But of course, she was upset with him. Why wouldn't she be? If it wasn't bad enough that he'd used her to get his rocks off, now he was failing her by being blocked again. She could suffer for the rest of eternity because he was weak.
Frustrated, he dropped his pen to the ground. "I'm sorry, Buffy." He shook his head. "God, I'm such a bloody failure."
Buffy looked sharply towards him. "What? Spike, you're not a failure! Please, don't think that."
"I am, Buffy! How can you even say anything else?"
"Because you're not," Buffy insisted. She got out of her chair and knelt down beside Spike, facing him. With a tender smile, she brushed an errant curl away from his forehead. "You've written a lot over the past few days. Maybe you need to rest today."
Spike turned from her, hanging his head. "But I have to finish this, Buffy. If I don't, I'm…" He sighed. "If I don't, I'm letting you down."
His words pierced her heart, and Buffy took his chin and turned his face back towards her. "Spike, nothing you could do would ever let me down. Even if you don't finish your manuscript in time, I'll still be so proud of you."
Spike's eyes widened in surprise. How could she say that—and could she possibly mean it? Maybe it was just the sort of things muses were supposed to say in order to inspire people. After all, hadn't he given Buffy reason enough to hate him?
"You've said sometimes you write better when you take your mind off of it for a little while," Buffy continued. "We…we could watch the telly thingy."
Spike couldn't help the half-smile that came to his lips. "You like the telly, luv?"
Buffy nodded. "Yes. I like watching the stories. They're very entertaining."
Spike thought for a moment, an idea coming into his head for something he could do for Buffy. It wasn't much, but it was something he thought she would enjoy, and it would be an experience she could take back with her when she had to return to her world—quite possibly to spend an eternity in a file room.
"There's something even better than the telly for that, pet," Spike told her.
Buffy's eyes lit up. "Really? What is it?"
"Change into your street togs, luv, and I'll show you."
Spike wasn't paying any attention at all to the movie. Instead, he was fixated on Buffy, taking in every bit of her first cinema experience. She leaned forward in her chair, her eyes riveted to the screen, her mouth slightly open. Every loud sound from the speakers made her jump, yet it didn't seem to frighten her. Instead, she was enthralled.
Spike listened to her every gasp, laugh, and sigh. He even noticed tears forming in her eyes at the film's sentimental ending. She'd enjoyed the experience, and Spike was happy he could give that to her. Perhaps she'd be able to look back on something from their time together that wasn't tainted by how he'd used her.
As they walked back out towards the parking lot, Spike was surprised when Buffy slipped her hand into his and smiled up at him brightly. "Thank you, Spike, for taking me here. You were right—the movie was even better than the telly."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, pet."
They stopped beside his car, and Buffy kept her hand in his, reluctant to let go. It felt so nice to touch him, and she hated to think she shouldn't be doing it anymore—that she shouldn't have done it in the first place.
Spike could see the sadness coming back to her eyes, and he wished he could drive it away. He took a step towards her, his lungs filling with the sweet scent of her as he breathed in. What he wouldn't do to be able to keep this woman as his own… He was desperate to touch her now, even if it was only one last time. Spike leaned forward, drawn in by the desire to taste her lips, when he stopped short, remembering who she was and why he couldn't do this.
Buffy tried to mask her disappointment when it seemed as if Spike was going to kiss her, but then he didn't. She should take it as a good sign. Obviously, Spike had understood when she'd told him why they couldn't do those things anymore, and was going to give her the space she wanted.
Okay, not that she wanted, exactly. She wanted his hands—and his mouth, too, for that matter—on every inch of her body. But it was space she needed.
"Ready to go back now?" Spike asked, reluctantly taking his hand away from hers.
"Yes," Buffy replied, her hand suddenly feeling so painfully empty.
With a nod, Spike walked around to the passenger's side to open the door for Buffy.
Spike hadn't tried to write again when they'd returned to the flat, and Buffy hadn't pushed him about it—much to his relief. He hoped when tomorrow came, this new block would prove to be short-lived, yet he'd decided not to push the issue anymore that day.
They'd settled down to eat and watch the television when they'd gotten back to his flat—Spike making a sandwich for himself while Buffy again opted for the Ben & Jerry's Phish Food.
The space between them on the sofa was tearing at him, but Spike didn't move towards her. She wanted distance; he'd give it to her. He wasn't going to take advantage of the situation anymore. He may not be a very good man, but he was good enough to restrain himself, no matter how much he wanted to touch Buffy again.
When she'd finished with her ice cream, Buffy had curled up on her end of the sofa. Her eyes were centered on the television, but Spike had a feeling her mind was really a million miles away, and he wondered what she was thinking. Did she hate having to be there with him now? Was she simply suffering through the rest of the month until she could get away from him?
They stayed there on the sofa until late in the evening, and eventually, Spike realized Buffy had fallen asleep. Quietly, he got up and draped a blanket over her. She moved a bit in her sleep, but didn't wake, and Spike knelt beside her, taking the opportunity to just watch her.
She was so beautiful it made his heart ache, and he wished more than anything that he'd never hurt her. Part of him wished she'd been sent to someone else—someone who could treat her with the respect she deserved—while the more possessive part of him roared at the idea. He wanted to keep her, wanted to never let her belong to another man in any way.
But she wasn't his. He didn't deserve her—his actions had more than proven that. Still, unable to keep himself from it, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to the top of her head and letting them linger there for a moment. He closed his eyes, committing the moment to memory, before he stood up, whispering a soft apology to her.
"I'm sorry, my love."
He stood, giving her one last look before he went to his bedroom to sleep alone.
Spike was quiet the next morning, yet Buffy could feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves—and she didn't even need to open the connection between them to do it.
He wasn't writing. He had the pen in his hand, the paper in front of him, but the block was obviously still in place, despite his assurances the day before that all he needed was a little rest. Still, he was diligently sitting there, trying to force the words, and Buffy had a feeling it was more for her benefit than his own.
She knew his latest block wasn't because he was tired or because he was feeling tapped out after the creative burst of the previous few days. It was because of her. It didn't take a genius to notice his block had fallen back in place almost immediately after she'd informed him he couldn't wank with her anymore. So, Buffy reasoned, the block would end if she changed her mind and told him he could.
Only she couldn't do that—could she? Anya had been right. Buffy needed to remember who she was and what her responsibilities were. However, wasn't her primary responsibility now getting Spike to write? And if she had to bend the rules a little to do that, she wasn't really turning her back on her duty at all. Spending part of the day in bed with her helped Spike write; therefore, it was her duty as a muse to provide him with what gave the most inspiration.
Rationale firmly in place, Buffy all but launched herself into Spike's arms, kissing him fiercely.
Spike hadn't been anywhere near expecting Buffy's aggressive move, and his eyes grew wide in shock as a cry of surprise was muffled against her lips. Quickly, he pushed her back, holding her at arms' length. "What…what are you doing?"
Buffy frowned in confusion. "You don't want to kiss me anymore?"
"I want to kiss you, Buffy, I just don't understand why you're suddenly on me like this. You don't have to do this just to make me write."
"But it helps you," Buffy replied. "You're all blocked again now, so I thought it would help if you wanked again."
"Yeah, it might," Spike replied honestly. "But it doesn't have to be with you."
His response made Buffy pull away from him sharply, his rejection stinging. He didn't want her anymore? Had the time since they'd last been together made him realize it wasn't enough just to touch her? Did he want some other woman who could give him everything?
"Look, pet, I know you want to inspire me to write, but…" Spike stopped short when he saw tears rolling down Buffy's cheeks. "Kitten? Are you crying?"
"Spike, I know I can't truly be all that pleasing to you since I can't… But…" Buffy sniffled. "Could you please not be with any other women while I'm here? I know it's a lot to ask, but I don't think I could take it."
"Be with other women? Buffy, what are you on about? There are no other women, sweetheart."
"But you just said it didn't have to be with me," Buffy told him, the pitiful look on her face making Spike's heart break.
"Oh, baby, that's not what I meant at all. Come here." Spike held his arms out, and Buffy immediately move into them, crying against his shoulder as Spike stroked her back soothingly. "I meant I could take care of the problem by myself, is all. And not because I don't want you or because being with you hasn't been bloody amazing. I just don't want you to feel like you have to do this for me if it's not something you really want."
Buffy looked up, meeting his eyes. "But I do want it, Spike. I've wanted it more than I've ever wanted anything. I'm just not supposed to want it. I'm supposed to focus on my job and remember my duty, and wanting you so badly it makes me ache isn't supposed to be a part of that."
Tenderly, Spike brushed her tears away with his thumb. "Is that what you meant when you told me this wasn't part of your job?"
Buffy nodded. "Yes."
"But you do want me?"
"Desperately."
Relief flooded through Spike as he realized what he'd thought had been Buffy's shame over his treatment of her had truly been no more than a misunderstanding. She didn't feel like a whore—she was torn between her duties and her feelings for him.
It wasn't the sex alone she'd been referring to as "not part of her job." It had been all of it—her feelings for him included.
Spike placed his hands on either side of her face and kept her eyes locked with his. "Buffy, I know this can't last forever. I know in a few weeks, you're going to have to leave me and go back to your world. I can't say it's something I'm exactly all right with, but it's something I can understand and accept. I do, however, want to make the time we do have together count, but I don't want you to do anything you'll regret later. So I need you to answer me truthfully on one thing—do you want our relationship to remain a physical one in the time while you're here?"
"Remain physical?" Buffy asked, her brow furrowed. "Do you mean do I want you to keep wanking with me there?"
"Yeah, luv, that's what I mean," Spike answered, unable to keep from smiling slightly at the way she phrased her question.
"Yes, I do. I enjoy it, Spike. I'm just worried, because of my duties as a muse. I…I can't stay."
Spike dropped one of his hands, though the other one remained on her face so he could caress her cheek. "I know, baby. I'm not expecting you to."
"I thought maybe it would be better if we stopped, but it wasn't," Buffy told him softly, her gaze dropping.
"I know. But it'll be all right. We'll make enough memories to last us when we're apart."
Buffy smiled softly, fighting back another wave of tears. She didn't think there could ever be enough, but she wanted what she could get. She could put duty first later, after she had to leave Spike.
"Will you take me to bed now?" she asked. "I've missed you touching me."
Without a word, Spike scooped her up and carried her away.
In the interest of moving this story along, I'm going to change the posting schedule to Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. I have a good bit of it done, and it's looking like I'm closing in on the final chapters, so I'm hoping I can get that written and get it all up soon. I have a couple of other fics on the back burner, but I don't want to shift my focus to those until I've finished my WIP's—hence the multiple chapters a week.
Please take a moment to review!