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Chapter Eighteen

William didn't have a damn clue what he was doing, and yet… he was keenly aware of exactly what he was doing. He was kissing a man; he was kissing a man for the second time in a very short period of time. And somehow, it occurred to him that this man had been his first real kiss—this man he was very confused about, this man his heart pounded at the very sight of, this man that made him imagine things he never imagined imagining. He was drowning in him, savoring the way his tongue glided over his, the way his hands crept up his chest and along his neck—the way those hands half slid into the hair behind his ears, those thumbs settled just under his ears, and the way the whole action brought that very same man into returning the kiss.

William pulled him closer, moaning in something of a partial growl that surprised even him. And he just kept kissing him; it was as if he couldn't get enough of the taste—like sunshine… the bright light of a beginning dawn as it painted along the horizon and over the blanket of the ground—as it painted a golden reflective ambiance over every delicate leaf hanging from the boughs of peppered trees dotting a landscape. Like Apollo, Dare's brilliance carried him to something new, something he'd never experienced before, something he was still on the cusp of feeling; he wanted more of that warmth, that affection, that tenderness mixed with something more.

Passion.

He'd never experienced passion before, not beyond the mark of hope in ink on paper. And that's all that had ever been—hope. But now he understood what it meant when other poets had written about it: the carnivorous desire to love another's body as if you were addicted, as if it physically hurt to stop. It wasn't love, but it would be so easy to…

He was gasping against his lips, but he didn't stop. Drowning, drowning, drowning… drowningdrowning…

He nipped at Dare's lower lip, sucked, trailing his mouth along his cheek. He kissed his jaw and then took his ear betwixt those lips. He bit once, wanting more. Anything to keep those sounds that came out of the other man's mouth flowing—anything to keep his body shaking, quivering, and his hands gripping into his scalp with nails hard enough to leave marks.

Where was this desire coming from?

And then Dare pulled him back; he didn't stay William's actions. No, he kissed him again, taking control and kissing him back again. And William allowed him the reigns, leading him in his own lack of experience.

"You taste like heaven…" he managed to whisper along Dare's mouth before giving into his control again. "Like euphoric bits of some effulgent symphony…" he went on, one hand moving up along Dare's spine through the layers of fabric… up and up until he was cupping the back of his head, toying with the short strands there. "..All the notes… they weave into me… beneath my skin… my very marrow" God, where was this coming from?

"William…" he whispered, actions not staying, but slowing. The kiss became softer, kinder, something entirely different. And his heart… it broke at that and he didn't understand why. Why would he feel this way? Like it had never been this way before when he'd never really done any of this with Dare until recently? What was this feeling of agony mixed with reverie mixed with that symphony of joy and acceptance?

When he pulled away both hands came to Dare's chest and settled; not to push away, no, more trying to find leverage. His forehead came to rest on his, taking note of the way Dare's strands tickled his skin. He could feel his own breath mingling with the other man's, the warmth that skated across his mouth and cheeks as they both tried to find air. Those hands were still on William's neck and in his hair; they hadn't moved.

He swallowed, eye closed as he savored and tentatively feared all that he was experiencing.

What was he supposed to say? Never mind the fact that he'd never been truly good at words, he'd never really had a true talent for all that he admired the way others strung language together beautifully. What did you say when this sort of thing happened? When you didn't even know what was happening? If you were supposed to want it? Was it ok to want it? And then there were all the implications that went with it.

Wanting this was beyond unacceptable to those who lived in his world, his class. Those kind of things were what one worried about, especially when one was a first son with a title to carry on to a son after he married.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered, not knowing what else to say and feeling like he needed to say something. And yet, he still couldn't find the willpower to remove himself from Dare's person.

"It's alright," he murmured back. William didn't miss the catch in his voice.

At this his hands tightened, clutching the fabric of his jacket, shirt, and vest. "It's not… I…" His own throat tightened and he desperately tried to find words, to fight the ache in his chest he didn't understand, the feeling of tears wanting to come forth. "I can't do this to you…"

And then he laughed, chuckled bitterly—Dare did. "I'm sorry…" he said, echoing William's words. "I'm not laughing at you. I promise. It's something else."

He frowned at that, wondering if it had to do with his past—the man he'd denied. "Memories?" he found himself asking, pulling back just far enough to look at him. His cool blues were immediately swept up in those green eyes… so full of… something. Something he'd never seen before. There was something important about the way Dare looked at him; no one had ever looked at him that way before. And that just made him hurt all the more.

"You don't have to apologize," he replied instead, closing his eyes and shutting William off. He stepped back, seeming to coil within himself as they disconnected. And he hated that, he realized with clarity. He hated the way Dare removed himself and shut down. He didn't want him too.

But he didn't voice any of this because it would be preposterous. The man would think he was a raving lunatic to have these feelings, these thoughts, these vague echoes of some other part of him he didn't quite get; he wasn't even sure if it was real… if he didn't want it to be real.

"You should go," Dare told him, not looking at him as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked to his right towards the floor. "I need some rest..."

"…Alright," he replied, still not knowing what else to say. When he left though, closing the door behind him, William knew it wasn't over; he just didn't have a clue how far down the rabbit hole this was all going to take him. He didn't know whether to be afraid, ashamed, or accepting. Love and fear…

…A thin line, that.

#

The next day and half was found wanting, William realized. He found himself mostly without company aside from his sisters. His friend was careful to avoid his company unless his chattery family members were around; if he and the other man left together, Dare suddenly remembered he had something else to do and scurried off. William never argued; he wanted to, but he didn't. After all, this was his doing. There wasn't a need for Dare to spend any substantial amount of time with him alone if it risked becoming something it shouldn't; it wasn't fair to the American when William wasn't even sure what he wanted.

And thus, he would stay his hand from reaching out, stay his body from stepping forward, and stay his voice from calling out to someone he desperately wanted to talk to—if nothing else. But talking led to touching, to kissing, and William wasn't so inexperienced to think it didn't lead to more. It would lead to more and he didn't know if he wanted to make that leap. He'd never felt this way about a man before… much less another human being. The affections he'd held for Cecily were dry by comparison; they didn't glow with passion the same way. His love for her had been some hope he'd imagined to be more than would it had ever really been. And he knew, that's just what first loves were: ideas you build up to be more than what they were, images you gloss over to be better than they are, molded things that look prettier at a distance than up close with all of the flaws you never appreciated.

He wasn't in love with Dare, but he could see how the more he got to know the man how easy it would be to love him. It frightened him, knowing that. It frightened him to his bones beyond the implications of what it would mean for his future. And William was a thinker; it was natural to be a thinker when you were a creative type—a scholar even. He thought too much and too often. And so it was understandable that he would think about what it would mean to be with Dare on an intimate level, a deeper one, even if he hadn't fully come to grips with the fact that he wanted a man. He had a gut wrenching feeling that if he tried this it wouldn't be one of those things one dipped their toes in the water over; he inherently knew that if he started this, if he gave into this, that it would never end. It would keep going, potentially making him happier than he'd ever imagined. But that potential happiness also had the horrible and possible consequence of making him unhappy were people to find out. And he would still have to get married even if he didn't want to. Dare would have to get married. They would have to lie their whole lives about this… pretend to love people, women, they didn't love because that's the way the world bloody well worked when you were a member of the gentry. And then, beyond all else, they would have to hide it and hope to hell no one ever found out.

He didn't know if he could do it.

He just…

"William dear, are you alright? You've been staring at the same page for well over a half an hour."

The Englishman in question, so pulled from his stupor, nearly gasped as his elder sister's intrusion on his thoughts. He didn't, but he did jump. Cool blues looked up at her from the line in the book he'd been staring at like a lost deer; he then blinked.

"Well…?" she asked, hands on her hips. "Are you?"

"Y-yes… fine. Sorry." He shook himself mentally and refrained from sighing; sighing would just worry her more. Getting lost in his own thoughts wasn't totally abnormal for him, so he'd be safe from further inquiry so long as he didn't look morose on top of it.

She took a seat adjacent to him, glancing over at their sister chatting away with another woman while she worked on her embroidery. There was a whole gaggle of them drinking tea, honing their skill with a needle, and writing letters to loved ones or reading. William had decided to join the ladies, though not completely. The ruse of reading a book while thinking on his problems had been entirely intentional. He simply hadn't planned on Lily being quite so astute.

"We're going into town and I'd like you to join us; you and Dare of course, and a few other gentlemen. We all need to get out of this house and off the property for a bit.

"Say you'll come," she pleaded, leaning on the arm of the chair towards him.

Instinctively, he wanted to say no. He wanted to save Dare from spending any grand amount of time with him even in the company of other people beyond what was conventional to keep up appearances that they were still in good spirits with one another; he didn't think the American would be comfortable with it. And given that they were men, they would be stuck in the same carriage with one another. Though… Lily had said there would be other men… so they wouldn't be alone, per say. And saying no might mean he ought to explain why; which, he was in no mood to do—to make up some silly lie his sister would never believe or let him get away with.

"Very well."

"Wonderful," she said with a grin. "I'll let the other ladies know to gather everyone else. You'll get Dare?"

Reluctantly, though not that she would see, he agreed.

Making his way up to Dare's room wasn't difficult. He didn't know if he was there, but part of him hoped he wasn't. It would be much easier to tell him in the company of others. Still, he knew better; Dare spent much of his time up in his room recently, only coming to events long enough to not appear distant and withdrawn from the guests. William also knew because he spent much of his time looking to see where the man was, locating him, even if he never really pushed any level of interaction beyond what was polite.

Though, perhaps he was reaching a little. It had only been a day and half; certainly not long enough to call Dare's actions a habit. Perhaps he was more keenly aware of it because of his misgivings, hesitance, and confusion—all that he wanted but wasn't sure he wanted.

…More than likely.

When he reached the door he rapped on it with his knuckles loudly enough to be heard, but not so loud it would be uncouth. A moment passed before the door opened to reveal a sharp dressed servant with dark hair and a rising eyebrow.

"My lord?" he asked.

"Is Dare in?" he queried. "My elder sister and a few of the ladies are planning a trip into town and invited him along with a few other gentlemen. She wanted to know if he'd like to attend."

"It's alright, Ian. I'm coming."

William met Dare's gaze head on, green melting into cool blue. He smiled. "Lilith wanted to know if you'd come along."

Dare's lips pursed in thought. "How long would we be out?"

He shrugged, not caring a wit for how rude the gesture was. "A few hours, perhaps. If you want to leave early though, we're likely going in a two or three carriages. I'm sure you can leave if you grow tired, or want to come back."

The other man nodded. "I'll gather my things and meet you all downstairs."

It could have been harder, he supposed. But, William thanked God it wasn't. He thanked God for Ian's presence to keep things forcefully cordial. That ache he felt was happily restrained inside his body with another present—it kept it from pouring over, from saying silly things he wasn't sure he should say yet, if at all.

#

William was happy to be stuck in a carriage with his sisters and Dare; really he was. It had the benefit of him not being stuck in a carriage with people who didn't like him—who pretended to and shot cutting remarks that were guised as the polite things they were not. However, he was also unhappy because of all the other aforementioned things he'd been thinking about without pause. Indecisive things he wasn't sure what to make of. So, he was wholly glad when the carriages stopped after what felt like an eternity of trying to appear jovial with his family and his friend, and he was free to escape to the outdoors.

But this brought new levels of awkwardness when he found himself paired with Dare, Cecily, some other girl named Rose, and Cecily's mother. The latter left the group be for the most part, shopping by herself in other corners of the store. It was apparent she hadn't come along to chaperone with it being such a public outing; rather, she'd come to poke at things for herself.

His eyes lingered on her long enough to be considered normal before he turned back to the group. Lady Rose and Cecily were admiring a few baubles on a shelf, wooden boxes that were crafted by a local woodworker.

"They're so rustic," Cecily said as she took one down and examined it. "But I absolutely adore the engravings." She popped the lid. "What do you think, Mr. Clarke?"

"They're certainly pretty," he replied. "What would you use it for?"

"I'm not sure." She looked over at the other woman in their party. "Rose? You?"

"Mmmm…" she hummed, lips turning in contemplation. "Perhaps for storing the correspondence I keep? It appears sufficient enough if size for letters."

"I concur. I shall buy this one then." She looked over at Dare. "Would you mind carrying it for me, Mr. Clarke?"

"…I wouldn't," he agreed, taking it from her.

Once again they were browsing.

"Cecily tells me you're a poet, Lord Broderick," Lady Rose told him as she took a step forward to walk next to him, leaving Cecily and Dare behind them both.

He blinked at the brunette, surprised and unsure. "I… ah… Yes, well, in a manner of speaking, I am. Though, truth be told… I don't image myself to be very good."

She smiled brightly at him anyway, startling him. He couldn't help but wonder if it was an honest expression or not. "I'm sure it's not all that bad. Everything takes practice, doesn't it? I should like to see it sometime, if you don't mind."

"…Perhaps."

She chuckled, grin infectious. "Shy, my lord?"

Meanwhile, Cecily-or rather, Halfreck—smiled within the folds of her own mind like a cat who got the cream as she watched the interaction between William and Rose. Really, old favors were just wonderful things to call in; it's why she didn't mind doing them for other people, gathering favors of her own for when she needed them desperately. It saved energy she didn't need to spend; energy, if spent, would have D'hoffryn burning her into the next life.

Rose was ample enough for what she had in mind.

And it appeared her cute little experiment was working. While William wasn't really responding to Rose… Dare was responding to the scene unfolding before her. Cecily could feel it in her emotions, the turbulence of it was almost gratifying to a being like her—someone who fed on creating nightmares for people with the finesse of an artist. Almost.

Anya didn't appreciate Halfreck doing this; she didn't grasp the need Cecily had to clean up this mess she'd never really created. She didn't want to understand the gratification love brought, the way it lifted you up, anymore than Halfreck wanted to understand the love of a real father. And she had every right, given that heartbreak was what made her so good at her job. The brunette didn't begrudge her that, but she did expect the blond to give her this because they were friends; real friends; friends that watched each other's backs beyond what was normal for the demon community.

That Anya could grasp. That and orgasms.

Though, back to the matter at hand. Yes, indeed, her little experiment was working if the tightening of Dare's jaw, the flex of her hands, and the narrowing of her eyes were any indication. She did not like what Rose was doing. This went beyond mere sexual attraction; the woman next to her most definitely felt jealousy. She perceived William to be more; there was… yes, love in that. Clearly, she could feel it. The affection was so bright, so raw, and so definably pure that it nearly scalded Halfreck.

She didn't want any of it, but, she was glad to know she could move on with the second part of her plan.

Glad indeed.

#

"Well this is rather dreadful…"

"What's wrong?" Buffy asked as she approached Lilith, who had been talking to one of the guys who drove the carriages they'd come into town with just a moment before she walked up. Everyone was meeting up to eat a late lunch before shopping for a bit more. Then they'd go back to the house, for which she was thankful. Emotionally, she was somewhere between crying into her pillow for hours on end and beating something hard into the ground.

She sighed, hands on her hips and looked directly at Buffy. Her blue eyes were a mixture of worry and curiosity. Though, no real honest worry was present. "It appears one of the wheels on one of the carriages has been damaged. They're not sure how and I can't have anyone walking back. I'll need to send one of the carriages to the house and have the men send for another to come back for when we depart."

"Alright… so…"

"The problem is they might not have another, which means we'll need repairs done… and that could take a few days or less. I think it might be better to send a few people ahead so we can go in groups. Have the carriage, or both, come back to get the rest of us."

"I'll volunteer to go back early." Buffy jumped right on it. She wanted to go back. Seeing Rose hit on Spike… William… yeah, she needed a moment to herself. Combined with the last few days… another yeah. It wasn't that she was upset with William, no, it was just the icing on the cake. She felt like not being a woman was being thrown in her face, that she couldn't flirt with him in public was being thrown in her face.

It wasn't Rose; It wasn't William; it was… this.

Lilith blinked at her. "That's very kind of you, Dare. I'll see who else—."

"I believe my mother and I need to return to the house," Cecily said as she approached, looking put out.

"Oh?" Lilith inquired.

Her hands were wringing. "She's come down with something, I'm afraid. Not serious, but she needs a bed—rest, my lady."

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem. We needed four people to return back because one of the carriages has been damaged. If they don't have a spare at the house then we'll need to go in groups: however, if you, your mother, Dare, and another go now… we can have both carriages here for the other eight in our party."

"That's terrible…" Cecily replied, blinking curiously. "Was it done a purpose?"

"We're not sure. It doesn't matter. For all we know one of the drivers could have damaged it on accident." Lilith's eyes narrowed. "I think William is rather worn down himself. He probably wouldn't mind returning home." She looked at Cecily. "With you mother under the weather it might be best for you to ride with her. William and Dare can take the other carriage."

"That does seem best."

Buffy, who'd been quiet during this exchange, found a reason to speak. "We could all take the same one," she blurted.

"Nonesense," Lilith replied, waving her hand. "There's no need to fall ill yourself should Lady Warwick be contagious.

"I'll go get William."

Buffy stood there as the two women left, one to go get her brother and the other to get her mother—her friend, really. Did demons get sick? Hell if she knew. This was not what she wanted. At all.

She'd been trying to so hard to give him space, to give him time to think…. And maybe to give herself time to think. But she needed more; this was just too soon. Her heart wasn't ready to deal with everything that had compounded over the last (almost) two days—the fight she'd been having with herself: the one where she told herself she needed to spend time with him until Kit got her some news, and, the other emotional part that didn't deal with rejection any better than Spike apparently did.

Buffy bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes against the sun overhead; when she finally released her lip she let out a breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding in. Was this the universe's doing? Was karma trying to punish her for all that she'd done to him? Was it right to feel like she didn't want it even though she'd done it to him? That long and painful wait to know, to not know, just where all this was going? To stand in the sidelines of his life, on the fringes, and wait for whatever scrap he'd give her?

And she wanted that scrap badly, those crumbs… any he'd be willing to give her. Because, deep in her heart she knew she deserved this for all the denial and pain she'd put him through because of self-doubt and fear.

And as she stood there she forgot about the world. She didn't really notice the carriages pull up, Halfreck and Anya climb into their own, or, the one waiting for her William and her. Not until he placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump.

"W-what?"

He raised a brow at her. "I asked if you were ready to go back? The driver is waiting."

Buffy nodded and got in, running away from him even when she knew the carriage was merely a trap—a cage for all she'd been keeping away from him for what felt like weeks, but in reality was less than forty-eight hours.

She did her best not to look at him, to keep her hands in her lap and clasped together in a way that was entirely unmanly. But, it wasn't easy when they were both stealing glances at one another in the silence that pervaded.

"Dare—."

"You don't have to say anything," she told him quietly, cutting him off. She was waiting for him to tell her to do something, for him to initiate something. But, at the same time she was afraid of what he would say. She didn't want words for all she needed them. She wanted his mouth, his hands, his warmth, and yes, even those whispers of broken poetry. But not words, not the possibility of rejection—not unless she knew what he had to say meant something. And that was the irony; all he'd ever said to her for years before had meant something and she'd never wanted it, she'd told herself.

"I don't want to hear you're sorry," she whispered next. "So… if you're going to say that, don't say anything at all." And that was about the time she realized her voice was cracking, her heart in tandem with it also. But, she refused to cry; she wouldn't. She was good at not crying; she'd gotten good at it over the years when things hurt.

But he didn't say he was sorry. He moved across the carriage to her side and he kissed her; he took her cheeks in his hands and he kissed her. And she fell into that, that feeling such an affection caused—the pounding race of her blood in her body, the heat of it coiling in her groin, the love she wished he knew he felt for her and that she felt for him finally. She kissed him with desperation, with softness because she'd never given him softness before. She forced him to slow down, to allow them both to take their time so she could hear the lyrics that felt from his mouth between breaths like molten honey she swallowed. Those words she wanted and tasted, the passion of feelings he didn't understand because Spike was in there somewhere fighting to get out and love her.

And she wanted to give him more, something more. Anything. Because physically, he'd always given her so much. And she didn't ask when she lowered herself to her knees in the moving carriage between his legs. He didn't protest as she removed his pants and anything else in the way she didn't know the name for in this godforsaken period of petticoats and bustles; not right away.

"Dare—."

"Please," she begged, cheek resting on his thigh even as she stilled her action, as she held fast to the thin fabric that likely constituted as some form of boxers. Her eyes were shut tightly and she didn't want to look at him for fear of him looking into her soul and tell her no, sorry, stop—I don't want to do this to you.

Please don't tell me that, she whispered in her own mind. "Let me have this," she begged again, voice strained and pleading. "Just… let me have this."

And then came the long moment where nothing was said, as she waited for him to make up his mind, as she worried about how much time they had in this rolling contraption of death. The bite in her knees was painfully ignored as she waited, breath bated and constrained.

Please… just…

"Alright…" she heard him breathe, voice just as shaky as her own. She could hear the blush in it, the voice of inexperience. But there was also want, anticipation. And she rejoiced in that, thanked the gods for it.

She didn't take him into her mouth right away; rather, she teased him in all the ways he'd always teased her before. She took her time, allowing her tongue to roll over all the parts she knew made him curse at her beautifully in ways she'd never appreciated before, all the parts that made him tell her in a deep heavy tone how much he adored her and appreciated her—how fucking beautiful she was.

But this wasn't Spike yet; no, this was William. He didn't shout blasphemies at her as her tongue slid over his balls, as she took one in her mouth gently and lapped. He didn't scream obscenities at her as she licked a path up the base of him, as she scraped her teeth over the head of him, as she licked her tongue between the slit his head. He whimpered, whispered, gasped, ran his hands over her head and through her hair tenderly—trying not to hurt her or offend her. And when he cried out a bloody, a damn, or bollocks, she appreciated the way he couldn't hold it all in even as William.

When she finally took him in her mouth he cried out her name, the one she took up in this period; he bent over her, hands draping about the back of her neck as he gave, and gave, and gave as she gave to him. And it didn't bother her, him saying that name. It was hers, even if it wasn't Buffy. It was her name he was whispering like a mantra, like a prelude to those three little words she wanted to hear him sing as he came undone.

She took him fully and as far as she could go, holding her gag reflex and relaxing her throat. The urge to throw up, holding it down, was worth the stream of curses and affections he cried out too loudly to hold back.

When he did finally find release she didn't let up, taking it all in and swallowing; half because she didn't want a mess to clean up, and, half because she wanted to hear him try to hold down the shouting. And he did, somehow managing to bite his cloth covered wrist once he realized just what he was about to do. The other hand gripped her shoulder, digging in hard enough to break a mortal bone.

She didn't mind; it didn't break.

And when she pulled back, looking into his cool blues with her green, ones, watching as he pulled his mouth away from his wrist… pure ecstasy and wanted reflected there… she knew…

She knew she couldn't let the trial—the karmic pain—she had endure to earn him back, for as long as she had to endure it, stop her.

Spike would have never stopped.

#

"Are you satisfied?"

A smile. "More than," the brunette said as she gazed into the mirror in her hand, watching as the scene ended in the carriage ahead of them… as the two lovers she'd been spying on faded from sight.

It was enough.

"She's rather good…"

"Picking up techniques?"

"Perhaps." A pause. "Can we go now? That party is still—."

"I have until midnight. You promised. After then we can go."

A sigh. "Very well."

"Patience, Anya. All good things with patience."

A snort.

AN :: I hope you enjoyed this instalment, as late as it was. I should have released it earlier this month. Sadly, I couldn't quite get in the zone. I had new chapter outlines to do for it first. I needed this to be perfect as I care about this story quite a bit. I know you guys appreciate it. At any rate, it was over 5k words. Pretty long? I hope. Plus, tons of kisses and other things were in this chapter. Expect more of that to come over the next few chapters. Though, I'm sure you're wondering how I'll keep it toned down—keep William from finding out physically Dare is a woman. Not telling. Tee. Hee.

I want to give a big thank you to everyone, anyone, who nominated me for the SunnyD Mem Awards! I was shocked, humbled, and overjoyed. I never imagined this fic would make it into the awards. I hoped, but I didn't think it would come to be. I was even more surprised that Kit was nominated as Best Original Character. Who'd a thunk it?

Thank you so much!

Also, I realize I need to squeeze in some Lily/Kit loving. Those two are so cute… SRSLY…

—Blade