and started stroking her again.
"Feels good," he said, and she nodded helplessly. "Looks good too. You have any idea how damn sexy you are, Summers? The way you move, your eyes, your hair dances when you move like that."
He pulsed inside her, still for a few seconds, and then he whispered very close to her ear, "Don't you want them to see that too?"
Buffy shook her head frantically, but just like last night, out on the balcony, the idea of someone, anyone - especially someone she knew - just walking in and seeing her having sex, was such a turn on she found herself grinding up against Spike's rather delectable body, just that little bit harder.
"They hear a noise," he was suggesting now, "come to see if you're okay... You don't answer 'cos you're too busy coming your brains out.."
Oh boy, did that sound like a good idea to Buffy.
"And then they open the door..."
She grabbed his buttocks and pushed him deeper inside her, and her eyes rolled back in her head, her whole body shuddering.
"And they see you with your skirt all pushed up, your shirt hanging open, head back..."
It was coming, it was coming, she was nearly there...
"Me deep inside you..."
Oh God...
"And there's nothing you can do to stop them," Spike whispered, and Buffy came, biting down hard on his neck to keep from crying out.
"Discovery fantasy," Spike said with satisfaction, and thrust into her until he came too, Buffy's hand over his mouth. He licked her palm, bit the soft skin, and she gave him a warning look, her eyes half on the door.
As soon as he was done she pushed him away, ran over and shoved the door shut, turning the key.
"You ever hear the one about the horse and the stable door?" Spike asked.
"I can't believe we just did that!" Buffy rearranged her clothing frantically.
He took a cigarette out of his duster pocket and lit up. Buffy scurried over and grabbed it from his mouth, but before she could stub it out, Spike caught her around the waist and kissed her hard.
"You have to go," she said.
He pouted. "Don't want a re-match?"
"No! In fact, we shouldn't even have-"
Spike rolled his eyes. "Enough with the 'shouldn't have's, love. If you didn't want to, then you wouldn't. I wasn't making you do anything."
He looked so smug Buffy nearly slapped him. Worse than that, he was right. He hadn't made her do anything - well, not strictly speaking. He hadn't forced her. She could have stopped.
All he'd done was make her not want to stop.
"Go," she pointed to the door, disentangling herself from him. "I have work to do."
"Can I come see Will tonight?"
"How about you go see him now? Dawn has him at home. Or maybe the park. Why don't you go and look?"
"Trying to get rid of me?"
Buffy pressed her hands to her hot face. "You've been in here long enough, Willow and Tara are gonna think-"
"What? You've been shagging your husband? Oh no, surely there's a law against that, pet?"
"You are not my husband."
He grabbed her left hand and pressed his up against it. Their rings shone in the light. "Got a certificate at home says I am, pet."
Buffy pulled her hand away and turned back to the computer, not looking at him. "Could you just leave?"
Spike looked at her a long while. Then the door was unlocked, and he was gone, and Buffy put her head down on the desk and felt like crying.
Spike came over that evening, and Dawn looked pleased to see him.
"Buffy's in the bath," she rolled her eyes, "she likes to wallow for hours."
"I remember," Spike said. "Can I come in?"
"Sure," she grinned and stepped back, and he glanced into the living room, saw Will on his playmat.
"So what happened to you last night?" Spike asked, picking his son up for a cuddle. Will gurgled happily and babbled a load of cheerful nonsense.
"Oh, I, er, I sort of went out, with Willow and Tara..." Dawn looked down at her homework.
"And those guys from the band?" Spike asked astutely.
Dawn blushed. "No," she began.
"You're such a bad liar, bit. Try not to blush, don't avoid eye contact, have a decent answer prepared. Where did you go?"
"With the guys from the band."
"See, now you're not even trying."
"Willow and Tara were there but they... I don't know, maybe they were drunk, 'cos they both just got all sleepy and passed out... But I didn't see them drinking."
"Were they smoking?"
"No. Devon was."
Spike said nothing. Maybe a word with Red later might be in order.
"Why all the blushing, bit? Did you and the singer get up to something you shouldn't?"
Dawn blushed even deeper.
Will was waving his arms for his rattle and Spike, having learned a while ago that the baby liked to gnaw to help his teeth through, handed it over.
"Dawn," he said, and she knew something serious was coming by the use of her real name, "how old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"Had any boyfriends?"
Her face was crimson now. Dawn stared furiously at her maths book.
"Not really."
"Kissed any boys?"
She gave a rigid little shake of her head. "Not until Devon."
"Was kissing all you did?" When Dawn's head snapped up, Spike waved a hand for silence. "I don't want any diagrams, just... tell me in terms of bases."
"We just kissed. Well, and he tried to - but I told him I didn't want to, and he got all angry. So I," Dawn's fingernails were digging in her palms, "I left."
"You told him no and walked out?"
She gave a tiny nod.
Spike looked thoughtful. "Dawn, come here."
She looked terrified.
"Just come here," he rolled his eyes, "I'm not gonna do anything."
Nervously, she stood up, and walked all the way across the room, trembling. Spike patted the sofa next to him and she sat primly, back straight, knees together.
He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
"Proud of you, bit," he said. "That was very much the right thing to do."
She looked up with startled blue eyes. "R-really?"
He nodded, laughing, and shifted William on his lap. "What did you think I was going to do?"
She shrugged nervously. "I don't know..."
"Has Buffy been telling you horror stories about me?"
"Buffy hardly talks about you at all."
Spike gave a facial shrug. "Figures. She still mad at me?"
"Yes, although I'm not entirely sure what for."
"That makes two of us, love."
He eventually got bored of waiting for Buffy, who appeared to have dissolved in the bathwater, and made his goodbyes to Dawn and a sleeping Will, leaving when it was pretty late. Dawn took William upstairs and as she passed Buffy's room, noticed her peering out the window at Spike's car vanishing down the street.
"You're so pathetic," she said.
Buffy whipped round. "I wasn't hiding," she said defensively.
"Yes, you were." Dawn stomped into Will's room, nearly waking him up. "You're acting like such a baby."
"I'm a baby? Dawn, who's the one holding this family together?"
"I don't know," Dawn said, "but it feels like me most of the time. I go to school and I babysit. That's all I do. You know, all the kids in my class go out at least once or twice a week. Apart from the Bronze the other night, I haven't been out since before - before Will was born."
Buffy pulled her out of the baby's room and shut the door.
"You wanna go out more? Well, sure and I'll stay at home with Will while the gallery, which is only just starting to do well, completely falls apart."
"You don't need to be there 24/7," Dawn nearly shouted. "Willow and Tara know far more about art than you do-"
"I have to run the place-"
"They can do that-"
"They're completely unpaid! And where are they, anyway?"
"They went out. Couldn't stand all the tension and bullshitting in this house."
Buffy raised her hand like she was going to slap Dawn, but instead she just marched into her room and slammed the door.
"Oh, very mature," Dawn muttered, and did exactly the same.
Buffy pulled the pillow over her head and tried desperately not to cry. Why did it seem that no matter how hard she tried, something always happened to hurt her? She tried to love Spike, and he broke her trust. So she came home to start over, and found out she was pregnant. Against her better judgement, she followed her heart back to England, where Spike broke her all over again, twisted and smashed and stamped on her viciously. Then her mom died. Then the gallery failed.
And now, only now, eight months later, did she finally feel on top of just one area of her life, and all the others were tumbling down. Dawn hated her. Spike was haunting her.
Spike.
The cause of her life's destruction, and the only thing left from it.
She threw the pillow on the floor and rolled on her back. It was no use. She'd never sleep, and just lie there getting more and more frustrated and angry and then she'd yell and scream at Dawn in the morning, and Will would pick up on it and he'd be upset, and it would be Sunday, her only day off all week, and she needed some peace.
But first she had to get rid of this anger.
She rolled out of bed, took off her pyjamas and tiptoed downstairs. She taped a note to the door for Dawn, put on her long coat and boots, and got her car keys.
She was outside the hotel in a few, very short minutes, shaking with cold and nerves as well as anger, and she very nearly pressed the Stop button on the lift and got out. But then she arrived at the top, and there was only Spike's door there, looking at her, mocking her. It was only last night she'd had sex right up against that door.
I must be crazy, Buffy thought as she knocked.
The door was wrenched open. "Can you morons not read? There's a Do Not Dis-"
Spike broke off and stared at Buffy. She stared back. He was wearing only a pair of low-slung jeans, his hair was tousled, there was a shot glass in his hand. Skunk Anansie was playing: Hedonism was on. Buffy winced.
He was the first to speak.
"Thought you'd gone down the plughole, love."
"Can I come in?"
He stood back, eyes following her. On the expensive stereo, Skin sang, 'Just because you feel good, doesn't make you right. Just because you feel good, still want you here tonight.'
Buffy walked over and pressed the Skip button.
'I've been biding my time. Been so subtly kind...'
This time it was Spike who winced.
"You wanted something, Summers?"
"Why do you call me that?"
"You don't seem to want to be a Dashwood."
She said nothing, her eyes fixed on the dancing bars of the graphic equaliser.
'I've got to think so selfishly, 'cos you're the face inside of me...'
Damn music. Why did it always get inside her head?
"Spike," she turned, suddenly nervous. "Why do you keep coming round?"
'I've been biding my days. You see, evidently it pays...'
"You know why."
"Tell me."
His eyes were dark and unfathomable. Buffy knew he'd been drinking - by the looks of the bottle on the table, for quite some time.
'I've been a friend with unbiased views, and then secretly, lust after you...'
"Why are you here?" Spike repeated, draining his glass and pouring some more.
Buffy unbelted her coat, unfastened the buttons, and let it fall. Underneath, she was totally naked.
'So now you feel lusty, you're bored and bemused...'
Spike drained that glass, poured another, drained that.
'You wanna do someone else? So you should be by yourself, instead of here with me, secretly...'
"Didn't get enough earlier?"
Buffy didn't know what to say. She just needed... something, something to make the anger, the pain, the frustration go away. Just for a little while. To have someone do something for her, to make her feel better. Something more than just a mom, just a sister, just a boss.
"Don't you want me?"
Spike crossed the room in a few long strides and grabbed her to him, crushed her mouth under his, fingers digging into her flesh. The hard fabric of his jeans grated on her skin, his teeth bit down hard on her lip.
"Want you, Summers? I've always bloody wanted you."
'Trying hard to think pure, bloody hard when I'm raw...'
Blood was pounding in Buffy's
ears. "Why? What for?
Just for sex?"
"No!" Spike yelled. "Not for sex, not just for sex, dammit. I want you," his fingers fisted in her hair, "all of you."
"Why?" Buffy insisted, her voice cracking.
"Because I love you, Buffy. Don't tell me you don't know that, 'cos-"
But Buffy reached up and grabbed him back and kissed him, hard, brutal, her nails drawing blood from his shoulders, his back, his arms.
"Who got you good and mad?" Spike stumbled back a few paces, rubbing his arms.
"You did."
He almost laughed. "Me? What'd I do?"
"You - you came and you - you ruined everything, you changed everything, you made me into this - this thing, got me into this state, and now I can't - I only feel - I just-"
"So it's nothing big, just our whole relationship?"
"We don't have a relationship," Buffy yelled.
Spike raised his hand but Buffy caught it, and before he could hit her, she smacked him across one perfect cheekbone. Astonished, he struggled against her, and where the old Buffy could probably have held him off, she wasn't as strong as she used to be. Visiting the gym was not high on her list of priorities.
His fist landed on the edge of her jaw, a glancing blow, but it made her furious. He'd hit her before, but he'd had good cause, being that she was beating him up at the time.
She started hammering at him with her fists, some blows harder than others, some just taps, most enough to bruise him. Spike stopped trying to fight her, recognising that she was far too angry and hurt to be stopped, not wanting to hurt her, not wanting to start something he might not be able to stop. He was slightly too drunk to trust himself in a fight.
Eventually Buffy burned herself out, reeling away from him, her hands to her face, trying desperately hard not to cry. The song was still playing and the words, 'So now you've been busted, you're caught, feeling used,' swirled around her head.
She struck out at the CD player with her fist, once, twice, three times, until the music abruptly ended and all she could hear was Spike's laboured breathing and her own ragged intakes of breath. Her eyes stung.
"Buffy?" Spike said from behind her.
"You were supposed to make it better," she muttered hoarsely, her throat closing over with tears.
He touched her shoulder and she turned around, looked up at his face which was already coming up in bruises, and the tears slipped down her face.
"Did I just do that?"
He nodded.
"I-" he folded his arms around her and held her as she cried, kissed her when she lifted her tearstained face to his, made love to her, although she was just fucking him in return.
When she left, he poured out more bourbon and chainsmoked until the sun came up.