Chapter 12: Consequences
"What the hell is going here?" Hank yelled, looking very confused. "This is a joke, right? Right, Buffy?" She bit her lip, furiously trying to think of a plausible excuse while clutching a bed sheet to her chest. Her lawyer background failed her. She could not think of a single thing to say. So she resorted to shaking her head. "No? You and William. . .? Nah. . ." Hank waved a dismissing hand at them.
"Why is it so hard to believe that Buffy and I have. . .a relationship?" Spike questioned. Personally, he believed that it was very rude to have dismissed this whole scenario as a joke before he'd even had a chance to explain anything.
"Buffy, is this true? Are you having . . .relations with a . . .," he took on a purely disgusted look, "Giles?" It was his tone that made her snap.
"Yes, it's true, Daddy. Spike and I. . .we. . .," she stuttered. "We're having an illicit affair. With lots of sex," she spat defiantly. Spike gaped at her. "Ever since. . .uh. . .last week."
"We're having a what?" She didn't hear him. She was too busy concentrating on Hank, whose face was turning an unhealthy purplish red color.
"Get out of my house," he demanded, his voice barely above a threatening whisper. Buffy swallowed hard, feeling Spike's hand grasp hers under the sheet.
"What?" Maybe she hadn't heard him correctly, but it sounded as thought he'd said -
"Get out of my house now!" he repeated furiously. "I don't want to look at you right now. I'm ashamed to call you family." Attracted by the yelling, Dawn and Joyce appeared near the door to Buffy's bedroom. "As far as I'm concerned, you are no longer my daughter." Dawn gasped. Joyce's eyes widened, but she said nothing.
"Are - are you - serious?" Tears began to fill her beautiful green eyes.
"Completely. You have two minutes and counting before I do something rash." He grabbed hold of Dawn's arm, yanking her away from the doorway as he stomped down the hallway. Joyce stepped back a bit, but looked back at Buffy and Spike as she was about to leave.
"You'd better go. But call me on my cell phone, so your father won't know. We'll work something out, hun. Don't you worry." With that said, she exited to another wing of the house.
"Buffy," Spike prompted gently, "are you okay, love?" She forced a smile and an extremely unrealistic laugh.
"Me? I'm peachy with a side of keen. Come on. We'd better get out of here before 'he does something rash'," she said with an imitation of her father's deep voice. She hopped out of the bed and quickly yanked on some clothing. Frowning slightly at the indifference with which she was treating the situation, Spike followed her lead, dressing in silence. Then he waited as she pulled a suitcase out from under her bed and proceeded to toss her most important belongings into the travel case. Zipping it shut, she breathed deeply, ignoring the telltale shudder in the sigh. "Well now, lets see if we can't find me a place to live." She stuck her head our into the hall, checking for relatives, before stepping out of the safety of her room. "There was a place I was looking at a couple of weeks ago, it might still be vacant -"
"You don't need it." She looked back at him from her spot on the staircase.
"I don't?"
"Nope," he said firmly. "You're comin' to stay at my flat."
"I am?" He nodded. "With you?"
" 's right, pet. You're lookin' at your brand-spankin'-new roommate."
`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`
Buffy pushed the disconnect button on Spike's cordless phone and laid her chin on her knees. Explaining to Willow exactly what had happened had taken a tad longer than she'd anticipated, and she was emotionally drained. She wanted to cry her heart out, but had decided back in her bedroom that doing so would only cause discomfort to poor Spike. So far, he'd been a complete gentleman about the entire state of affairs; not pressing her about her father's overreaction, offering her a place to live, but she knew he was only doing it because he wanted her to get a grip quickly so they could resume their tumultuous affair. She sank back into the spongy cushion of Spike's couch, allowing a tear to roll down her cheek to hang precariously off her chin.
Dammit, she looked so pitiful sitting their on his couch, arms wrapped protectively around her knees. She had just hung up from Red, and explaining the circumstances of Buffy's hasty change in address seemed to have left her very little energy to do anything but sit and cry. He knew she didn't want to cry though. Not with him there. She didn't know him well enough and had spent too much time hating him for her to feel comfortable crying near him. Sure, he knew her body and vice versa, but there was so many levels to both of them that the other hadn't yet bothered to consider exploring. It would be intrusive of him to watch her cry.
He knew this, yet couldn't stop himself from slowly joining her on the sofa. She looked up at him, unintentionally giving him puppy dog eyes. And who could resist those? His finger hesitantly reached out and caught the teardrop poised on her jaw.
His deep blue eyes reflected his pity for her, his expression one of bottomless sympathy for her situation. She supposed he knew what she was going though, having gone through it with his own father. Not exactly the same circumstances, of course, but close nonetheless. . .
She said nothing, nor did he as he little by little leaned in, tilting her chin up slightly. He kissed her so softly, she wasn't completely certain that his lips had actually made contact with hers. She tentatively unhooked her arms from around her legs and let her hand sit lightly on his muscled forearm, silently urging him to comfort her in the only way he really knew how. It was the only thing he knew for certain that she would accept from him at the moment.
So truly contrasting of their previous encounters, he was so tender with her that she wondered for a moment whether he himself was alright. Her lips parted with ease when he silently requested her permission to enter. His fingers unbuttoned her blouse with agonizing slowness, keeping pace with the rest of his movements. When he finally slid the shirt down her arms, she shivered almost imperceptibly.
Surprisingly, it wasn't too hard for him to go this slowly. It was slower than he'd ever managed before, with any woman, yet it felt right to go this rate, because he knew it was what she needed. He interrupted this kiss to remove his shirt, then resumed his leisurely exploration of her mouth.
Her bra was removed and his fingered trailed lightly down the curve of her throat to tickle her breasts. When she seemed about to moan, she bit it back, unwilling to disturb the passionate silence that remained unbroken save heavy breathing and light sighs. Buffy did nothing to help him get rid of his jeans. It seemed more fitting for him to be in complete control this time. Only when he was completely stripped did he turn to her. She laid back on the couch, sinking into the cushion and felt his hands on the hem of her denim pants. He pulled the button through its loop before slowly pulling the zipper down with a soft metallic hiss. Spike then hooked his fingers under the edge of the jeans and she lifted her hips to accommodate her departing clothes. They landed on the floor with a soft swoosh. He moved between her bent knees, knowing that she'd already be ready for him. Her hips tilted up fractionally, of their volition. His eyes never left hers, intensity shimmering between them, communicating without words the need each felt for the other.
She remained utterly quiet as he slid into her, so slowly it hardly seemed like he was moving at all. When she was totally filled, her only reaction was a soft breath of satisfaction.
'Oh, yeah,' she thought. 'This is comfort.'
"What the hell is going here?" Hank yelled, looking very confused. "This is a joke, right? Right, Buffy?" She bit her lip, furiously trying to think of a plausible excuse while clutching a bed sheet to her chest. Her lawyer background failed her. She could not think of a single thing to say. So she resorted to shaking her head. "No? You and William. . .? Nah. . ." Hank waved a dismissing hand at them.
"Why is it so hard to believe that Buffy and I have. . .a relationship?" Spike questioned. Personally, he believed that it was very rude to have dismissed this whole scenario as a joke before he'd even had a chance to explain anything.
"Buffy, is this true? Are you having . . .relations with a . . .," he took on a purely disgusted look, "Giles?" It was his tone that made her snap.
"Yes, it's true, Daddy. Spike and I. . .we. . .," she stuttered. "We're having an illicit affair. With lots of sex," she spat defiantly. Spike gaped at her. "Ever since. . .uh. . .last week."
"We're having a what?" She didn't hear him. She was too busy concentrating on Hank, whose face was turning an unhealthy purplish red color.
"Get out of my house," he demanded, his voice barely above a threatening whisper. Buffy swallowed hard, feeling Spike's hand grasp hers under the sheet.
"What?" Maybe she hadn't heard him correctly, but it sounded as thought he'd said -
"Get out of my house now!" he repeated furiously. "I don't want to look at you right now. I'm ashamed to call you family." Attracted by the yelling, Dawn and Joyce appeared near the door to Buffy's bedroom. "As far as I'm concerned, you are no longer my daughter." Dawn gasped. Joyce's eyes widened, but she said nothing.
"Are - are you - serious?" Tears began to fill her beautiful green eyes.
"Completely. You have two minutes and counting before I do something rash." He grabbed hold of Dawn's arm, yanking her away from the doorway as he stomped down the hallway. Joyce stepped back a bit, but looked back at Buffy and Spike as she was about to leave.
"You'd better go. But call me on my cell phone, so your father won't know. We'll work something out, hun. Don't you worry." With that said, she exited to another wing of the house.
"Buffy," Spike prompted gently, "are you okay, love?" She forced a smile and an extremely unrealistic laugh.
"Me? I'm peachy with a side of keen. Come on. We'd better get out of here before 'he does something rash'," she said with an imitation of her father's deep voice. She hopped out of the bed and quickly yanked on some clothing. Frowning slightly at the indifference with which she was treating the situation, Spike followed her lead, dressing in silence. Then he waited as she pulled a suitcase out from under her bed and proceeded to toss her most important belongings into the travel case. Zipping it shut, she breathed deeply, ignoring the telltale shudder in the sigh. "Well now, lets see if we can't find me a place to live." She stuck her head our into the hall, checking for relatives, before stepping out of the safety of her room. "There was a place I was looking at a couple of weeks ago, it might still be vacant -"
"You don't need it." She looked back at him from her spot on the staircase.
"I don't?"
"Nope," he said firmly. "You're comin' to stay at my flat."
"I am?" He nodded. "With you?"
" 's right, pet. You're lookin' at your brand-spankin'-new roommate."
`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`*`
Buffy pushed the disconnect button on Spike's cordless phone and laid her chin on her knees. Explaining to Willow exactly what had happened had taken a tad longer than she'd anticipated, and she was emotionally drained. She wanted to cry her heart out, but had decided back in her bedroom that doing so would only cause discomfort to poor Spike. So far, he'd been a complete gentleman about the entire state of affairs; not pressing her about her father's overreaction, offering her a place to live, but she knew he was only doing it because he wanted her to get a grip quickly so they could resume their tumultuous affair. She sank back into the spongy cushion of Spike's couch, allowing a tear to roll down her cheek to hang precariously off her chin.
Dammit, she looked so pitiful sitting their on his couch, arms wrapped protectively around her knees. She had just hung up from Red, and explaining the circumstances of Buffy's hasty change in address seemed to have left her very little energy to do anything but sit and cry. He knew she didn't want to cry though. Not with him there. She didn't know him well enough and had spent too much time hating him for her to feel comfortable crying near him. Sure, he knew her body and vice versa, but there was so many levels to both of them that the other hadn't yet bothered to consider exploring. It would be intrusive of him to watch her cry.
He knew this, yet couldn't stop himself from slowly joining her on the sofa. She looked up at him, unintentionally giving him puppy dog eyes. And who could resist those? His finger hesitantly reached out and caught the teardrop poised on her jaw.
His deep blue eyes reflected his pity for her, his expression one of bottomless sympathy for her situation. She supposed he knew what she was going though, having gone through it with his own father. Not exactly the same circumstances, of course, but close nonetheless. . .
She said nothing, nor did he as he little by little leaned in, tilting her chin up slightly. He kissed her so softly, she wasn't completely certain that his lips had actually made contact with hers. She tentatively unhooked her arms from around her legs and let her hand sit lightly on his muscled forearm, silently urging him to comfort her in the only way he really knew how. It was the only thing he knew for certain that she would accept from him at the moment.
So truly contrasting of their previous encounters, he was so tender with her that she wondered for a moment whether he himself was alright. Her lips parted with ease when he silently requested her permission to enter. His fingers unbuttoned her blouse with agonizing slowness, keeping pace with the rest of his movements. When he finally slid the shirt down her arms, she shivered almost imperceptibly.
Surprisingly, it wasn't too hard for him to go this slowly. It was slower than he'd ever managed before, with any woman, yet it felt right to go this rate, because he knew it was what she needed. He interrupted this kiss to remove his shirt, then resumed his leisurely exploration of her mouth.
Her bra was removed and his fingered trailed lightly down the curve of her throat to tickle her breasts. When she seemed about to moan, she bit it back, unwilling to disturb the passionate silence that remained unbroken save heavy breathing and light sighs. Buffy did nothing to help him get rid of his jeans. It seemed more fitting for him to be in complete control this time. Only when he was completely stripped did he turn to her. She laid back on the couch, sinking into the cushion and felt his hands on the hem of her denim pants. He pulled the button through its loop before slowly pulling the zipper down with a soft metallic hiss. Spike then hooked his fingers under the edge of the jeans and she lifted her hips to accommodate her departing clothes. They landed on the floor with a soft swoosh. He moved between her bent knees, knowing that she'd already be ready for him. Her hips tilted up fractionally, of their volition. His eyes never left hers, intensity shimmering between them, communicating without words the need each felt for the other.
She remained utterly quiet as he slid into her, so slowly it hardly seemed like he was moving at all. When she was totally filled, her only reaction was a soft breath of satisfaction.
'Oh, yeah,' she thought. 'This is comfort.'