Part II
They went in together. They didn't speak, but they stood side by side and it was obvious they were there together, though not obvious in what capacity. "Three bags," Spike put down a twenty.
"Plus this," Buffy put down ten.
Willy opened his mouth, shut it, and asked "Animal, human, or blend?"
"How'd you get it, the human?" Spike asked.
"Living donors, not to worry! Paid for." Willy didn't say they were paid in drugs and other contraband, but that was is supplier's concern, not his. "Animal is grade A, from the meatpacking plant."
"He wants human this time," Buffy said in a flat voice that indicated arguments would be unwise. Willy looked at Spike.
"Listen to the girl, Willy," Spike took one pint out of the brown paper shopping bag Willy prepared. "Toss that in the microwave for 20 seconds, there's a good boy."
"Serving is extra and I - it's on the house this time," Willy quailed under the combined onslaught of their stares.
The walk didn't take long, and Buffy noticed his step was quick again, not slightly out of time with her own. They were hurrying home. Home to her dorm, which was stupid and risky.
Not really.
"Come up," Buffy somehow started holding his hand as they crossed the campus line. Now they slowed in front of the walkway to Stevenson Hall.
"I won't stay too long."
"I'll be up for awhile," she looked at him from the corner of her eye. This wasn't the date I wanted. I shouldn't try to recapture it in my bedroom. Not like bed part of bedroom, but still. I don't want him to leave yet.
"I could be up all night. As a vampire, creature of the dark, all that," he hastily clarified. "I've been in the dorms before. Not in a room, though. The invite, y'see."
"I asked you in earlier. Does that count? We weren't physically present. Does that matter for vampire invitations?"
"We'll find out in a minute, won't we," Spike followed her up the stairs, hearing voices and laughter, radios and televisions murmuring or blaring from behind closed doors. Her room was on the second floor, 214, the corridor a mixture of noisy rooms and darkened ones. To her relief, no one was there when she opened the door, breathing a bit too hard to indicate a placid attitude. She stepped inside, still holding his hand, and he smoothly followed her, both of them smiling widely when he entered without being issued a reinvite.
"I guess that worked. Plus, me pulling you in might have told the Universe I wanted you. Inside. Inside this room. Man, I really should have had something to drink," Buffy put her hands to her flaming cheeks. Spike just chuckled.
"Freud would've had a field day with us, Luv. Speaking of drinks, mind if I have a few more?" he rustled the brown paper bag full of smaller pouches of blood.
"Microwave by the little sink," Buffy gestured.
"Ta. You eat dinner?"
"Yeah, I grabbed a burger before patrol. Plus the fries we got. Ooh, I have microwave popcorn. We could - watch a movie," her voice trailed off. "Is that lame?"
"Nope," he shrugged. He wouldn't be watching the movie, most likely. He'd be watching her. Watching her now, putter around the little room, taking off her jacket, fussing with her hair, hastily putting some clothes into a little pink hamper by the closet. She hadn't intended to invite him, or she'd have tidied up before, perhaps. All the more reason to be pleased he'd received the invite.
He perched by the microwave, sliding off his duster and draping it over the desk chair. Strangely intimate, being in this room, with this bed and her clothes, taking things off together, even if only coats. "Uh, mug?"
"Oh, duh, here." She handed him a pink mug that said "Goddess of Chocolate." Sorry."
"Suits you," he stored that away for later. Buy the girl chocolates sometime. Friend or date, or more. Always give them something they like, to show you paid attention.
He'd paid a lot of attention. Felt her trembles of fear and heard her steely soft voice in that alley. Let me help you.
His own suggestion, softly spoken, unshakingly clear. Then- we'll be close as we like, in the ways we like. "Think we'd have another dance after the movie, Slayer?"
"In here?"
"Radio?"
Buffy nodded at once. She actually preferred that idea. "Let's do that first. I was really only after the movie for the sake of munching on popcorn."
Spike put the mug to his lips, now full. "You munch, I'll sip."
They ate together, eventually coming to the bed, the only place both could sit. "I guess I need a couch. There's a desk chair."
"My place only has the one chair, too. Must be a junk shop someplace. Or the dump. Vamps usually shop at the dump."
"Broke college kids might, too. I have to get a job. My dad's not paying for my college, slaying doesn't pay, my mom can't afford it."
I could help her. I could keep her in the manner to which she's accustomed.
But not unless I go back to hurting people. "I'll keep an eye out," Spike promised.
"I really don't want to think about it for now. On Monday. I do a lot of things on Monday," Buffy laughed.
"Glad tomorrow's Sunday, Slayer," Spike raised his eyebrows at her self-confessed procrastination. He started his second bag and put the rest in the mini-fridge. "Remind me to grab that later, yeah?"
"Hey, where do you live?" Buffy suddenly got off the bed, both of them now standing. "Restfield, but where?"
"Alpert Mausoleum. Why?"
"Well... 'cause I thought- I mean, maybe if you ever forget something, I'd need to bring it over. Or need to find you. You don't have a phone, do you?"
"Nope."
"So, you know where I live, and now I know where you live."
"I'll give you the invite, too, Slayer. Come see me whenever you like," he winked. He downed his second mug in record speed and sighed contentedly. "On the mend, I can already feel it." Spike lifted up the edge of his shirt and Buffy and he both stared at his side. The welts had faded to a reddish bruise, no more blood.
"Oh, good," Buffy breathed thankfully, hand resting on it for a split second. They both jumped, her guiltily, him in surprise. It was then that he noticed the blood on her sleeve, and the side of her pretty white shirt.
"Bled a bit on you earlier. Sorry, Slayer."
" I have one of those pre-wash bleach sprays, it's fine," Buffy looked at her shirt in surprise and walked toward the closet. Wait. What do I wear? I don't have to change on a date, usually. Something pretty, or sexy, or super casual? This is a friendly date.
Screw that. "Let me get a different shirt. Find a station and I'll- I'll be up for a dance in a minute. If you still-"
"I still want to be close as you want me to be," his arm brushed hers as they passed, her on the way to the tiny ensuite half-bath, and him on the way to the radio she pointed to.
Very, very close, Buffy thought as she put on a skinny black top with ruched sides and cowled neckline that hinted that cleavage was just under the little folds, easily accessible, without being visible. That wasn't too suggestive, right? Sexy without being trashy? I hope. It's mean to lead people on.
I wouldn't lead him on. I'm not leading. I hope.
He liked it hard and fast, something to bounce with, destroy with, rock with. The punk scene had been one of his favorite eras in his homeland, British punk being by the far best.
But that's not what we ought to do. That doesn't scream close. It screams destruction and noise. I want her to feel safe. I want to feel safe. Not soppy, not scandalized, not pushy. Spike sighed. Being good was a pain in the ass. But it had its compensations. He left the dial alone when he heard some rock'n'roll that wasn't too loud. Clapton, he thought. He kept it low. He was there to talk to her, not simply to get physically close.
Like that kiss last night. Like that moment in the alley, holding onto each other for sustenance and support. Ought to thank her. Realize what she offered you?
"Thanks for tonight," Spike cleared his throat as she emerged. "For helping' me with those blokes with tasers and tear gas. An' thanks for the offer you made. I know that you aren't like that, and it means a lot to me. That'd you'd put yourself out of your comfort zone to help me. There. Honest and full disclosure," Spike licked his lips a couple of times to get the taste of so much "communication" out of his mouth.
Out of my comfort zone? He let someone slice him up with sharp knives to let me escape. You think you can't let him have a sip? How much blood did he spill for you that night? Remember the scars that weren't gone? Are they now, in another day? Buffy nodded over the noise of the words in her room was dim, one small lamp on, over the desk. She approached and he thought it was the beginning of their dance. It worked out perfectly for them to get close, for her to be inches away, and to see the faintest lines still running across his arms and neck. "Thank you for helping me, too," she whispered.
He didn't understand why her whisper should earn one of his, but it did. "Welcome. Luv…" she pressed to close. Her fingers were lightly running over his neck, soft spots, spots vamps like to have stroked. "Buffy…" he didn't want to sound breathy and moaning. Couldn't help it.
"Hurts?" her hands slid back to his shoulders.
"No. Opposite. Your touch is golden," he took her hand and hesitated before kissing the fingertips.
She didn't hesitate at all, which was strange for her, to kiss the back of his hand, locked around hers, turned to her lips.
What'll you do when you get lonely
And nobody's waiting by your side?
You've been running and hiding much too long.
You know it's just your foolish pride.
Layla, you've got me on my knees.
Layla, I'm begging, darling please.
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind.
"You're startin' to shake again," Spike slowly spun and swayed with her. "I've never seen you do that."
"I didn't used to around you."
"I hope it's not- worry?" Worry I'll suddenly lunge at you? Hurt you? Kiss you and start pressing you to the wall, or the floor, or the bed, too far, too fast?
I'm a bit worried about the last bit.
"Worried," she admitted. He dropped his arms, and she pressed back into them tightly, instantly. "I worry about things I shouldn't think about."
"Thoughts have reasons, Buffy," he murmured on top of her head. "You must have reasons." A fraction of a second, searching for the right thing, and it hit him, so easy. "Tell a friend?"
"He might laugh."
"He won't if it's not s'posed to be funny."
"I've had sex two whole times."
He froze. "Well, that's not funny. Why'd you think I would laugh at that?"
"Seems, not funny but odd, to think about wanting someone, and then realizing you're scared that you're bad at it, or scared that they'll think you're bad at it. Scared to do things again, because maybe it will hurt, and not just body parts, but heart parts," she confided in a huge rush, feeling sick to her stomach.
"That's not funny, not odd." Bite the bullet. "I've had sex thousands of times- with jus' one woman. So, maybe I'm bad at it. Maybe I couldn't keep her satisfied. No, I know I could, I was good, but… she kept havin' other lovers off an' on. Damages your confidence. An' I'm not so much afraid of the physical pain, but I get heart pain, Slayer."
"Just one woman?" Buffy looked up at him wide eyed.
"Don't judge," he said harshly.
"Not judging! That's beautiful. I wish I- I wish the first person who loved me had been able to keep on doing it. I wish the second guy, that I thought I could care for, hadn't been using me."
They slipped together into a hug, not a dance, an embrace with music. We can shield each other from the pain. "Not that we're plannin' to do any such thing," Spike whispered in her ear, "but I promise never to use you, Luv. not like that, and not at all. I promise not to make anything hurt. I was-" he found his throat suddenly misbehaving, tightening and choking as memories of his broken black angel lying on their bed assailed him. "I was gentle as you could ask for, if that's what she needed. If that's what you-"
They locked eyes.
We're talking about sex. Like, a lot of sexual stuff, in detail. And somehow it morphed into talking about sex between us, which wasn't supposed to happen. For a long, long time. "I could be whatever my lover wanted. Or needed."
"I don't know what I am, or could do," Buffy admitted.
"You give until it hurts you. You need someone who won't go so far. Let's you give until the point of pleasing each other, pleasing you both. No one should hurt."
"Like she hurt you," Buffy's lips did the strangely unthinkable. They kissed the scars on his arms, and though he had no breath, his breathing went completely erratic, and he stumbled back a bit, into the wall.
He'd always been gentle with Dru. Had Dru ever been gentle with him when he needed it? No. When he was broken, she was with others. "Buffy, stop," he squeezed his fists into balls and his eyes hard shut.
"I'm sorry, I-"
"I'll want you too much. You really are-" he wiped at his stupid eyes suddenly, the blue betrayers. "Too good for me, y'know that."
"I made you sad," Buffy looked mortified. "Spike, I'm so sorry."
"It's not somethin' to apologize for. To make me feel- good like that." To feel loved. Safe. I'm a big, evil vicious vampire! I don't want gentle! I don't want love, I don't do safe!
She felt the edge under his tone, the hardening in the features, and she backed away, afraid of what unseen boundary she'd crossed.
Don't blow this, he eased her back into his arms as another song ended, commercials burbled in the background. "It's hard for someone like me to play nice. It's hard for someone like me to say they've not had a proper friend in decades, not been treated with the sweetness you show so naturally. Like you breathe in, you breathe out, you heal, you love. Not that you love me," he was quick to assure her he knew it. "But you show it to everyone. I wish that someone would show it to you. I wish it could be me. I wish I knew how."
"Like that," she looked up at him in awe. "Just like that," she whispered before he kissed her, and she let him.
To be continued...