Spike had this fantasy, a long time before Buffy died and the world fell apart, where she showed up early in February and they kissed in his bed like they were doing right now. And Buffy's arms were draped around his neck, like they were right now.
He was more romantic than Buffy gave him credit for, though, because in his fantasy, she'd pull away every so often and tell him that she loved him. Sometimes the kisses were soft and gentle, not always hard and biting. Sometimes she'd just stop kissing him and rest her head on his chest and he'd stroke her hair.
But when Buffy pulled away, she was gasping for air, resting her forehead against his with kiss-swollen lips before going back in again. Now she was pulling at the buttons of his shirt, something that had been in his fantasy. The desperation. The passion.
There was no love there, though.
Spike had mocked Riley, once. Said that he would hate to be in his position, being with Buffy and knowing that her heart wasn't with him. But honestly, he was jealous now, because at least Riley could pretend that Buffy loved him. Riley could hear her say it and say it back. Riley could hold Buffy in his arms and she wouldn't pull away.
"Spike," Buffy moaned. Lips on his neck, trailing down his bare chest. He'd wanted this so badly a year ago, before everything had gone to hell and Buffy had gone to heaven. A few years ago, this would have been enough, knowing that the real Buffy wanted him in his bed. It would have given him a sense of proud power, that the Slayer of all people was hot for him, that he could dismiss her affections with a wave of his hand.
Not for the first time, he wished that he wasn't in love with her. It could just be another fling like Harmony, someone who was good in bed but not worth being around in the morning. He'd made pancakes for Buffy once, in a stupid desire to spend the morning with her (and maybe actually have a chat about something that wasn't sex or how awful he was), but she'd been gone when he went back to the bedroom.
He didn't know how to even begin redeeming himself in her eyes. Was there any possible way?
Buffy pushed him back against the headboard before guiding his hands to the zipper of her leather jacket. The heated look in her eyes did serve to remind Spike that he had one up on both Angel and Riley—not like Captain Cardboard ever got to see the Slayer this turned on, and not like the Poofter could utilize it. He moved one of his hands to pull her into a kiss, and tried to lose himself in Buffy.
Kissing her, hands tangled in her hair, he could almost pretend.
But not quite.
And in the morning, just like always, she'd left before he could make her pancakes.