Chapter 4

Older and Far Away

AN: When we last left our lovers, Buffy had just arrived in NY and fell promptly into bed with Spike, her best friend of many years. Then I gave a bunch of exposition that hopefully didn't feel like exposition that dealt with their time in Sunnydale. Now we're back in NY, the morning after.

I'd like to remind everyone that I still hold no claims to anything Joss Whedon, Buffy, Angel, Mutant Enemy or Twentieth Century Fox-related. This is not for profit, but for fun.

She lay in bed next to him, playing with his lighter. Flick. That little spurt of yellow flame. So hot that at the center it burned bright blue, like the eyes that were now opening and focusing on her. A smile played across his features.

"Morning, love." His arm snaked around her neck, pulling her down for a kiss. She melted into him, pressed against his chest, her thoughts spinning around that kiss. How long had it taken for them to reach that point of contact? How long had it taken for them to finally find some semblance of completion?

As they broke the kiss, she opened her eyes to find his fixed on her face, full of consternation. "What's going on inside that head, pet?"

"I was thinking of how I first met you." She was thinking of everything that had transpired to bring her here, into his embrace, into his bed.

He was so concerned. This had not been the reaction he'd been hoping for, this deep reverie she was in. He hadn't expected this distance to suddenly cleave the bed in two, leaving him reaching over the precipice for her. All he felt was cold and it unnerved him. Her green eyes found his once more, the clouded look gone. "Kiss me again." She pulled him back, shifting so that he had nowhere to go but above her. He settled his weight against the fulcrum of her hips, bracing himself on his forearms, and brought his head down.

God, she was perfect. Her lips on his sent an electric current through him, straight through every muscle, organ, sinew and bone. How it had taken him so long to realize that perfection was right there in front of him was beyond comprehension. Of course, things hadn't started out very well between them. Something about combat boots.

And now here he was, doing very friendly things with her. In his apartment. In his bed. It was amazing how much time had passed before they had realized just how much each needed the other. He opened his eyes, taking in her creamy skin, the way it so suggestively hugged her collarbone and the dip that followed. He kissed that hollow and licked up her collarbone, gently nipping at her shoulder. Then her perfect ear caught his attention. Why had he never noticed how wonderful her ears were? So small, so pink, so tasty. He kissed his way over to her ear and delighted in the moan it elicited from her. So she was still here. She hadn't slipped back into that other world. His tongue flicked out, determined to keep her with him, her thoughts on only him.

His hot breath filled her ear deliciously. It was as if there were a direct connection between there and her belly, which tightened as he lavished kisses on and around her ear. She ground her hips up against him almost unconsciously. She wanted more from him. She'd had no clue how much he had to give her, how much she'd wanted to give him, before. Last night had changed everything.

Her cell phone jangled from its holster on her belt. "You should get that, love. You didn't call anyone back home to let them know you'd arrived safely, did you?"

"No one knows I'm here, Spike."

"What?" His faced transformed as brows knit together over probing ice. "What's going on back home?"

Gently, she pushed him off of her, and he rolled onto his side, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on his bedside table. Something was poking the small of her back. She rooted around the sheets to find the culprit. They both let the cell phone continue to ring.

"Where the hell did my lighter go?" She handed it to him. He looked at her.

"I was playing with it before you woke up," she shrugged. He turned away, his beautiful hands cupped around the cigarette as a chill breeze stole through the room. She suddenly remembered how very naked she was. Wrapping a sheet around her small body, Buffy walked over to the window.

"Huh."

"What?"

"It's snowing." She stood transfixed.

"No kidding? Well, welcome to New York." He got up out of bed and went to her. He dragged the window closed, grimacing as it squealed against several coats of paint. Task accomplished, he wrapped his arms around her. "Now, please don't think that I'm not glad of it, but why are you here?"

"Spike…" There was a familiar weariness in her voice.

"I assume things aren't going well with what's-his-face, G.I. Whitebread."

"Hey you, Naked Boy, aren't you cold?" She slipped the sheet around him as well, enfolding them both in the white fabric.

He stubbed his cigarette out on the exposed brick lining the window. "Not with your warm little body pressed against me. And I'll take that as a yes to my question." Flyaway hairs tickled underneath his chin as she rested her head against his chest. The whisper of eyelashes brushing his collarbone made him swallow the lump that had formed instantaneously in his throat. "It's ok love. Just because we slept together last night doesn't mean we can't talk about relationship problems this morning. It's much more familiar territory, at least."

"Is that why you think I came here, Spike? Because I needed to talk to you about Riley and I?"

"Well, no, not really…"

"He proposed to me."

He choked on an intake of breath. "Congratulations."

She lifted her head to look at him, and the spot where it had rested buzzed with energy. He felt so alive, even when he was drowning in her. "Riley proposed to me and all I could think to do was hop on the next plane to New York. To you."

"Oh."

They lapsed into silence.

"Coffee?"

"Black, please."

Buffy looked at him over the rim of her mug. She wore one of his button-down shirts and nothing more. He'd never seen anyone more beautiful. He gulped his very hot drink.

Upon careful study of her left hand, Buffy discovered that one of her nails had escaped yesterday's airport massacre . This is working well, she thought. "This is working well," she said, and went back to biting her nail

"Well, Buffy, I'm not quite sure to make of your little bombshell. What's a bloke supposed to think? You're in a relationship serious enough to warrant a proposal or marriage and last night you were…we, Buffy, last night was the best damn sex I've ever had. And I've no clue if it was just you getting one last kick as a technically single gal or…" at this he hesitated, his chest constricting, "or if this is something more. Bigger." Buffy reached out her hand, resting it on his. The look in her eyes was warm, loving.

"It's bigger."