Dinner had been eaten in silence, and Buffy had retreated to her room to do homework, or at least, to pretend to do homework while running over the information gathered that day in her head.
She knew she should be focusing on Menithea, the threat of a demon long since ensconced in a stone tomb, with the power to destroy Sunnydale with a flick of his, well, claw, then even devastate the world. Or, if she really couldn’t focus on the Big Bad of the moment, Buffy knew she should be fixating on her status in limbo, the jumble of memories in her mind that made her not quite sure who she truly was, where she really wanted to be, and how to decide the rest of her life.
But neither of these extraordinary problems were foremost in her mind as she laid on her back, head off the edge of her bed, staring at her open window. No, her mind was fixated on her Watcher, her roommate, her…something. The man she’d kissed.
Buffy could hear William puttering around downstairs, the occasional squeak of a chair, the kitchen faucet turning on and off, the faint sound of some rather abrasive punk rock. She’d wanted to stay down there with him, as he continued to research and work diligently at both of the problems she was steadfastly ignoring in favor of romantic musings. But she’d felt awkward, and he’d hardly spoken, and a retreat to her room seemed the most logical solution. Retreating to muse over love instead of fear, just like any teenage girl would.
A click from her nightstand caused her to sit up quickly and glance at the clock.
Twelve midnight. Technically, tomorrow.
Buffy knew it was immature. She knew she was acting a bit like a spoiled child, desperate to get what she wanted, damn the consequences and the feelings of others involved. Admitting that to herself made it easier.
Technically, it was tomorrow, and she wanted to talk to William.
Halfway to the door, she glanced down at her sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, then hurriedly made the decision to switch the top for a more-revealing tank, but left the pants as they were. A quick application of lip-gloss and a fluff of her hair, and she scurried down the hall, then crept slowly down the stairs, stopping a few steps from the bottom to observe.
The music had been turned off, and William was sitting on the couch, guitar in hand, strumming a slow, unfamiliar song. His hair was mussed, his glasses off, dressed in black pajama pants and a tight, thin white tank top. He didn’t notice her as she came down the last few steps, and hovered in the doorway.
After a few more strummed chords, William closed his eyes and froze for a moment. “You should be in bed, Buffy,” he said softly.
“Yeah, I know,” she admitted, moving forward to stand a few feet in front of him, the table between them. “But I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.”
“What’re you playing?”
He shrugged, and stood to set the guitar down on its stand. “Just messing around.”
“It was pretty,” Buffy twiddled her thumbs a bit and then her tension spread, and she began to alternate her weight from her right leg, to her left, and back again. “It’s technically tomorrow,” she finally pointed out when William didn’t say anything, after moving to sit back on the couch.
He glanced at her quickly, then laughed. “Oh, Buffy, you’re a stubborn thing, aren’t you?”
“Didn’t you know that already?” She teased, his lighthearted demeanor giving her the go ahead to sit on the couch next to him.
“I did, you’re right.” William watched her tuck her legs beneath her, then push a bit of hair behind her ear, and smile at him tentatively.
She was so innocent, so hopeful. Her immaturity wasn’t from a place of ignorance or true selfishness, to him, it was honest naivety to the ways of the world, it was inexperience, it was optimism. Realizing he was staring at her far too intently, William cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to his hands, inspecting them as if the answers to his problems were etched into his skin.
“Are you mad at me?” Buffy finally asked softly.
“No, pet, I’m not mad at all, why would I be?”
“Because I’m…pushing. I’m being all pushy. I said I wouldn’t but I still am. And last night you told me to leave it alone and I’m not.”
“I’m the one who needs to be sorry, last night…that was so bloody inappropriate, I can’t even begin to---“
“It’s fine!” Buffy interrupted. “I made you mad.”
“I shouldn’t have drank like that, and I shouldn’t have yelled.”
“And I should have just left you alone. So we were both in the wrong? Do the whole mutual guilt no fault thing?”
William grinned a bit at her eagerness, and conceded. “No fault, sounds good.”
Neither knew quite how to begin, but Buffy’s impatience trumped her inability to form a good opening line, and she blurted out, “So, how about that kiss?”
“Buffy…”
“Okay, bad thing to say. I will keep my mouth shut, and you will tell me what you’re thinking. And then I’ll go. Sound fair?”
“If I knew what I was thinking it would be easier,” he sighed. “I could ramble for ten minutes and contradict myself a hundred times and still not be any closer to actually saying anything real.” William shifted his body to mirror hers, and practically did the adult version of eeny-meeny-miney-mo as he looked at her glittering green eyes, and tried to decide.
He could go either way.
He could retain his decency and his morals and maintain the façade of the good, clean-living member of the Council. The person he’d been since he turned twenty-one and decided to become a man, a real man, the kind his father had always hoped he’d be.
Or he could do exactly what he’d dreamed of almost every night for the past year, since the moment Buffy had bounced into his library and turned his life upside down.
William made his decision, and landed on sin, and leaned forward to brush his lips against Buffy’s gently, almost asking her a question with his touch.
She responded in the affirmative as she let out a sweet, contented sigh, and kissed him back eagerly, pressing harder against his lips, her hormones and her worry that it would all end too soon driving her towards haste.
William pulled away just as the kiss began to heat up, as he started to feel her presence on every square inch of his skin.
“Spike---“
“This is wrong,” he said harshly, his voice laced with lust and shame. “It’s wrong, but God help me…”
“It’s not wrong,” she interrupted, shaking her head forcefully, reaching out and lacing her fingers through his. “It’s not wrong.”
“It is, you can’t even begin to understand---“
“What I understand is this, William,” Buffy said gently, shifting so she was kneeling on the couch directly in front of him. “You’re a good man. And don’t say you’re not because you really are. And I still don’t remember everything that’s going on here, and I’m still scared and I’m still…wigging out, really, but when I’m with you I’m not so scared.” He opened his mouth to speak, but she rushed out a few words that stopped his tongue from creating any sound. “I have serious feelings for you. And don’t argue them away okay? I’m just going to be brave and put myself out there because if I don’t I know---“
William silenced her with another kiss, picking up right where the last one let off, finding her tongue with his instinctively and giving in to the feelings he’d been denying himself for months. One coherent thought burst through the desire riddling his mind, and he pulled away briefly to insist, “We’re still talking tomorrow.”
“Right, talking, but not now,” Buffy breathed, and slid one leg over his body so she was straddling him, relishing the groan that came from his lips before he pressed them to hers again.
William cradled her small body in his hands, one around her waist and the other cupping her cheek, as he poured every intense emotion he felt into her through the places where their bodies connected, through their lips, through their skin. Buffy let her hands roam, exploring his strong chest and arms and soft hair. She could feel between her legs, through the thin fabric of both of their pants, the hard evidence of how much William wanted her, wanted this. She began to shift her weight, grind down, the sensation of his erection pressing against her increasingly wet sex driving her to a level of passion she’d never experienced.
With Angel, her lust and want had almost felt painful, with the knowledge that their love was nearly impossible. And he had always been so morose, the weight of his soul dragging him down, and dragging her along with it. Their kisses had sent shivers through her, but those shivers had almost been more about what could be with the two of them, not about what was, her mind had always been spinning, thinking a thousand thoughts in the time it took to kiss goodbye. She always thought about the future.
With William, Buffy could hardly think in the current moment, let alone think of the next. Her mind was certainly spinning, but not with thoughts of tomorrow or yesterday or what people might think. She could only think of his fingers sliding into her hair, his hand sliding down to the bare skin of her lower back, his lips firm on hers, possessive, yet almost gentle.
Her stomach fluttered incessantly, her entire body felt hot, and she softly moaned as they separated for much needed oxygen.
William could hardly breathe, even after a few silent seconds of fresh air. Every move she made, every sigh, every brush of her hands and pressure from her body made him feel as if he was falling or floating. He’d ignored all his misgivings the second she’d straddled his body and trusted him, trusted him to keep her safe and sound.
Despite how hard he was, despite how much he did want to feel her naked skin and possess her, make her his, he almost felt like this was enough, and didn’t even consider pushing for something else. He could spend an eternity just kissing her, and not ever ask for more.
As he observed her flushed face, her bright eyes, the soft smile curling the edges of her swollen lips, he relinquished the last of his reservations, and gave himself over fully to the feelings he had for Buffy Summers.
“We should get some sleep, tomorrow’s a school day,” he said reluctantly, kissing her nose as a way of telling her that he meant only that, and wasn’t trying to reject her.
“I know,” Buffy sighed, grudgingly moving off of him and standing up on unsteady legs. William turned off the lamp and grabbed her hand gently, then led her up the stairs to her bedroom door.
“Goodnight, my love,” he said softly before one last, gentle kiss. In the blink of an eye he disappeared inside his own room, and Buffy leaned back against the frame of her door, sighing as something like joy filled her heart.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Guess who has a wireless signal in her dorm in Ireland? ME! So updates should be pretty regular, if I have time to write in between pubs. :) Thanks so much for your reviews, hope you like the chapter. Chapter title from a song by Sheryl Crow.