"Do you want me to stay with you again tonight?" Spike asked. It had been
two days since Buffy had told all of her friends about the rape. Some of
them didn't know how to handle it, others acted really sorry about it. Oz
even suggested Buffy doing a speech about rape to the student body, telling
them that they aren't alone and how to get help. She thought it was a good
idea, but didn't know if she could handle having everyone know that she was
raped. He pointed out that they didn't have to know she was raped. The
people in her school weren't the smartest, but they could figure out the
connection. She just wasn't ready yet. Maybe later or maybe never.
"I don't think so. Mom is starting to get suspicious, like with the whole you sleeping over. If you were a girl, then maybe she would be okay, but since you are a hormonal guy...it's different. And I think I am okay with staying by myself." She rolled over on her stomach, with her feet crossed in the air. She looked away from her magazine and glanced over at Spike. "You have been helping me with the ass kicking skills and such, which will lead me to victory." She laughed animatedly. "I know ya bloody kryptonite," he said while pushing his body off of the bed. "Yea, Big Bad, and what's that?" He chuckled slyly and put his body on top of hers, supporting himself with his arms. He nibbled on her bottom lip that stuck out so often. He trailed down her body; placing open mouth kisses over exposed skin. He stopped right below her bellybutton, to that part of her body, the part that she was uncomfortable about, the part that Angel had so brutally violated. Her body tensed.
"Spike? Spike. What are you doing?" she said unsteadily. "Don't worry, love." He placed a kiss on the button of her jeans. She couldn't feel his lips, put the pressure he put on her lower abdomen was obvious and dare she think, sensual? He leisurely ran a finger down her jeans to her bare feet. "You wouldn't!" she exclaimed, eyes wide. "Then you don't bloody know me." He sat at the edge of her feet and positioned his hand over her legs, so she couldn't budge them. He traced the outside of her foot with his index finger scarcely touching it. "Stop, stop," she cried, wriggling. "I don't bloody thin' so." Using feather light contact, he swirled around her extra ticklish spots. "Who's the Big Bad?" he asked. "Me," she concluded during laughing fits. "Wrong answer." He started to get rough, but playful. Buffy couldn't breathe; she was laughing that hard. "Fine," she started getting her lung full of air. "You're the Big Bad. You're the Big, Sexy, Bad." He nibbled on her big toe. She chuckled. "Hmmm. My extremely hot and sexy bad boy."
He traveled back up her body, but stopped right above her breast. She was breathing heavily and so was he. Staring into his eyes, she licked her lips unconsciously. His eyes were clouded with desire, passion and love; hers reflected the same. Not being able to control herself, she panted, "Spike, I want you." He kissed a piece of tender flesh. "I want you to, love." This was her chance –they both wanted each other. The yearning for each other was thick in the room. She took his face in both hands and brought it up to her lips. They kissed fervidly, tongues battling, hands exploring new places that they have never searched. She reached down to the buttons of his shirt and little by little she uncovered his gorgeous torso. Placing open-mouthed kisses down his chest, she reached her objective.
Spike didn't know what to do. He wanted this so bad. To be intimately connected to Buffy –the love of his life –would be the most wonderful and pure desire, he could ever have. But was she really ready or just caught up in the moment? He had to be strong, even though it went against every hormone and craving in his brain.
Before she unzipped his pants he grabbed her wrist. "Buffy, I don't know..." She cut him off, "I'm ready. I want to." He was on his knees ahead of her and she was sitting with her legs behind her. Her view was right at his mid- torso. He put his palm on her cheek, stroking it gently. "I'm not," he said softly.
'He doesn't want to. He doesn't want me,' she thought. 'He doesn't want me.' She backed away from him uncomfortably. "Oh," she said. He tried to speak, but she cut him off. "I think you should go now," she stated somberly. Her face showed no emotion. "I think," she paused, "you should leave." Grabbing his shirt that was beside him, he tried to retract his statement. "Buffy, it's not that I don't want..." But he trailed off when he caught a glimpse of her state. She was too tired and weak to cry anymore, too saddened to be angry, too miserable to understand. "Yea, I should bloody go." He gave her a quick kiss on her brow and left. She just sat there with her eyes closed. The door shut with a thud, but Buffy didn't even jump. 'And I didn't even say 'I love you' yet...' she trailed off.
She didn't move for hours, it seemed; she just stayed on her bed thinking of what she did wrong in their relationship. "Buffy dear?" her mother called, just getting home from work. "In here." Joyce walked in her room. Something was the matter with her daughter; she could tell...it was one of those extra mother senses. "Are you alright honey?" she asked, sitting on the corner of her bed. "Yea, I'm fine, Mom." She put on a plastic smile and attempted to look happy. "I know I told you that I would be home tonight," Joyce said sadly, "But Rupert asked me to this show. It's supposed to be very good. Anyway, are you going to be okay staying here by yourself?" Buffy nodded vigorously. "Yes ma'am." Joyce sighed. "I don't know, though. There is a storm coming; looks pretty bad. I know how much you hate thunder and lightening and I would be a terrible parent to leave you unaccompanied during it." Buffy "Hmmmmped". "Mom, I'll be okay. You go have fun on your date with Giles. I'll be fine!" Joyce smiled and patted her on the leg. "Thank you sweetie. And it's not a date." She rolled her eyes. "Okay. I believe you."
Chocolate and ice cream, Buffy decided, was the best cure for anything, so she took out a pint of ice cream from the freezer. "Good ol' Ben and Jerry's," she said while grabbing a spoon. The container only had a couple bites missing, which was from her big English test last week. She went to the most comfortable place in the house, her window seat. She changed into some gray sweat pants and a loose pink shirt. Comfy was definitely in this year.
Her much loved baby blanket was covering her up. The storm outside was her show and even though she hated and feared the bright lights in the sky, it somewhat comforted her. The constant "tap" the rain made on the window, was her lullaby. Its melody was sweet and enchanting, more lyrical than it meant to be. Rain was seductive like that. It called you in with its simple tune, so chaste and rich, but declared you by its tribal longing. No matter what you did, once the sound got under your skin, you craved more –just that straightforward "tap tap".
She was scrapping the last remains of her ice cream out of the bottom of the container when the door opened. Putting it down, she wondered if it could be Spike. 'Did I put too much into it? Maybe he does want me?' she thought. His voice rung through her ears, "I'm not." Chills erupted over her body. 'Maybe he didn't want me,' she said sadly. She still wanted him, but did she really want him sexually? Was she really ready? This was a big deal for her. 'Maybe he came back for me, knowing what an ass he had been.' She couldn't help it; no matter how upset she was at Spike, she secretly wished that he would come into her room and sweep her off her feet.
Normally Spike, after entering into the Summer's home, would call out to her, but this time no voice called. "Spike?" she asked, knowing that he couldn't hear her; she could barely hear herself. "Spike?" she asked a little louder. Buffy just knew this was Spike –it had to be. A floorboard creaked right in front of her door and her heart jumped. She snuck over to the door and stood before it. "Spike?" she called when the door handle raddled. 'It's just Spike,' she ran over in her mind. Just in case it wasn't Spike (like that was a possibility), she locked the door. It wasn't a very strong lock, like a dead bolt, but it would hold up –she hoped.
A deep growl came from the hallway. 'It's just Spike,' her brain squeaked. A thud came from the door. 'Okay...that is not Spike!' her common sense figured. She backed up and tried to reach for the phone, but it was too late –the door swung open. He was soaking wet, dripping cold raindrops, breathing heavily, and his eyes looked like they could shoot daggers.
Oh yea...she was in deep shit!
"I don't think so. Mom is starting to get suspicious, like with the whole you sleeping over. If you were a girl, then maybe she would be okay, but since you are a hormonal guy...it's different. And I think I am okay with staying by myself." She rolled over on her stomach, with her feet crossed in the air. She looked away from her magazine and glanced over at Spike. "You have been helping me with the ass kicking skills and such, which will lead me to victory." She laughed animatedly. "I know ya bloody kryptonite," he said while pushing his body off of the bed. "Yea, Big Bad, and what's that?" He chuckled slyly and put his body on top of hers, supporting himself with his arms. He nibbled on her bottom lip that stuck out so often. He trailed down her body; placing open mouth kisses over exposed skin. He stopped right below her bellybutton, to that part of her body, the part that she was uncomfortable about, the part that Angel had so brutally violated. Her body tensed.
"Spike? Spike. What are you doing?" she said unsteadily. "Don't worry, love." He placed a kiss on the button of her jeans. She couldn't feel his lips, put the pressure he put on her lower abdomen was obvious and dare she think, sensual? He leisurely ran a finger down her jeans to her bare feet. "You wouldn't!" she exclaimed, eyes wide. "Then you don't bloody know me." He sat at the edge of her feet and positioned his hand over her legs, so she couldn't budge them. He traced the outside of her foot with his index finger scarcely touching it. "Stop, stop," she cried, wriggling. "I don't bloody thin' so." Using feather light contact, he swirled around her extra ticklish spots. "Who's the Big Bad?" he asked. "Me," she concluded during laughing fits. "Wrong answer." He started to get rough, but playful. Buffy couldn't breathe; she was laughing that hard. "Fine," she started getting her lung full of air. "You're the Big Bad. You're the Big, Sexy, Bad." He nibbled on her big toe. She chuckled. "Hmmm. My extremely hot and sexy bad boy."
He traveled back up her body, but stopped right above her breast. She was breathing heavily and so was he. Staring into his eyes, she licked her lips unconsciously. His eyes were clouded with desire, passion and love; hers reflected the same. Not being able to control herself, she panted, "Spike, I want you." He kissed a piece of tender flesh. "I want you to, love." This was her chance –they both wanted each other. The yearning for each other was thick in the room. She took his face in both hands and brought it up to her lips. They kissed fervidly, tongues battling, hands exploring new places that they have never searched. She reached down to the buttons of his shirt and little by little she uncovered his gorgeous torso. Placing open-mouthed kisses down his chest, she reached her objective.
Spike didn't know what to do. He wanted this so bad. To be intimately connected to Buffy –the love of his life –would be the most wonderful and pure desire, he could ever have. But was she really ready or just caught up in the moment? He had to be strong, even though it went against every hormone and craving in his brain.
Before she unzipped his pants he grabbed her wrist. "Buffy, I don't know..." She cut him off, "I'm ready. I want to." He was on his knees ahead of her and she was sitting with her legs behind her. Her view was right at his mid- torso. He put his palm on her cheek, stroking it gently. "I'm not," he said softly.
'He doesn't want to. He doesn't want me,' she thought. 'He doesn't want me.' She backed away from him uncomfortably. "Oh," she said. He tried to speak, but she cut him off. "I think you should go now," she stated somberly. Her face showed no emotion. "I think," she paused, "you should leave." Grabbing his shirt that was beside him, he tried to retract his statement. "Buffy, it's not that I don't want..." But he trailed off when he caught a glimpse of her state. She was too tired and weak to cry anymore, too saddened to be angry, too miserable to understand. "Yea, I should bloody go." He gave her a quick kiss on her brow and left. She just sat there with her eyes closed. The door shut with a thud, but Buffy didn't even jump. 'And I didn't even say 'I love you' yet...' she trailed off.
She didn't move for hours, it seemed; she just stayed on her bed thinking of what she did wrong in their relationship. "Buffy dear?" her mother called, just getting home from work. "In here." Joyce walked in her room. Something was the matter with her daughter; she could tell...it was one of those extra mother senses. "Are you alright honey?" she asked, sitting on the corner of her bed. "Yea, I'm fine, Mom." She put on a plastic smile and attempted to look happy. "I know I told you that I would be home tonight," Joyce said sadly, "But Rupert asked me to this show. It's supposed to be very good. Anyway, are you going to be okay staying here by yourself?" Buffy nodded vigorously. "Yes ma'am." Joyce sighed. "I don't know, though. There is a storm coming; looks pretty bad. I know how much you hate thunder and lightening and I would be a terrible parent to leave you unaccompanied during it." Buffy "Hmmmmped". "Mom, I'll be okay. You go have fun on your date with Giles. I'll be fine!" Joyce smiled and patted her on the leg. "Thank you sweetie. And it's not a date." She rolled her eyes. "Okay. I believe you."
Chocolate and ice cream, Buffy decided, was the best cure for anything, so she took out a pint of ice cream from the freezer. "Good ol' Ben and Jerry's," she said while grabbing a spoon. The container only had a couple bites missing, which was from her big English test last week. She went to the most comfortable place in the house, her window seat. She changed into some gray sweat pants and a loose pink shirt. Comfy was definitely in this year.
Her much loved baby blanket was covering her up. The storm outside was her show and even though she hated and feared the bright lights in the sky, it somewhat comforted her. The constant "tap" the rain made on the window, was her lullaby. Its melody was sweet and enchanting, more lyrical than it meant to be. Rain was seductive like that. It called you in with its simple tune, so chaste and rich, but declared you by its tribal longing. No matter what you did, once the sound got under your skin, you craved more –just that straightforward "tap tap".
She was scrapping the last remains of her ice cream out of the bottom of the container when the door opened. Putting it down, she wondered if it could be Spike. 'Did I put too much into it? Maybe he does want me?' she thought. His voice rung through her ears, "I'm not." Chills erupted over her body. 'Maybe he didn't want me,' she said sadly. She still wanted him, but did she really want him sexually? Was she really ready? This was a big deal for her. 'Maybe he came back for me, knowing what an ass he had been.' She couldn't help it; no matter how upset she was at Spike, she secretly wished that he would come into her room and sweep her off her feet.
Normally Spike, after entering into the Summer's home, would call out to her, but this time no voice called. "Spike?" she asked, knowing that he couldn't hear her; she could barely hear herself. "Spike?" she asked a little louder. Buffy just knew this was Spike –it had to be. A floorboard creaked right in front of her door and her heart jumped. She snuck over to the door and stood before it. "Spike?" she called when the door handle raddled. 'It's just Spike,' she ran over in her mind. Just in case it wasn't Spike (like that was a possibility), she locked the door. It wasn't a very strong lock, like a dead bolt, but it would hold up –she hoped.
A deep growl came from the hallway. 'It's just Spike,' her brain squeaked. A thud came from the door. 'Okay...that is not Spike!' her common sense figured. She backed up and tried to reach for the phone, but it was too late –the door swung open. He was soaking wet, dripping cold raindrops, breathing heavily, and his eyes looked like they could shoot daggers.
Oh yea...she was in deep shit!