Spike carried her to his bedroom. Giles was already asleep and so was
Joyce. There was no worry where Buffy was in Joyce's mind; she was going to
spend the night with Tara anyway. He took off Buffy's jacket and shoes and
put her tenderly in bed.
It was all his fault that she was drunk. He should have warned her about Parker, about how he played dirty. He didn't know why he cared so much about her, he just did.
He sat in a chair beside his bed and stared at the beauty that was before him. She was beautiful when she was awake and she was also beautiful when she slept. When was this girl not gorgeous? He smiled at how peaceful she was sleeping. He wished he could just make all her fears and pains go away. Make her realize that not all men are jerks. Make her feel what real love was like. Make her know how much he cared. He just wished that he could be hers. She could be his. They could be each other's.
Sleep conquered his thoughts of Buffy quickly.
A messy blonde head peaked its way through hunter green sheets. She opened her eyes and wiped away the dried saliva from the corner of her mouth. Buffy couldn't remember where she was. All she remembered was that she got drunk and Parker got pretty cozy with her. She couldn't be in Parker's room, could she? She wouldn't have, would she? Her vision cleared, despite the throbbing headache.
Pale. Black. White. Beautiful blue. All those colors equaled Spike. Spike? He wouldn't have taken advantage of her, would he? He knew her story; was the only one she told. Maybe he didn't know she was drunk? But he wouldn't. He couldn't. She respected him too much. Did he respect her? Did he think she was a joke? All these questions were hurting Buffy's head.
Her head felt like a construction worker mistook her head for a slab of concrete that needed to be jack hammered. She was never much of a drinker.
Spike scratched his head lazily and sexily. "Good morning," his sexy accent echoed in her mind. "Good friggen mornin'," she mumbled. She was on her thin stomach with her hand on the side of her head, holding it up. He started to whistle a Disney tune. "Are you always so perky in the morning?" Her stomach churned and made a nasty noise. She felt nauseous. "Last night. Nothing-I mean. I can't remember and...what happened?" Spike put a wife beater on his naked chest. "Bloody Parker tried to make a move on you" His voice was getting angry now. "You walked off making a whole big scene. Kicked him where it hurt."
She groaned. "This is a hangover?" He nodded while sitting on the corner of his bed. "It's so, so, so..." He interrupted, "Unpleasant?" She coughed a sigh, "I was going to say hell on earth. But that works too."
Spike went to get Buffy some Advil and water. Buffy was sprawled on his bed, legs and arm wide. She still had that skirt and jacket on. Damn outfit. When Spike walked back into his room she said, "Sorry I took your comfy bed last night. Wish I could've remembered the slumber, 'cause it is all soft and yea." She yawned and put her sore head back onto the pillow. "S'ok."
Buffy smelt a whiff of pancakes that Spike was eating. She walked to the bathroom as quick as she could and lie down on the floor next to the toilet. Her arm was on the seat and her head rested on top. Spike walked in and relaxed his head on the doorframe. "Giles is out with your mom. Need anything?" She muttered a "no." She started to dry heave. Spike was by her side and lifted her hair away from her face. After her convulsions were over, she faintly smiled. "Can I take shower?" she said, her throat being raw from the acid. He nodded and helped her up.
He walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body. She had moist bead running down her chest, her arms, and her tanned legs. She walked into his room. Nobody was there. Buffy looked through his dresser drawers. Most of his shirts were black. She put on her underwear and grabbed a black t-shirt with lime green writing. The shirt would swallow her up; she liked it. It smelt like him –warm tobacco and old spice. The cold chill of Spike opening the door, sent chills up her nude body. Her back turned, her head looked back at him. He couldn't stop staring she was beautiful. Did she know she was stunning? Obviously not. She always puts herself down. Stupid girl. "Sorry love," he said blushing and turned his back. She quickly put on the shirt. "I-I needed some clothes, so I hope you don't..." He smiled, "Nah, don't mind." She looked damn good in his shirt. He could wake up every morning to this.
It was all his fault that she was drunk. He should have warned her about Parker, about how he played dirty. He didn't know why he cared so much about her, he just did.
He sat in a chair beside his bed and stared at the beauty that was before him. She was beautiful when she was awake and she was also beautiful when she slept. When was this girl not gorgeous? He smiled at how peaceful she was sleeping. He wished he could just make all her fears and pains go away. Make her realize that not all men are jerks. Make her feel what real love was like. Make her know how much he cared. He just wished that he could be hers. She could be his. They could be each other's.
Sleep conquered his thoughts of Buffy quickly.
A messy blonde head peaked its way through hunter green sheets. She opened her eyes and wiped away the dried saliva from the corner of her mouth. Buffy couldn't remember where she was. All she remembered was that she got drunk and Parker got pretty cozy with her. She couldn't be in Parker's room, could she? She wouldn't have, would she? Her vision cleared, despite the throbbing headache.
Pale. Black. White. Beautiful blue. All those colors equaled Spike. Spike? He wouldn't have taken advantage of her, would he? He knew her story; was the only one she told. Maybe he didn't know she was drunk? But he wouldn't. He couldn't. She respected him too much. Did he respect her? Did he think she was a joke? All these questions were hurting Buffy's head.
Her head felt like a construction worker mistook her head for a slab of concrete that needed to be jack hammered. She was never much of a drinker.
Spike scratched his head lazily and sexily. "Good morning," his sexy accent echoed in her mind. "Good friggen mornin'," she mumbled. She was on her thin stomach with her hand on the side of her head, holding it up. He started to whistle a Disney tune. "Are you always so perky in the morning?" Her stomach churned and made a nasty noise. She felt nauseous. "Last night. Nothing-I mean. I can't remember and...what happened?" Spike put a wife beater on his naked chest. "Bloody Parker tried to make a move on you" His voice was getting angry now. "You walked off making a whole big scene. Kicked him where it hurt."
She groaned. "This is a hangover?" He nodded while sitting on the corner of his bed. "It's so, so, so..." He interrupted, "Unpleasant?" She coughed a sigh, "I was going to say hell on earth. But that works too."
Spike went to get Buffy some Advil and water. Buffy was sprawled on his bed, legs and arm wide. She still had that skirt and jacket on. Damn outfit. When Spike walked back into his room she said, "Sorry I took your comfy bed last night. Wish I could've remembered the slumber, 'cause it is all soft and yea." She yawned and put her sore head back onto the pillow. "S'ok."
Buffy smelt a whiff of pancakes that Spike was eating. She walked to the bathroom as quick as she could and lie down on the floor next to the toilet. Her arm was on the seat and her head rested on top. Spike walked in and relaxed his head on the doorframe. "Giles is out with your mom. Need anything?" She muttered a "no." She started to dry heave. Spike was by her side and lifted her hair away from her face. After her convulsions were over, she faintly smiled. "Can I take shower?" she said, her throat being raw from the acid. He nodded and helped her up.
He walked out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body. She had moist bead running down her chest, her arms, and her tanned legs. She walked into his room. Nobody was there. Buffy looked through his dresser drawers. Most of his shirts were black. She put on her underwear and grabbed a black t-shirt with lime green writing. The shirt would swallow her up; she liked it. It smelt like him –warm tobacco and old spice. The cold chill of Spike opening the door, sent chills up her nude body. Her back turned, her head looked back at him. He couldn't stop staring she was beautiful. Did she know she was stunning? Obviously not. She always puts herself down. Stupid girl. "Sorry love," he said blushing and turned his back. She quickly put on the shirt. "I-I needed some clothes, so I hope you don't..." He smiled, "Nah, don't mind." She looked damn good in his shirt. He could wake up every morning to this.