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CHAPTER FOUR
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The moment Spike had fought so long and hard against had finally arrived. The warmth of her gaze and the open tenderness in her face made it surprisingly easy and unbearably hard, all at the same time.
He covered her hand with his own. “Not your fault. Can’t help who you love.” He tried to smile. “Or don’t.”
A tiny crease marred her brow. “What…are we talking about, exactly?”
“About this. About us. About lovin’ who you love.” Gazing intently into her upturned face, he took a deep breath. “Look, Buffy, what I said about not always getting what you want? Sometimes…maybe you do.” His voice hardened with resolve as he forced out the words. “There’s something you need to know.”
Pulling her hand from his, Buffy assumed the crossed-arms position again, seemingly puzzled but willing to wait. He hesitated, trying to suss out in his mind the best way to tell her about the Shanshu prophecy.
“Ah…there’s this thing.”
Buffy arched an eyebrow. “Really. A thing?”
“Yeah. With Angel.”
Her eyes widened. “With Angel?” she echoed.
He replayed what he’d just said. Bugger.
“No. No, not…That’s not what I meant. There’s this prophecy thing called a…a Shanshu. Not real clear on the details. Somethin’ about a vampire with a soul having a leading role in the apocalypse.”
“Which one?”
He blinked. “Vampire?”
She shook her head. “Apocalypse. I’m starting to lose track.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “Yeah, well…that’s one of the unanswered questions, isn’t it? Supposed to be the big one, I guess.”
Buffy nodded sagely. “The apocalypse to end all…” She tilted her head, brow crinkling. “What exactly is the plural of apocalypse, anyway?”
His nobility train momentarily derailed, Spike frowned. “Not really sure. I don’t think Webster’s expected more than the one.” He shook his head. “The point is, the vampire with a soul goes around fighting evil and savin’ the world, and when all is said and done, he maybe gets to be human. And there’s reason to believe it might be sooner than later.”
Several seconds ticked by before she said anything.
“You think it might be you?”
He met her gaze. “No,” he breathed softly, regretfully. Then he jerked and snorted. “God, no. Wondered for a while. Wanted it even. But…no. It belongs to Angel.”
“What makes you so sure?”
He wondered what she was thinking. He couldn’t tell, and it felt completely wrong to him. He’d always been able to read her, except for those dark days between them, when he’d deliberately chosen not to because he hadn’t wanted to see how lost she’d really been. But she’d changed over the last year, and he found himself wishing wistfully for the chance to learn her all over again.
But that could never happen now, and she was waiting for an answer.
He shrugged. “Dunno. Just am.”
It took him by surprise when she moved with slayer speed, catching his face in her hands before he had any inkling what she was about.
“Why are you telling me this?”
He wanted to turn away but the intensity of her gaze held him captive. So he met it head on, the final wall between them toppling as he let her see. “You know why, Buffy.”
And he could tell that she did. It was his gift to her – the chance to be with Angel. He was offering her hope that there could finally be a future for them, if she wanted. And of course, she did. Knew that, didn’t he? Had always known, even when he’d pretended otherwise, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear.
He stood there, waiting for the dawning light of comprehension in her eyes, a sweet joy of realization too painful to look upon. But it never came. Instead, she stared at him for the longest moment of any life he’d had thus far, then with a slight shake of her head, placed both hands squarely on his chest and shoved.
Not hard, not with Slayer strength – just enough to send him tumbling backwards onto the couch, legs slightly apart, arms spread wide to catch himself. It was sudden and unexpected, and he couldn’t think how to react. He could only gape at her as she followed him down, climbing onto his lap, settling in, straddling him with knees pushed deep into the cushions, like the last piece of a puzzle sliding into place.
He was instantly, uncontrollably hard.
She leaned into him, lips almost touching his as the warm juncture between her thighs threatened to send him up in a fiery blaze. Small fingers began combing through his hair, caressing and tugging, ruthlessly teasing his slicked-back style into a tousled mess, but the desecration barely registered. His shell-shocked brain could process nothing beyond the delicious feel of her snuggled against the rock-hard bulge in his pants.
In the history of this or any other world, there had never been a more perfect fit.
“You’re such a doofus, you know that? Stupid, idiotic, totally clueless…” she recited sternly, but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears and her voice ached with tender sorrow. As she touched her lips to his, the slight contact sent an electric jolt zinging through every nerve in his body. She smiled knowingly and did it again. Once, twice…
The third time he met her full on, hands clutching at her hips, mouth opening wide, his tongue tangling with hers in a mad rush of heat and honey and dizzying hunger. Then her hands were on his face, calming fingers caressing the sharp planes of his cheeks as she whispered soothing words against his lips.
“Shhh…it’s okay. It’s okay now. We have time. Spike…”
And just like that, he wanted to cry. To sit there and blubber like a right prat. Her voice was tender and caring, so full of love. Everything he’d always longed for but never expected to have.
A butterfly kiss landed on his brow and lingered there, caressing his old scar. He could have lost himself forever in the warmth of her gaze but his eyelids rebelled, drifting shut as she kissed first one then the other into submission before moving on, lips peppering his face with tender tokens of her esteem. In between kisses, she whispered things. Beautiful, wondrous things he’d never thought to hear. How precious he was to her. How deeply she’d missed him. How she’d lain awake so many nights thinking of all the things she should have said to him when she’d had the chance. All the things she could say now.
It had to be a dream, of course. He’d thought as much when he’d opened the door to find her standing there. Just the latest in a line of sleep-induced fantasies playing out in his head on a near-nightly basis. Never real, never lasting. Each time, he awakened to a barren room, a lonely bed. Each time, he lost her all over again.
And so he denied the tangible warmth of her embrace even as he relished it. Hope was something he’d left behind, abandoned in a tiny Italian flat. By admitting as much to Angel, he’d finally taken the first steps down a path of his own making. Not out of fear, or uncertainty, or desperation, but because his subconscious had recognized what his heart refused to accept.
It wasn’t all about Buffy. Not anymore.
He’d meant it when he had said he’d finally let go. It wasn’t because he didn’t love her or want to be with her. He had simply accepted that their lives were no longer entwined. He had his own purpose now, similar to but separate from hers, with paths that ran parallel but were never again destined to cross. And he’d been okay with that. Mostly.
But, oh, how he still yearned.
As if responding to that silent plea, her small hand worked its way down between them, setting up a steady rubbing against the front of his denim jeans. He shuddered hard, and the nature of their kisses altered once more, soft and sweet giving way to deep and demanding. Mouths widened, tongues clashed, hands grasped desperately.
With a ripping sound, his torso was bared, the tattered remnants of the black t-shirt clinging to his biceps. Warm, hungry hands frantically roamed his chest then slid to his waist, popping the button on his jeans.
Her mouth tore free of his ravaging lips and she rested her forehead against his.
“Spike…please. I need you to touch me.”
He wanted to be slow and tender. Wanted to lie between her legs – to bury his nose deep in musky curls, bury his tongue even deeper. Wanted to worship her for hours. Wanted to lick and thrust and drive her past the brink over and over and over until she lay helpless and quivering in the throes of one perfect, endless orgasm.
But he couldn’t.
Her breathless words unleashed something inside him, and the tight control he’d maintained since that terrible night in the bathroom snapped beneath the force of her need. He’d been granted the right to take her, to make her truly his.
The silky bit of a top she wore vanished, baring her breasts to his ravenous mouth. With hands splayed across her back, he arched her hard into his kisses, alternately sucking and pulling in rough abandon then opening wide to take her in. In his single-minded devotion, he licked and nibbled and blew on one swollen nipple until a half-choked cry and insistent tugging at his hair forced him to relinquish it in favor of the other nub, achingly erect and begging for attention.
The urgent little sounds she made as he suckled lit a fire deep in his belly, sending a harsh growl rumbling through his chest. He surged upward, flipping her around, dumping her onto the cushions, the surprise in her eyes barely registering before he bent to his task. Her boots went flying then he yanked her pants down, disposing of them just as haphazardly. Crouching above her, his fingers slid beneath the tiny scrap of red silk, the last bit of fabric shielding her from his gaze, and twisted. She made no move to help or hinder, just stared up at him with dark, smoky eyes, lips parted, chest heaving. Another savage pull and the panties tore free, leaving her completely exposed.
For the fraction of a second it took to cover her body with his.
His mouth captured hers in a frenzy of need as she squirmed beneath him, nails digging hard into his back. Then, somehow their positions reversed and she was on top, writhing and panting as she rubbed herself against him. Sitting up, she grabbed his hands and pulled them to her breasts, holding them there as she undulated faster and harder. He could feel the searing heat of her even through his thick denim jeans.
That didn’t last long either. Arms snaking around her, he swiveled to a kneeling position, then rose from the couch with Buffy wrapped around him like a drowning woman clinging to a life raft. Through it all, she hadn’t missed a beat, humping and grinding, her heart pounding so hard he could feel it deep in his aching groin. Hands cupped around her ass, he staggered toward the bed. But he must have moved in the wrong direction because suddenly they were at the kitchen counter and the need in him was so strong there was nothing to do but deposit her there and drop to his knees, face pushing its way between her legs as eager thighs spread wide to welcome him.
Her head jerked back, thudding into the cabinet behind her. She gasped at the impact, or maybe his tongue diving into her, but he didn’t pause to find out. His senses were reeling from the sharp, tangy taste of her and the sweet, musky scent surrounding him. He wrapped his hands around her thighs and pulled her to him, worshipping her in earnest. Mouth hard and wide against her – licking, thrusting, teasing ruthlessly, his nose bumping her gloriously sensitive nub with each frenzied movement of his head.
Buffy’s hands were flat against the counter, bracing her angled body. He glanced up as he worked, watching her lovely breasts bounce with each shuddering breath, head rolling back and forth against the cabinet door. She strained against his mouth, quivering legs locked around his neck, the iron grip of her thighs holding him in place.
As if she needed to. Nothing in this world or any other could make him abandon his intimate feast. In fact, he wanted more.
Sliding his hands down to her knees, he tried lifting them from his shoulders but Buffy instantly whined in protest and tightened her grip. With considerable force of will, he resisted the silent plea, pulling back as much as her headlock allowed. His voice was low and ragged as he half-ordered, half-begged her compliance.
“Buffy, love…spread your legs for me.” The light kiss he placed on her sweet, wet cunny made her hips jerk, and she moaned even louder. “There’s my darling girl. Open yourself up now. Won’t regret it. Make you feel so good, I will.”
Her legs trembled but she did as he asked, unlocking her ankles to spread herself wide. Taking a heel in each of his hands, he positioned her feet on the counter, forcing her knees up and out, leaving her soft, pink center utterly exposed. When he glanced up, she was staring down at him, lips parted, eyes heavy with desire and need.
And for a second time, his resolve to take it slowly vanished in a heartbeat.
She cried out as he dove back in, fingers clutching at his head, tangling in his hair, holding him close as his mouth possessed and devoured her. Sliding his palms down, he cupped her buttocks and lifted her up, angling his tongue to penetrate deeper still. He explored her thoroughly, tasting the velvety depths, before withdrawing to cover her with broad licks along her entire length. As he alternated between teasing tickles and short thrusts, he could feel the tension coiling inside her, slowly building to that explosive, all-encompassing moment.
Fastening on the tender nub nestled among the curls, he sucked and tongued her with a ruthless determination that sent her careening right over the edge. She screamed, hips bucking wildly, and his head was caught in the vise-like grip of her thighs as they slammed shut. She rode out the wave in great, quaking shudders, mewling softly while he lapped up her juices like a starving jungle cat and thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t need to breath.
Before he could get his bearings, she was already yanking him up by the hair, her mouth smashing against his in a searing kiss as strong legs wrapped around his waist. Bypassing his fly for the moment, her hand plunged deep inside his jeans and started to tug – stroking, and squeezing, and kneading before bringing up her other hand to battle with his zipper. Spike groaned and took the hint, quickly scooping her up from the counter as he made for the bed.
But again he went in the wrong direction, this time crashing into the kitchen table. At the same instant, the stubborn zipper parted and Buffy laughed, losing no time claiming her prize. Spike’s eyes rolled back in his head as he swiftly decided one flat surface was as good as the next, instantly abandoning his hunt for the bed.
Kicking a chair out of the way, he dropped his armful of Buffy onto the tabletop, ignoring the soft “oof” she uttered as her back made contact with the cold surface. Shoving his pants down his legs, he viciously kicked free of boots and denim, at the same time shedding the tattered remnants of his t-shirt.
She barely had time to spread her legs before he was on her, plunging inside with a powerful thrust that made the table shake and the legs scrape across the floor. She rose to meet him, arms latching fiercely around him, holding on for life and sanity as she matched him thrust for thrust.
The words he hadn’t been able to say when his mouth had been otherwise occupied now tumbled forth.
“God…you feel so good, love. Missed you so much. You make me so bloody hard. Do you feel me? Do you feel me now…lovin’ you? Fillin’ up every bit of you there is?”
“I feel you, Spike. It feels so good…so right. Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
“Shhhh…won’t stop now. Keep doin’ you till you can’t see straight. See to you good and proper, I will. Still yours…and you’re mine now, yeah?” Blunt teeth fastening on the side of her neck, he bore down gently as she arched into the bite.
“Oh, yes!” Her fingers tightened convulsively, nails digging into his biceps. “Yours. All yours. No one else’s. Just you. Forever now.”
His rhythm faltered briefly, but she didn’t appear to notice, and he recovered himself, the piston-like movement of his hips working even harder than before.
With each powerful thrust, he buried himself so deep inside her he almost saw stars. He could feel the tension coiling inside him and a matching tightness inside her. He growled low in her ear. “Come for me, sweet girl. Wanna see you come. Wanna hear you scream. Let go now. Do it for me,” he commanded, eyes locked with hers.
She did.
And so did he.
A long, drawn-out groan escaped him, and he buried his face against her neck. He let the shudder take him over, spreading through his chest, cascading down his spine, bursting from his groin. His breath hitched on a sob as he poured himself into her – his love, his heart, his very soul.
The harsh sound of their ragged breathing was loud in the small apartment. Utterly spent, he lay sprawled atop her, resting in the loose circle of her warm embrace. When she stirred slightly, he lifted himself off, bracing his arms on either side of her head to hold the bulk of his weight as he gazed into her eyes.
A sultry smile curved her lips. “More, please?” she whispered.
And just like that, he was desperate to have her again.
This time, they made it to the bed.
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TBC in Part 5
A/N: Whups! Just got a phone call and have to run. I'll have to wait to post the rest. Sorry!
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Author's Chapter Notes:
This story is a Spuffy companion piece (or sequel of sorts) to a very brief vignette I wrote called “Dear Departed.” It isn't necessary to read that one first, but you may understand some things a little better if you do. I posted this story to TSR a long time ago but it was lost not long after that when the site’s server had some technical difficulties. I’m finally getting around to posting it again. Hope you enjoy!