The sun was high and bright in the cloudless sky and the maroon silk of her graduation cap and gown conducted heat a little too well. Buffy was burning up, sweating through her new white sundress, stuck in the middle of the football field between Stevens, Alison and Sutner, Michael. They were talking over her like she didn’t exist about the grad night festival she wasn’t going to, but she didn’t really care.
Spike was two rows in front of her and three seats to the right. This meant she had an excellent view of his ear and cheekbone, and when he turned to talk to Kendall, Harmony—alphabetical order really never worked out in her favor—she could see his face, and she would chant over and over in her head look at me look at me look at me.
He had a few times that week, a nod or a wave, but he hadn’t talked to her once, and she hadn’t gotten a smile.
His smiles were what she needed to keep going. Each gave her a rush of such intense happiness that she sometimes could hardly breathe. She saved them up, catalogued them in her mind, gave them names, needed them like oxygen. But she hadn’t gotten one in almost a week.
It was driving her absolutely up the wall. It was all she could do to drag herself to school each day, go through the motions of classes. Finals were over, they were graduating, and each day was filled with hangman and heads up seven up. There was nothing to distract her, nothing to focus on. He was always around, skirting the periphery of her vision, but she hadn’t talked to him.
And he hadn’t smiled.
Xander had reluctantly agreed to go to the party with her, and she’d lied her way out of having to go home that night. She’d figured out an outfit: cute, but not too fancy, sexier than usual, but definitely not slutty. She’d found out that technically, he and Harmony were not together, a fact that made her a little more willing to give in to that flicker of hope.
Plan one had gone off without a hitch. She’d danced with him at prom.
Was it too much to think that maybe, just maybe, he’d kiss her?
~*~*~
Her stomach felt wrong.
The drink had been called an Adios Motherfucker, according to Bryan Gregory, who’d shoved it in her hand in the kitchen and said, “Hey, gorgeous, do I know you?” They’d been in four classes together sophomore year and he’d been the one guy she’d ever liked besides Spike.
She’d chugged the sweet blue drink down quickly while Xander looked on in surprise. She just felt way too awkward being in Spike’s kitchen, with Spike’s friends, and he was nowhere to be seen. Her plan was starting to sound pretty damn stupid and she needed something, anything to calm her down.
Alcohol had seemed to be the solution. But she found out five minutes later that an Adios Motherfucker was comprised of basically every single kind of hard alcohol.
Ever.
And it hit her hard.
So she may or may not have done lots of stuff that was embarrassing. Her brain seemed to have blocked most of it out. And now her stomach was all wrong, and people seemed to be moving way too fast around her but her legs were all shaky and she wanted to sit down. So she did, on the stairs up to the second floor, her black skirt riding far up her thighs but she didn’t really care. The wall she was leaning against seemed to be wobbling a bit and she closed her eyes, hoping that would make it better.
It didn’t.
She hadn’t even talked to Spike! He invited her and why would he have invited her if he didn’t want her to come? She’d seen him across the party and he’d sort of waved but maybe he wasn’t waving at her considering there had to be at least a million people in his house. She really didn’t need a pity invite if that’s what this was and Xander had tried to kiss her when they were outside and they’d had “the talk” and he was so mad. So that prompted her to hunt down another drink and this one was bigger but Xander was gone now and she needed to feel less guilty. Because now he was broken, and he didn’t want to talk to her and she didn’t really know anybody else and besides, she couldn’t talk. The wall was moving way too much, and if she could sleep that would be really nice.
“Oh kitten,” she heard what she imagined was his voice but she really knew it wasn’t, because why would he be here and why would he think she was a cat?
A hand stroked her hair, and another gently brushed her skirt down her thighs, and she managed to pry her eyes open enough to see blue and blonde and the white of a smile, that smile she hadn’t seen in far too long.
“How’re you feeling, sweets?”
“My head hurts,” she mumbled. His hands felt nice.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he chuckled. “Your lips are blue.”
She lifted her fingers to her mouth, but missed, and they landed somewhere near her nose. “I didn’t know.” She sighed, eyes fluttering shut again. “Stupid Adios…es.”
The party was still loud around her, rap music and laughing, but she couldn’t really hear anything, just his breathing as he sat next to her, and she felt herself lulled to sleep under the gentle touch of his hands. She wanted to stay awake, wanted to savor if this was really happening, which she still wasn’t sure it was, but her body was falling in on itself and why wasn’t he saying anything?
“Buffy?”
She didn’t reply, but she liked when he said her name. Four times now! Four! And he could say it again if he wanted, he could whisper it in her ear and she wouldn’t mind, he could scream it too. Anything he wanted was fine by her.
“I’m gonna take you upstairs, all right?” he asked. She didn’t quite know what he meant but she nodded anyway, and her head was too heavy to move again so when he wrapped his arm around her waist, she let herself sag into his shoulder. He still smelled so good. Her lips were brushing his skin as he lifted her. This was seriously not happening.
The night fuzzed over then, blackness taking over much of her memory. There were three bright bursts of consciousness, three moments that would rush to meet her first thing in the morning.
He laid her gently on a soft surface, covered her with a velvety soft blanket, and brushed her hair away from her face. “I’m so stupid,” she slurred, struggling to sit back up, wishing she was home in her own room and had never come to this stupid party, wishing everything in her life was different or wishing for it to end because that’s how completely horrified she felt.
“I’m really, really sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he soothed. “Happens to everyone.”
The next memory was much later. The music from downstairs was a lot quieter, and she was alone in an unfamiliar bedroom. Her realization that it was Spike’s room—punk rock posters, his leather jacket over the chair, a guitar in the corner—she’d devolved into a giggle fit. But that little fit soon made her realize her stomach was still not quite right, and she had lain back down as the room began to spin again, whispering aloud her prayers that she was not going to throw up.
Memory three was the best one.
She woke up again, it couldn’t have been that much later, but the house was quiet now, and she wasn’t alone in the room. A dark shape hovered by the door.
She tried to sit up and her head spun and she whined, low in her throat.
“It’s just me, pet.” His voice was so sweet and dreamlike, and she lay back down instantly, calmed by just his presence.
“I shouldn’t be in your bed,” Buffy blurted out, head buried in the pillow that smelled just like him, bare legs caressed by sheets that had touched his body. “I want to but I shouldn’t be.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Spike said from somewhere in the dark. “Just get some rest.”
“Do you want me to go home? I can go—”
“Don’t be silly. Just go to sleep, yeah? We can talk tomorrow.”
He laid his hand gently on her shoulder.
And she did fall asleep, sunk back into the sweet blackness that would keep away her total humiliation for a few more hours.
~*~*~
Buffy liked the way his hair curled.
It softened him, made him more real to her. One of his layers of perfection was scrubbed away and she was seeing the real Spike, William, the man she knew she loved. With his hair curly, she could imagine him as a kid, bright and happy, not tinged with the hardness that made her sad for him sometimes. Or she could think of him as her lover, mussed and raw, at his most vulnerable and willing to share that with her.
So when she woke up in his bed, groggy and confused, and the first thing she saw was him sleeping in a chair next to her with his hair messy and curly and hanging on his forehead, she assumed she was still dreaming.
Then she remembered what she could from the night before, sat up straight and realized how very hung over she really was. Then she wanted to die. Wanted to crawl in a hole and never emerge. Because she was completely and totally humiliated.
Drunk Buffy? Not attractive.
He stirred a bit, one bleached curl shifting across his forehead, then he tucked one hand under his chin and sighed. She almost moaned, seeing him like that, being so close to him. It was more than she’d ever dreamed.
Her fantasies were in the abstract, the exaggerated. They were like movie scenes.
He would come up to her in the hallway, eyes dark with passion, coat trailing behind him. He would grab her shoulders and press her up against her lockers. The sound of clanging metal, then his harsh breathing, then her own gasp of surprise. His voice, low and throaty, his lips on hers. Something theatrical, almost porn-like.
She’d found a video-tape once under Xander’s bed, and she couldn’t help but steal it and watch it once before sneaking it back. It was a doctor and a nurse, all, “Fuck me now!” and “Do you like my big hard cock?” She’d begun infusing most of her dirtiest fantasies with that kind of ridiculous over-the-topness. Everything she imagined Spike saying came out sexy.
Or sometimes it would be softer, sweeter. He’d come to her apartment, knock on the door, be polite to her mother. He’d enter her room and pick up Mr. Gordo and stutter a bit and blush and then say, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you forever, Buffy.”
Because she knew he’d be that guy, that guy from her Sweet Valley High books or her teen soap operas. She could imagine the best possible scenario and put herself and Spike as the main characters. She could imagine falling in love with him for real. There would be a fairytale wedding and adorable children and when they were old and gray, he would read to her because her eyes were failing.
It could happen.
Her fantasies weren’t anything like reality, though, anything close to the total sweetness of them waking up at the same time. He was yawning as his eyes were still closed, and then when they opened, he shifted his posture and looked up at the ceiling. Then his head rolled, he looked towards her, and he smiled.
She would die for that smile.
His voice was sleepy and thick as he sat up straight, rubbing at his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
She was miserable. Elated. Embarrassed. Turned on just by his nearness but sick to her stomach because of it and hoping for the best but knowing it was the worst. She was possibly going insane and she was nervously twitching and she was in his bed.
“I’m okay.”
He shifted, stretched his arms up high. He was in pajamas, red sweat pants and a white shirt with a small rip on the shoulder, a shirt that lifted up to show an expanse of pale skin when he moved. She closed her eyes again, truly sure this had to be a dream.
But when she opened her eyes he was still there, inspecting her closely.
“I should call a cab.” Buffy blurted out the first though that came to her mind. Escape route.
His face fell and she was taken aback at the obvious disappointment in his eyes, and she really couldn’t believe she was so stupid as to make him think she actually wanted to leave, when in fact she would love to stay forever. But now she’d made the offer and she couldn’t take it back, and she held her breath as she waited to hear what he’d say.
“I was thinking I could make you breakfast and we could hang out for a bit. Then I could drive you home,” Spike finally offered quietly, with a bit of shyness she’d never seen in him before.
“Okay,” she replied immediately, a little too eagerly.
His eyes brightened again. “Okay. Um, there’s extra toothbrushes and stuff in the bathroom across the hall, my mum’s crazy about—anyway, you can go in there if you want. I’ll be downstairs.” He stood quickly and slipped out of the room.
Buffy sat on his bed for a moment, frozen in place, then reached up and pinched her own arm. Just to make sure.
He wanted her to stay? He did. He really did. He’d apparently slept all night by her side and now he wanted her to stay. There was no logic to it, no rhyme or reason, the why and the how completely eluded her but the fact of that matter was, it was true. He wanted her to stay.
At first, she moved slowly. Savored every second, let her eyes drink in every bit of his room and his hallway and his bathroom and his house. She inspected his bookshelves and his bulletin board but touched nothing. She made his bed and inhaled the scent of his sheets.
Then she realized how very weird he might think she was if she took ages to come downstairs and began to move at lightening speed. She fixed her mussed and frizzy hair, wiped off the dark makeup smeared under her eyes, straightened the clothes that were a little wrinkled from sleeping in them. The fact that Spike had seen her like that, looking a little like road-kill, made her want to fall into a crater and die but she tried hard to just get over it and not run screaming out of the house. She brushed her teeth with one of the adorable little mini-toothbrushes arranged ever so cutely on the counter, twice, just to make sure every trace of bad breath was gone, and gave herself one more critical look in the mirror.
She managed to make herself look sort of presentable, if not exactly attractive, and with a deep breath to steady the pounding of her heart she made her way down the stairs. The living room was a mess, every available surface littered with cups and cans, and the kitchen was no better. An empty bag of chips crunched under her bare foot as she entered, and Spike turned from the stove and chuckled, low and deep.
“The house is a pit, yeah? Good thing my parents are out of town until Monday.”
If only she could think of something funny to say. “Yeah, that’s good.”
“I’m making pancakes. Or, trying to, rather. I’m not the best cook.”
If only she didn’t look like such a disaster. “I’m not either.”
The kitchen was quiet for a minute, save for the sound of metal spoon on metal bowl as Spike stirred the batter, his eyes on her.
“You can come in, you know,” he finally said. “I don’t bite.” He paused, then added a teasing little wink. “Hard.”
Oh, she was blushing bright red. She could feel it creeping on her cheeks as she tiptoed over the mess and made her way to him. He was humming softly, nothing she recognized but she wished she did, as he poured the batter onto the pan. Buffy watched the movements of his hands closely, all too aware of how near he was to her, of how he was still looking at her.
“Buffy?”
She raised her head immediately, her eyes met his, and she knew he saw the way she shivered. He blinked once.
There were a lot of things Buffy expected in that moment. She thought maybe he’d finally realize what a complete loser she was and kick her out. She feared he might ask if she often got drunk and passed out in other people’s houses. She figured he might tell her there were five other people asleep throughout the house and she wasn’t so special, so stop staring at him like he hung the moon, and they all got their pancakes before her because they were just more deserving.
But instead, he kissed her.
Spike Kent kissed her.
He leaned down quickly and touched his lips to hers in the softest, most gentle way, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should. It was a quick and fleeting kiss, just a brush of the lips, but it was still more wonderful than any kiss she’d had before, more wonderful than anything she’d ever imagined.
It was over before Buffy had really realized what was happening, and she hadn’t even had time to close her eyes.
Spike started to move away, his own eyes still closed, his lips slightly parted slightly in invitation, and something inside Buffy made her reach up and wrap her arms around his neck, made her pull his mouth back to hers with confidence she didn’t feel. It was purely instinctual, the only thing she could think to do in the moment and the one thing she wanted to do more than anything. She couldn’t let him pull away, couldn’t let this end, couldn’t believe it was happening but knew she would regret it if she didn’t ask for more.
With a little clumsiness she pressed her lips on his, in a way she hoped didn’t seem desperate or reveal how few times she’d actually done this. She felt his lips open against hers immediately, felt him take control as he slid his arm around her waist and brought her closer to him. His body was warm and firm, everything she’d ever imagined, molding perfectly to hers as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth and she was aware that she squeaked. But what else could she do? Spike Kent was kissing her and a squeak was totally justified.
The kiss tasted like mint and coffee, it felt like heaven on earth. After a few seconds with her thoughts running a mile a minute, worrying and wondering and wishing it would never end, her mind went deliciously blank and she cared about nothing but the feel of him.
His lips were soft and warm, his hands gentle as they stroked her hair and her hip and her back, his tongue wet and hot as it slid against hers. Electric shocks sparkled wherever he touched her. He deepened the kiss, hugged her tighter, took her breath away and sighed into her mouth. She was dizzy and she was shaking.
Buffy could smell the pancakes burning. She knew she should say something but that would mean ending this kiss and she would never, ever be the one to pull away.
But then he did and she felt like she might cry, even as he kissed her softly on the tip of the nose and murmured, “I burned your breakfast.” He sounded as out of breath as she felt.
“I really don’t care,” she replied instantly. Her eyes were still closed because if she opened them this all might go away, and then she really would cry. He was still holding her close and she imagined she could hear his heart beating.
“You don’t, huh?” His voice sounded amused and she knew that if she opened her eyes, he’d be smiling at her.
And she couldn’t miss that.
When she finally looked at him and he didn’t disappear, when she saw the sweet way he was looking at her and saw that smile she would never ever forget, she finally allowed herself to realize this was truly happening. She didn’t know what to say or do, she didn’t know what he was thinking and she wasn’t sure she should ask. Everything was happening so fast and it was like she was frozen in this moment and nothing before or after it mattered.
The pancakes were still burning but neither of them moved.
Spike was just smiling, a secret smile just for her, and all she could do was kiss him again.
Mrs. Buffy Kent. It had a nice ring to it.
The end.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. I think it's one of the best things I've written and I'm so glad you're liking it! This is the END, and that is sad, but I think you can all imagine what happens next. Enjoy! Many thanks to dampersandspoons for the most excellent beta-ing.