Set at Christmas time during a slightly AU Season 6. Buffy and Spike have been smooching, but they haven't 'done the deed'. Yet.
Written for Sarah_p on Livejournal on the Secret Santa community.



Winter Break


Spike stops the car, and Buffy sighs. Not only does she have a Hellmouth to take care of, but now she has to make house calls, too. What’s next?

Her favorite ex-enemy came to her last night, said he had heard something nasty was being prepared up here in the mountains, offered a ride and to serve as her backup. She couldn’t have cared less. Fight here, there, alone, with him… Alright, maybe having someone to guard her back feels good. Someone she doesn’t need to protect. Someone who didn’t pull her out of that other place. Someone whom, against her better judgment, she begins to trust.

“So, where is this cult or whatever?” she asks, sounding bored, as she steps out of the car and stretches limbs that are sore from the long ride. She looks around, sees many trees, even more snow, all of it gleaming under the full moon, and is glad she trusted Spike when he told her to wear warm clothes.

He still isn’t answering, so she turns to him… and a snowball hits her square in the chest. She glares at the smirking vampire, and as he gathers more snow to form another ball, she understands. Curses for not getting it faster. Tries very hard not to smile.

“You’re the only demon around, huh?” she asks, bending to pick up snow but keeping an eye on him.

“As far as I know,” he admits shamelessly.

She straightens, ducks a snowball, opens her mouth to gloat, and is hit straight in the face by a second one.

“You’re going to pay for that,” she tries to growl, but judging by Spike’s chuckle it’s probably not very intimidating.

“I certainly hope so,” he replies, laughing. “But in the meantime, the score is two to nothing, luv.”

*****

She laughs, and that simple sound echoing in the forest tells him he was right.

He wasn’t sure that this was a good idea. After all, his plans have a dreadful tendency to go for the worse. So, to lie to her, take her away under a false pretext, and hope that she would simply enjoy herself… Well, he can think of two dozens ways all of this could have gone wrong.

But she laughs, and suddenly the weight on his chest is lifted. He can’t remember the last time he heard her laugh like this. He is not certain he ever did. And if he did, it probably wasn’t because of him. This beautiful sound is his to cherish.

“Truce!” she calls out, panting, and fall back in the snow. “One of us needs to catch their breath!”

Smiling, he approaches. Still chuckling, eyes closed and arms outstretched on each side, she is beautiful, no other word for it. He wishes he could tell her what he sees in her so that she could understand how much she means to him. But the words always come out wrong, and he has learned not to trust them.

He sees her shiver and is instantly concerned.

“Come on,” he tells her, offering her a hand. “You’re going to catch cold like this.”

With a smile, she complies, and he wishes there were no gloves separating their hands.

“It’s probably time to get back.”

Regret tints her words, and he feels the same way. Ah, to offer her a life of nothing but laughter…

“Yeah, probably,” he concedes. “I’ve got a thermos of hot chocolate in the car. It should still be warm.”

Her eyes lit up, and before he knows it, warm, soft lips have pressed a kiss to his mouth.

*****

He talks of hot chocolate, and she kisses him. It is merely lips brushing together, more a caress than a kiss; and for a second she is hard pressed to explain why she did it. Then, her mind registers the look on his face, incredulity, gratitude, happiness, and it doesn’t matter anymore exactly why she did it.

He doesn’t push for more, and for that she is immensely grateful. If he had, she might have started to wonder if he had done all this to try to sleep with her. But since he didn’t, she can continue to believe he just wanted to give her some innocent fun. There is so little, for both of them, that is innocent.

They get in the car, and he fumbles in the back before presenting her with a thermos bottle. She takes a careful sip, and hums her appreciation at the delightful warmth that slides down her throat. It reminds her of many things at once. Her mom, of course. The cocoa she knows Spike shared with her. A drink with him she refused, in this same car, mere hours before he confessed his love. Many drinks she accepted, not so long ago, when their tentative friendship began.

Is it still friendship?

The words are out of her mouth before she has even made the conscious decision.

“Would you like to spend Christmas with us?”

Again, he seems speechless, and she suddenly realizes he is a demon. Christmas probably doesn’t mean much to him. It was stupid, and she starts to say so, but he immediately interrupts her.

“I’d love to. It would mean a lot to me.”

It means a lot to her too, more than she could express; and for reasons she has no clue as to how to start explaining.

*****

When she asks him if he’ll spend Christmas with her, for an instant he thinks that he didn’t understand her correctly. There is no way she’d want to… Except, she does. Surprised does not even begin to describe how he feels. Even the kiss didn’t surprise him as much. They have kissed before, after all, even if it never was so sweet. Usually, their kisses were heat, passion, hunger and despair all mixed into one, and it’s hard when she refuses anything more. That’s why he didn’t try to make the kiss become more; everything was just too perfect to ruin the night.

The ride back to Sunnydale is going to be long, but he doesn’t mind. At least now, she’s smiling, not scowling like earlier, and he likes the change so much he keeps throwing glances at her. Eventually, she falls asleep, and her head rolls until her cheek is resting against his shoulder. He can feel her warmth through the leather and cotton he’s wearing, and it is searing him. As slowly and gently as he can, hoping with all his undead heart that he won’t wake her, he slides his arm behind her and rests his hand at her waist. She doesn’t wake, and instead snuggles against his shoulder.

Without really realizing it, he slows down a little, the speedometer dipping back under the speed limit. There’s no rush, is there? It would be stupid to have an accident now. His hand slips under her coat, and his thumb is drawing small circles on the wool of her sweater. He wishes this trip would never end. Wishes he could always pretend that she is his, like now.

But the trip does end. When he quietly calls her name to wake her, she blinks. The dream is over.

*****

“She invited you for Christmas.”

Clem’s voice is completely incredulous. Spike nods and continues to scavenge for the coins he is sure he has seen roll under his armchair one particularly drunken night.

“The Slayer invited you for Christmas,” Clem repeats again, still disbelieving.

“Yes she did,” Spike confirms edgily as he gets back to his feet and adds the few coins to the depressingly small pile of money on the sarcophagus. He mentally reviews the crypt and any possible place where he might have forgotten a few dollars or even a few cents, but can’t come up with another hiding place. Cringing at the ridiculous amount he managed to gather, he begins counting.

“Are you sure it’s not a plot to dust you?”

Spike merely arches an eyebrow in his friend’s direction, and Clem raises his hands in an appeasing gesture.

“Alright, she invited you. Great. Go you. Explain to me again why you need money?”

Seventeen dollars and forty-nine cents. What the hell is he going to do with that?

“Why I need money?” Spike snaps, more annoyed at himself than at the other demon. “How about so I don’t show up empty handed? They’re going to expect gifts.”

Clem frowns.

“They?”

“Well, her and her kid sister,” Spike replies absently, looking around the crypt as if by looking hard enough bills were going to appear out of thin air. “Can’t buy stuff for one and not the other.”

A horrible thought comes to him then. What if she invites her gang? Would he be expected to get something for the others too? He puts the idea firmly out of his mind. He’ll have enough trouble with his ladies’ gifts; he is not going to worry about the Scoobies.

“So, know where I can play cards for cash?”

*****

“You invited Spike for Christmas?”

Dawn’s voice is as bright as her smile, and that is not a surprise. Willow on the other hand looks less thrilled and more puzzled. Buffy winces. Maybe she shouldn’t have told them and instead, should have taken back her invitation.

“Well, yeah. He was kinda nice, and I got all caught up in the holidays spirit, but…”

She is about to say that she regretted it as soon as they were back in Sunnydale and realized what a mistake it was. But Dawn’s excited squealing prevents her from doing so. Willow simply shrugs.

“Well, at least you and Dawn won’t be by yourselves for the holidays while I’m gone,” she says with a small smile.

After being suitably taken aback that Willow would think Spike is acceptable company, Buffy suddenly remembers that her friend told her she was going to spend ten days with her family. This is even worse than she thought. She is going to be alone with Dawn and Spike, without Willow’s presence to remind her that she shouldn’t get too friendly with the Big Bad vamp. She definitely has to stop this before it goes any farther. She will tell Spike on patrol tonight that her plans have changed and she is celebrating somewhere else, and he can’t tag along. He is going to be hurt, and Dawn is going to hate her, but it is better than the alternative. Safer too.

Much safer than allowing Spike to have a bigger place in her life.

Dawn starts babbling about getting a gift for him, and Buffy doesn’t have the heart to tell her that they have to spend their money on more important things. At least, a gift might soften the blow of retracting the invitation. Or so she hopes.

*****

Usually, Spike enjoys patrolling with his Slayer. Enjoys every minute he can spend with her, even when she isn’t so nice to him. But tonight, the minutes feel like hours. As soon as they finish, he plans to rush over to the bar Clem told him about, a mixed crowd of humans and demons, where the stakes are cash, not kittens. He only has two days left before Christmas, and if he isn’t lucky tonight, he’ll have to resort to dire measures. Not so long ago, he wouldn’t have given a second thought about stealing what he wanted. He suspects that if he did any such thing this time, it would come back to bite him on the ass later. So, he is determined to get his presents legally. And if he isn’t lucky at cards, he has already half decided to sell the DeSoto. Remains the matter of deciding what to get them.

Next to him, the Slayer is twitchy. He wishes he could ask her what is wrong, if she had a bad day at work, but he feels it’s safer not to inquire. Sometimes, she easily shares her problems with him. At other times, the simple hint that he cares sends her into one of her scowling rages. He’d rather try to avoid the latter until Christmas has come and gone, in case she’d use the pretext to take back her invitation.

When they’re finally done for the night and he has walked her back to her house, she seems to have something she wants to say. He waits patiently – or as patiently as he is able – but she’s just too lovely. He presses a kiss to her lips, expecting her to protest that someone could see them. He is happily surprised when she kisses him back.

*****

All evening long, she tried to tell him. She really did. But in the end, she just couldn’t. She kept remembering his expression when she invited him, and she couldn’t bear the idea of seeing instead an angry and disappointed face. Then there was that kiss, short but oh so sweet, and after that all thoughts of having invited him being a bad idea disappeared. Ever since he took her on that little trip to relax, she has had more and more trouble reminding herself why it is wrong to admit, if only to herself, that Spike is capable of love. But she has the answer to that, her ultimate weapon against feeling anything for a vampire. Alexander Lavelle Harris.

She goes to the Magic Box after her shift at the Double Meat Palace, and as she hoped, Xander is there. He and Anya are apparently working on their seating arrangements. Again. Small talk, and then:

“Spike is coming to celebrate Christmas with Dawnie and me.”

She waits for the blast she is sure is coming. Xander is going to tell her what a terrible idea that is, remind her that Spike has no soul, and even if he did have one he is still a vamp, and she shouldn’t forget it.

But the explosion doesn’t come. Instead of commenting on her announcement, Xander and Anya exchange a glance. Anya is smiling, triumphal.

“OK, you were right, we can put him at Buffy’s table,” Xander sighs, scribbling Spike’s name on their chart.

Buffy gapes. “You’re inviting him to the wedding?”

Xander shrugs. “Knowing him, he would have invited himself anyway.”

Anya beams. “That’s one more gift, too.”

That last statement reminds Buffy that she promised Dawn to go to the mall with her to get Spike’s present.

No escape now.

*****

It is with unmitigated horror that Spike discovers the greatest evil of all evils, and he knows about evil, being the Big Bad and all. But this… this is beyond worst than he had ever imagined. Even hell can’t be half as bad as the mall two days before Christmas. He has to repeat to himself that this is for Buffy and Dawn, or else he would be out of there in a minute. The only redeeming thing to the whole adventure is that the place is open late, and he doesn’t have to risk becoming toast under the glaring California sun. He is seriously beginning to miss London’s weather.

His Nibblet is easy to shop for. Last summer, while Buffy was… gone, he promised Dawn to introduce her to what he thinks – no, not think, knows – is ‘real’ music. He has found a nice compilation CD. She’ll either love it or hate it, but at least he will fulfill his promise.

The Slayer’s gift, however, is more problematic. He doesn’t have the beginning of an idea and only thirty-seven dollars left. He can only curse himself about that. He had ten times that amount, last night, but got too greedy and played one last hand. He lost most of his winnings.

He considered buying her lingerie, but he doubts that kind of gift would be welcome. He knows what kind of music she likes, but he’ll be damned again before he adds to her bloody awful collection. Chocolate, maybe? She does have a sweet tooth… he has a proof of that last fact when he comes face to face with her and Dawn. Both girls are eating ice creams cones.

He scrambles to hide his shopping bag behind him, and notices that Buffy does the same. Unlife is good.

*****

Buffy hadn’t planned to be at the mall so long, but finding something for Spike within their budget has proved to be quite difficult. It has also been the occasion to realize that Dawn knows him better than she does. Apparently, these two have talked a lot last summer while she was… resting. They have truly become friends. Buffy feels a little guilty about telling Spike to stay away from her sister. She thought he was using Dawn to get closer to her. She realizes now that she was wrong about that. Wrong about him.

After arguing about what would make an appropriate present, Dawn and her finally decide on a nice mug. And because Dawn insists and promises to wash the dishes for two months, Buffy agrees to get one at that booth where they put a picture of you on whatever you buy. Tomorrow Spike will receive a white mug adorned with a picture of Dawn and her. Dawn also wanted to add the inscription “Spike’s girls”, but Buffy drew the line.

They have a few dollars left, so they indulge on an ice cream. And just then, they stumble on Spike. He fumbles to hide a bag behind him, as does Buffy. Somehow, she hadn’t thought of the fact that he might give them presents, too. Now she is curious. What did he get for her?

A few words are exchanged in the middle of the crowded mall, he asks what time he should come by tomorrow, Dawn answers right after sunset, tells him they’ll have dinner, and then watch ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas’ on TV before opening their gifts at midnight. Buffy is sure he is going to scoff at the idea, make his ‘I’m evil’ speech. Instead, he simply smiles and says it sounds nice.

*****

The wrapping paper is not wide enough, and it leaves part of the box uncovered. Spike gives up. There is simply no way he will be able to wrap that thing prettily. He tried last night after coming back from his shopping trip, battling with the damn glittery paper for a while before going to sleep thinking he’d be able to do better in the morning. Now he can only glare at the mess he has made. He should have gotten in that mile-long line and let the mall employees do the wrapping for him. Bloody hell!

Inspiration strikes, and he turns the box over, so that the uncovered part is now on the bottom. Gleefully, he applies the bow to the bottom-turned-top, and admires his handiwork. There is a little too much tape, and the paper is slightly wrinkled after his too many attempts, but at least it is wrapped. Thankfully the music store provided a nice little bag for Dawn’s CD.

He doesn’t need to look outside to know it’s barely noon. That leaves him about six hours to wait before sunset. By pure habit, he grabs a half empty bottle of booze, before realizing that it might not be a good idea to show up on the Summers’ doorstep smelling as if he had spent the day in a bar. On the other hand, he can’t do without the cigarettes. Settling himself in his armchair, he turns the telly on, lights a fag, and starts looking for something entertaining until it’s finally time.

Two hours before sunset, he saunters down to the lower level and gets ready. Shower, fresh clothes including that deep purple shirt he knows the Slayer likes, careful slicked back hair, and he is set. Only an hour and fifty minutes left to wait.

*****

On Christmas Eve’s morning, a cleaning frenzy takes Buffy. Which is ridiculous, really, seeing that her guest’s home is a crypt, complete with cobwebs and scurrying rats, so he isn’t likely to comment if there is a speck of dust on the shelves. At least, while she cleans, she doesn’t think about him. Much.

They had agreed a few days ago – before they knew that Spike would be there – that Dawn would prepare the dinner tonight. Buffy is determined not to go in the kitchen. Even when there are weird noises that sound like glass breaking. Even when it suddenly smells like something is burning. Dawn said she could handle it, and Buffy just has to trust her.

Once the house is perfect – she even swept the basement – Buffy goes upstairs, and stands in front of her closet. What the hell is she going to wear tonight? Nothing too sexy. Nothing too plain either. What does that leave?

She is startled when she turns and Dawn is there, leaning against her door with her arms crossed and a small smile dancing on her lips.

“Having trouble finding something to wear?” she says teasingly.

Buffy doesn’t reply, just glares at her closet a little harder.

“What’s the statement you want to make?” Dawn insists, walking in and coming to stand behind Buffy, her chin resting against her shoulder. “Is it more of a ‘we’re friends and we kill stuff together’, or ‘let’s kiss again while no one is watching’?”

Buffy tenses and feels her cheeks burning.

“It’s not…” she starts to say, but Dawn interrupts her gently, hugging her.

“We’re not blind, Buffy. If he makes you happy, there’s really no reason for you not to take a chance.”

What surprises Buffy most is realizing that he indeed makes her happy.

*****

Andrew isn’t happy. Not happy at all. If anyone were there with him, he would sulk, or pout, or at least protest really loudly to make that fact completely clear. But of course, he is alone. He could almost believe that the whole ‘short straw’ thing was rigged. Why is he always stuck on surveillance when his favorite shows have special events? It is the third time this month he missed a marathon on FX. Jonathan and Warren wouldn’t be plotting against him, would they? Because that would be just unfair and cruel and a really low blow. You can be a super villain and remain noble. Or so he is intimately convinced.

At least, he has his Game Boy Advance. Because frankly, keeping an eye on the Slayer when she stays in her house all day? Not much fun at all. Warren wouldn’t be very pleased if he knew, but Andrew is sure that he can do both, play Super Mario and be effective in his surveillance. It’s not as if he is going to miss anyone walking down the driveway.

But alas, poor Andrew is wrong. The sun sets, and the video game’s retrolit screen is all he can see anymore. Just as he battles the end of level monster, a vampire casually strolls down Revello Drive, a small package in one hand, a long, slim one in the other. That’s exactly the kind of information he is supposed to note, so that they can know what goes on in the Slayer’s life and find her weaknesses. Jonathan has been telling them that Buffy might have a thing for Spike, but neither he nor Warren can agree. She’s the Vampire Slayer, she can’t fool around with vamps. Even if they are as good-looking and sexy as Spike is.

*****

The evening is beautiful, more beautiful than Spike would have ever imagined. More beautiful than he would ever have dared hope.

His Nibblet is smiling brighter than he has ever remembered seeing her. It is nice to watch her being happy. She made the dinner by herself, as she has mentioned a good dozen times while they ate, and it was good. She even thought of getting him some blood. She is now curled on the armchair, still smiling as they watch that Christmas show on telly.

Then there is Buffy. Buffy who is stunning in that low cut, spaghetti strapped red dress, her hair piled up on top of her head exposing the lovely arch of her neck. Buffy who greeted him at the door with a nervous smile and said she was glad he had come. Buffy who has been nicer to him than ever before, making small talk, joking with him, but always with that nervous edge. Buffy who is sitting just next to him on the sofa.

His fingers itch to touch hers where they rest between them, and it’s a struggle to keep them still on his lap. He is sure that her benevolence wouldn’t extend to allowing any contact in Dawn’s presence, and he is determined not to ruin everything for a simple fleeting touch.

Except…

Except she is the one reaching over and resting her hand on his, lightly, as if she is afraid she won’t be welcome. The heat seeps into his skin and warms him all over. Surprised, he looks at her, and she gives him a small, hesitant smile. He turns his hand over, so that they rest palm to palm, and weaves his fingers with her. Silently, he makes the wish that he never had to let go again.

*****

Life is strange.

Two days ago, Buffy would have died rather than admit to anyone – and particularly herself – that she felt anything other than disgust for Spike.

Today, knowing that neither her sister nor her friends will think any less of her for it, she can acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, she has feelings for him.

The maybe becomes a blinding certainty when his fingers wrap around hers. It is such a simple touch, and yet… She hasn’t felt that way in longer than she can remember. For the first time, she can allow herself to believe that Spike is capable of love, and that he truly loves her. It is hard to understand how she was able to deny it for so long.

When Charlie Brown is over, Dawn announces that she is going to make hot chocolate. She doesn’t even bat an eyelash when she sees them holding hands as she walks by them. They’re alone now, and Buffy’s heart is beating too fast. She knows he is watching her, but she stubbornly keeps her eyes on the television, afraid to look at him. Yet, when his free hand reaches over and gently cups her chin, she finally faces him.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and her heartbeat accelerates a little more.

“I know you do,” she replies, smiling.

She isn’t quite ready to say the words back yet, and so she is grateful when he doesn’t seem disappointed by her answer. Not disappointed in the least, if she believes his lips, which are suddenly pressed hard against hers. They both shift on the sofa, getting closer; their knees are touching, his hands are at her waist, her fingers tangled in his hair, and the kiss is getting fiercer, more passionate with each passing second.

Life is good.

*****

They’re cute, Dawn decides as she watches her sister and her best friend make out on the sofa.  It has taken them long enough to get there. She doesn’t understand why they were hiding. It isn’t as if the Scoobies didn’t know about them. They haven’t been really discreet, after all.

Still, there’s a limit to cuteness, and she clears her throat loudly as she comes back in the living room with a tray and three mugs of chocolate. Too bad Spike’s gift is in the box under the tree; it would have been cool to use it tonight. Maybe he’ll use it in the morning.

Buffy is crimson when Dawn gives her the hot chocolate; Spike is smiling goofily. It’s nice to see him happy.

There really isn’t much on TV anymore, so as they wait for midnight Dawn asks Spike where he spent his favorite Christmas. His answer is immediate.

“Just where I am right now.”

She rolls her eyes at him, and insists. “You know what I mean. Before.”

Before Sunnydale, before the chip, before he became a good guy. They talked a lot, last summer, and he has told her about his many travels. All of it G rated, of course, without a drop of blood being shed or the mention of a death. She’s not stupid, but she likes his stories; however altered they are, she is sure there’s a lot of truth in them.

Buffy seems a little uncomfortable at first when he starts talking; Dawn guesses that she expects Drusilla or an equally nasty detail to pop up. However, Spike is cleverer than that, and from what he says it is easy to believe he was alone in Prague or wherever.

Midnight arrives in no time at all, as they listen to him.

*****

Spike is half-convinced it is a dream. He doesn’t want to wake up ever again.

They have opened the presents. Dawn seemed happy about the CD, and she left to go listen to it in her room. He loves the mug, and will cherish it always. And if he is to judge by the way Buffy is practicing with her new sword, slashing the air and getting used to the balance of the blade, she enjoys her present too. She is quite a sight, really. So feminine in that dress, and yet deadly with the weapon in her hands… He is completely and utterly whipped.

She finally sets the short sword down and smiles brightly at him.

“Nothing says I love you like a shiny new bauble,” she teases.

He stands and walks to her, settling his hands on her hips.

“Thing is, I didn’t know if you’d want to hear it. Care to tell me what changed your mind?” he asks, hoping he’s not pushing too much but needing to understand.

Her arms twine around his neck, and they’re suddenly much closer. One of them starts moving, but they are dancing to a slow song that echoes only in their minds.

“I’m not sure,” she murmurs. “Maybe I wasn’t ready until now. Maybe I was just stupid, or scared. Maybe it finally got through that you’re not going anywhere.”

She rests her cheek against his shoulder, and nothing matters anymore but the feel of her in his arms. In the twinkling light of the tree, they dance, silent and warm.

No, it’s not a dream. His dreams are never so beautiful.

He is ready for more – God knows how ready he is – but he won’t ask. It’s her move. He’d rather have nothing more than witness her regrets afterwards.

*****

They finally stop dancing, and Buffy doesn’t hesitate one single second. Her hand holds Spike’s firmly; and she starts walking to the staircase. He calls her name softly, pulls on her hand, and when she turns to look at him the question is clear on his face.

“I am sure,” she replies in a whisper, sealing her declaration with a kiss. After all, they are under the mistletoe.

What she intended as a short kiss becomes something burning, strong, devouring. Her mind barely registers that Spike is picking her up, carrying her upstairs and closing the door behind them. Then his hands are on her shoulders, hesitating one last time. She covers them with hers, and helps him slide the straps of her dress down her arms until the garment pools at her feet. Clad only in her panties, trembling under the heat of his gaze, she reaches to him, fumbling a little as she divests him of the dark purple shirt she likes so much, and then that eternal black t-shirt.

She caresses pale perfection with her eyes, fingertips, and mouth, enjoying the feeling of power as he shivers under her touch. More items of clothing are shed, one by one, and at last, they lay on their sides next to each other, bare in the semidarkness of the room. Again, fingers explore, followed by mouths, as they acquaint themselves with the other’s body. Each tender touch, kiss, and lick sets Buffy on fire. She would never have imagined, never would have believed that it would be like this. So intense, so loving, and so much desire in his darkened eyes when he watches her writhe in pleasure under his skilled hands and tongue.

Why, oh why, did she wait so long before believing him? Before believing in them?

*****

Her skin is softer than silk. Somehow, he had always known it would be. But to touch her at last, after dreaming of this so many times… To know her so intimately… Heaven cannot be better than this. Meticulously, he maps her body, having decided that before morning he will know each spot that makes her gasp, each zone that makes the fire in her eyes burn a little brighter.

He had thought, once, that the blood from a Slayer was the ultimate delicacy for a vampire. He knows now that he was wrong. It does not begin to compare with the taste of her womanhood. He laps at her, tracing her nether lips, the source of her wetness, her clit, and can’t decide which he likes best – the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her body quivering under his hands, the sight of her pleasure-contorted face or the muffled sounds of delight that pass her lips. He won’t choose; he loves all of her.

As he slides back up her body, she is still trembling, and her flesh feverish against his. Tenderly, he kisses the sweat from her brow, murmuring how beautiful she is, how much he loves her. Her hands play on his back, pulling him down until she whispers in his ear:

“Want you inside me. Please.”

He is all too happy to comply. He watches her face as he settles between her inviting thighs and ever so slowly enters her. He wants to always remember this instant. Remember how tight she feels around him, how her heat scorches him, how beautiful her smile is as she returns his gaze and watches him. He pauses for a small second when he is at last sheathed inside her, kisses her. Then they start moving together.

*****

Buffy is exhausted, and yet she doesn’t sleep. Doesn’t want to sleep. Some part of her deeply fears that, if she closes her eyes, she will lose Spike. She knows it is stupid, knows he loves her more than anything, knows he has no soul to lose, but she can’t shake the thought. So, she remains awake, and enjoys the feel of her lover half-draped over her body. His head is pillowed on her chest, and she wonders if he hears her heartbeat as he sleeps. Shortly after he drifted off, he started breathing, and the cadence of his unnecessary breath matches her own. She finds it oddly soothing.

Her fingers tangle in his hair, stroking the curls softly. His breathing becomes irregular, finally stops, and she knows he is awake. With fluttering eyelids and a yawn, he extricates himself from her embrace and stands. Hurt beyond belief, Buffy closes her eyes tight and fists her hands in the sheets. She won’t watch him go. Won’t…

Soft sounds of fabric, and then he is back in the bed, curled even more tightly against her than before, his breathing resuming in mere seconds and announcing that he is asleep again. She dares to open an eye, and notices that the room is now darker. Then she understands. Sunrise is close. He wasn’t leaving her, just making sure she wouldn’t awake next to a pile of ashes. She smiles.

Maybe it is the ultimate proof she needed. Maybe it is because he is asleep and won’t hear her, which makes things seem easier. Maybe she is finally ready to live again. Whatever it is, she can finally say the words. No more than a whisper, so she won’t wake him again, but she says it. And means it.

“I love you too.”

~~ the end ~~



Home
Your name: 
Your e-mail:
Story you are reviewing:
Reviewing chapter:
Your review:


Please press only once.



The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.