Chapter 19
“My grandmother gave me that chair!”
“Buffy, she gave it to you for a reason. It’s moth eaten and smells like Kleenex and White Diamonds.”
She pursed her lips and turned away from Spike, studying the chair in question. “I don’t know, I like it.”
“It dosen’ go with anythin’ here, pet. It’s gingham for Christ’s sake.”
“First of all, I’m impressed that you know what gingham is. Second of all, I like this chair!”
“Buffy,” Spike looked at her incredulously and sat down in the ugly chair, demonstrating how it wobbled from the uneven legs. “Look at it.”
“Fine. So we get rid of the chair,” she rolled her eyes. “What about the end table?”
Spike’s face scrunched up in a cautious expression. “Um…if you really like it…”
She sighed. “That’s not what I asked! Do you like it? Can I keep this or put it somewhere in here?”
“We can put it in the corner over there.” He pointed for clarification.
“But no one will see it over there! It’ll be behind the couch.”
Exactly. “People will see it, luv.”
“You hate it.”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything from my apartment that you like?”
“I like you,” he said with a sweet smile.
“Spike, if we’re going to live together, we’re going to have to compromise on a few things. I know you’ve got like, the super cool loft with all the super cool furniture, but there are things of mine that I don’t want to part with.”
Spike sighed and dragged a hand down his face as he sat down on his super cool sofa. “Ok. How about this? We keep the…fucking blue velvet arm chair that’s so precious to you an’ put it next to the sofa. We toss the gingham nightmare.”
“And the area rug?”
“Please don’t make me put that in here.” When Buffy folded her arms and glared at him, he puffed up. “It’s got bloody flowers all over it!”
“That rug was eighty dollars!”
“I will give you eighty dollars if we can throw it out.”
She stuck out her hand and cocked an eyebrow.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes I’m serious. Eighty bucks. I want it right now.”
Spike stood up and smirked, reaching into his back pocket. If she wanted eighty dollars in exchange for that monstrosity she called a rug to be tossed out of his life forever, so be it. Maybe he could use this tactic on all her furniture. He slapped four twenties in her hand, feeling victorious.
“Thank you. Now…what about the spice rack?”
“I like that. We keep that.”
“See? Progress. And the headboard?”
“Buffy, you know I like my bed low to the ground. I spent two grand for that platform.”
“Yeah, I kinda like your bed. Ok, so we toss the headboard, toss the chair and the rug…keep the end table, the arm chair and the spice rack?”
“Yeah,” he grumbled about the end table. “That’s fair.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, thank you so much for letting me keep three things of mine.”
“Oi, before you get all grumpy, let me remind you that you completely kicked me out of my own closet!”
“I have a lot of clothes!”
“That is a bloody understatement.”
“You said you liked having the fancy rolling rack for your clothes,” she pouted. “Were you just placating me?”
“The same way you are about the chair.”
“Fine,” she rolled her eyes and grabbed the gingham chair. “Get the headboard and the rug. Let’s toss this stuff out before I get nostalgic and change my mind.”
Spike hoisted the rolled up rug over his shoulder with a grin. “After you, pet.”
“You’re lucky you’re so damn cute,” she grumbled as they walked to the lift.
~*~*~*~
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t feel like nothing.”
“But you’re so soft.”
“Spike…”
“Fine, I’ll go clean out the bloody linen closet.”
“Thank you.”
~*~*~*~
“Spike, where do you keep your cleaning stuff?”
“Uh…what?”
“You do have cleaning supplies, right?”
“Of course I do! They’re in the uh…the thing…oh, bloody hell, hang on!”
“What are you doing?”
“Quit shouting at me from across the flat, gimmie two seconds!”
“Are you in the bathroom, Spike?”
“Spike, are you in the bathroom?”
“Fuck! Yes! I’m in the sodding bathroom, hang on!”
“What are you doing in there?”
“Nothing anymore thanks to you!”
“Oh! Oh…sorry. Did you…did you just growl at me?”
“Will you please give me five minutes in here? Don’t! Don’t open the…hi, Buffy.”
“Spike! You’re touching yourself!”
“Yes! I’m havin’ a wank, satisfied? Don’t do that giggling thing! It’s not funny!”
“Why didn’t you just say what you were doing? It’s not like I care if you masturbate.”
“Don’t call it that and please shut the door.”
“I’m making grilled cheese in a minute before I head to the apartment to get the last box.”
“Make me one?”
“Of course. You want tomatoes on yours?”
“Yeah, but slice ‘em thin so the cheese doesn’ get all gooey.”
“Got it. Hey look, I’m shutting the door now.”
“Evil bitch!”
“Penis toucher!”
“Quit giggling!”
~*~*~*~
“Hey, I’m home,” Buffy called out as she stumbled into Spike’s loft, dropping a large box on the ground with a groan and kicked it a few feet across the floor. “Spike?” He didn’t answer and she continued pushing the box towards the bedroom. “Are you here?” Frowning, she kicked the heavy box the remaining distance to the bedroom, finding Spike sitting on his bed with his back to her.
“Oh, there you are.”
He turned to look at her over his shoulder and gave her a watery smile before turning back around. “Is that the last one?”
“Yup. You know,” she said as she bent over to open it, “I never knew towels could be so damn heavy. Probably should have asked you to come with me. That cab driver was kinda shitty when I asked him to help me lift it into the trunk. He was all, ‘you better tip me’ and I was like, ‘if you lift the box, I’ll tip you’ and he looked at me like I was some crazy…” she trailed off as she came closer to him, noticing what he was holding in his hands. She sat down beside him and placed her hand on his back and laid her chin on his shoulder. “You ok?”
Spike leaned his head against hers as he looked at the plastic baggie in his lap, filled with his mother’s ashes. “I was thinkin’…” he said, licking his lips as his eyes clouded with emotion.
“Yeah?” She played with the tiny white hairs at the nape of his neck.
“She needs to go somewhere, don’ you think? Other than a Ziploc bag in the pantry, I mean.”
“That’s probably a good idea.”
“So I thought, maybe an urn. But that didn’ seem right. An’ I didn’ want to scatter her ashes somewhere, because then she’d be gone, you know?”
Buffy nodded, rubbing his back, watching him as he tested the weight of her ashes in his hands.
“She needs somethin’ permanent. A final restin’ place, yeah? Somethin’ I can see every day.” He was silent for a while when an idea struck him and he stood up abruptly and walked to his art supplies. Buffy turned on the bed to watch him.
He opened up an old coffee can and blew inside it to knock out the dust, opened the plastic bag and carefully poured the contents inside. He looked at it for a moment, and she wondered what he was thinking about. His expression was so strange. Not sad, exactly…but reticent. Then he took a bottle of black Gesso and squeezed it in the can until it was almost full and started mixing, turning towards Buffy with a happy smile as he stirred away. “This one’s for the mantle.”
She grinned at him, tucking a pillow against her chest as she sat Indian style on the bed. “You don’t have a fireplace.”
“I’ll bloody build one, then,” he said with a determined look on his face. He turned back around and carefully scraped his mixing stick against the rim of the can, sure to get every last bit back inside and set the can down gently so he could set up a canvas against the wall. “I bet my Dad bought some gaudy urn for his half,” he said casually as he dipped a large 3” brush in the can and started painting.
“His half?”
“Oh, I didn’ tell you?” When she shook her head in denial he turned to his painting again. “Yeah, split the ashes up,” his strokes were rapid and short, focusing on a singular corner of the canvas, “tossed me my half and took off to his bedroom. Just like that.” He stepped back, tilting his head to examine his work and then started painting again. “An’ I kept thinkin’…which half ‘ve I got? Maybe the head an’ torso,” he moved to the center of the canvas, “or the feet an’ legs. Or maybe, once they burned ‘er up, it all got mixed together.” He dipped the brush in the can, keeping his back to her. Buffy’s eyes were wide as she watched him, slightly concerned with his nonchalance about the matter, knowing he was hiding how he really felt about it. But she supposed it was his way of dealing with it, after all, he was painting with his dead mother’s ashes. There was something big in that, she figured. “An’ if that’s the case, maybe I’ve got an eye, a kidney,” he moved to the other corner with rapid x-shaped strokes, “bits of her hands.” He sighed. “Who knows. I jus’ wish he hadn’ done it like…like she was a cut of beef. Like she didn’ matter,” he placed the brush against the canvas again and pulled slowly downwards, “like she wasn’ my mum an’ hadn’t raised me all my life. Like ‘e didn’ love ‘er.”
“Why did he split up the ashes?”
Spike was silent for a while, turning the large canvas blacker and blacker as he moved downwards with his brush. “It’s what mum wanted. Said she wanted to be with her two favorite men,” he looked at her with a slight smile and shrugged his shoulders. Buffy caught the glimmer in his eyes before he turned away from her, though. She wanted to hug him, touch him, do something to bring him comfort but he started painting again and she let him be. “It’s bloody barbaric is what it is. What the fuck am I supposed to do with her ashes? It’s not her…not really. Just a bunch of soot and some thicker bits that I don’ want to think about right now an’ I really shoulda thought of that before I mixed the whole bag in with the sodding Gesso!” He groaned and slammed the coffee can down on a small table near the canvas. He looked at the bumpy canvas and frowned. “Well, that’s ruined.”
Buffy stood up and walked over to the canvas, tilting her head from side to side. “I don’t think so. I think it looks kinda neat.”
He snorted and shook out a cigarette from his pack and lit it. “Not quite goin’ for neat, luv.”
She rolled her eyes. “Look at it from the side. Come here,” she tugged on his shirt and pulled him to the side of the canvas, showing him the texture he’d created as the light reflected off the wet paint. “See? It’s kinda cool.”
He took a deep drag of his cigarette and narrowed his eyes. He shook his head dejectedly. “It’s shit.”
“It’s not shit. Besides, this was just the base, right?”
“Well, yeah. Right depressin’ havin’ a black painting of your dead mum’s ashes. Was gonna paint on top of it.”
“You don’t like painting on textures? It could be a new style for you. You never know.”
“Maybe,” he sighed and picked up the coffee can, cigarette dangling from his lips, and dipped his brush in it. “I dunno. Maybe after I get the whole canvas covered it’ll look better.”
“It’ll be beautiful,” she whispered and kissed him on the cheek. He was seemingly unaware, though, staring at the canvas and she looked at him for a moment with a warm smile before she turned around and pulled her towels from the box and walked to the linen closet. Spike started painting again.
~*~*~*~
“Good lord, I’m tired.”
“Me too, kitten. How’s your back doin’?”
“Still sore. I think I pulled a muscle lifting that furniture.”
“Go lay down on the bed an’ I’ll rub it for you.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I’ll go grab some lotion an’ be in there in a second.”
~*~*~*~
“Oh my god, your hands…”
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere! Oooh, that’s good.”
Spike closed his eyes, pretending that the noises she made were from a different kind of rub down. At least he got her naked, and that shouldn’t be glossed over. Granted, she had a sheet over her ass, but at least he was getting to touch her. Almost two months and no sex, except for the amazing blow job she’d given him a couple of weeks ago, and Spike was starting to lose a part of his sanity. But he wasn’t going to think about that now, not when she’d finally moved in with him and he was straddling her thighs while she lay naked beneath him. He’d save this memory for tomorrow when she went to work and he had some alone time. He swept his hands from the base of her neck down her spine and back up again.
“Mmm…”
“You’re tense, luv.”
“It really hurts in my lower back, though.”
He pressed the heels of his hands into her lower back, sweeping up at an angle and moved his thumbs in circular motions. She moaned beneath him. She didn’t notice that he’d pulled the sheet down a bit further. He scooted back and leaned over; rubbing the sides of her hips and kissed her right above her tail bone. She flinched a bit, but she was giggling so he did it again.
“That tickles!”
“Mmm, bet it does,” he said silkily, right before he delicately licked her from tail bone to neck, all the way up her spine.
“Oh…”
Her ass swayed a bit from side to side and he grabbed it, taking in a deep breath. “Buffy…you’re killin’ me, here.”
She rolled over!
Buffy’s breasts were laid before him, staring at him, missing him so damn much. Hello, ladies! He swallowed and his chin quivered, blue eyes zeroing in on two of his favorite things. “Want…boobies…”
She smiled sweetly and ran her hands up his arms. “Come here.”
“R-really?”
She nodded and bit her lip. He sighed dreamily and leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers. They both moaned as his bare chest rubbed against hers. “Oh, baby…you’re not gonna regret this,” he whispered against her throat as his hands swept down her collarbone to her breasts. She arched into his hands as his thumbs rolled over her nipples and his tongue dipped into her mouth. Those familiar tingles were back, those wonderful sensations that only Spike could create burned her from her head to her toes as he pinched and caressed her breasts. His hot breath wafted over her sternum as he lowered his head and she inhaled through her teeth, raked her hands in his hair as he flicked his tongue across a rosy bud.
He looked up at her with a cocky smile, suckling and licking her, trailing one hand down her stomach as he tore the sheet away. “You aren’t wearin’ any knickers,” he teased and tugged on a nipple with his teeth.
“Oh, fuck!”
His lips were brushing the underside of her breasts, parting slightly so make way for his tongue while his hand moved between her legs. Oh, yes.
“I wonder if you’re wet already,” he said softly, trailing his fingers on her inner thigh as he hummed against her stomach, incredibly pleased with himself when he found that she was. “Fuck, Buffy,” he gasped, dragging his middle and index finger along her folds.
“Mmm,” she sighed with a smile, raising her arms above her head. “Oh, that feels good.”
He pressed his fingers flat against her slit and moved along the length of it, rubbing her clitoris with every down stroke. Spike kissed her hip bones, her mound, her thighs, tracing the outline of her entrance with the tips of his fingers, groaning with lust as she got wetter and wetter. Buffy was panting, overcome completely with need, her body reacting to him the way it always had, with complete and total submission. It knew all too well what he was capable of doing to it and surrendered happily, jerking upwards when he slipped one finger inside her. He moved so fluidly, so slowly in and out that she was almost in tears from the sensation, and then his lips were above her clit, hovering…warm, wanting, waiting breath surrounding it as he looked up at her for permission. Oh, fuck yes.
“Please, Spike, please!”
He pressed his lips against the tiny bundle of nerves, rotating his hand that pumped inside her, and opened his mouth so his tongue could finally taste her. She mewled in rapture, he growled in conquest and lapped and suckled her clit as his fingers picked up the pace. Dear Lord and all his holy disciples, he missed this girl’s pussy. His pelvis dug into the mattress as he tilted his head to the side and thrust his tongue inside of her, curling it as he pulled it out and closed his eyes. Her taste was so Buffy, so sweet and tangy, so fucking his…he could fuck her with his mouth forever, finger her until she passed out, bite her until she bled. God, he loved her.
“Spike, I need you.”
“One more minute,” he whined as he sucked her clit into his mouth and hummed sweetly.
“Please, baby…you’re gonna make me come if you keep…oh, god…oh!”
He chuckled wickedly and deftly removed his fingers from her core and crawled up her torso. “Help me take these off an’ you can have me.” He took her hands and placed them on the waist band of his jeans. He almost laughed at how fast she ripped his jeans off of him, but that urge was soon replaced with a commanding growl as she wrapped her hand around his cock. Spike kissed her passionately, rubbing his torso against hers as he took his cock from her hands and rubbed the tip of it against her folds. “God, you’re so wet…”
“Now! Now, now, now…”
He bit down gently on her neck and placed his cock at her entrance, sliding in a bit. They both let out a breathy moan as her walls clamped down around him, feeling him for the first time in so long. He pulled out and pushed in more, savoring the feel of her scorching him. His elbows were propped on either side of her head and he looked down at her, smiling warmly before he kissed her and slid to the hilt. Buffy wrapped her arms and legs around him as she deepened the kiss. He set a slow pace, moving his hips with a deep grind, moaning against her mouth as she squeezed him from the inside. Her hands slid up and down his undulating back, feeling his muscles contort as he expertly moved above her.
“I love you, Buffy,” he said softly, rolling his head to the side to kiss her neck.
“I love you…oh!…too, Spike,” she cooed, grinding her hips against his.
Their breath grew thin, cooling the back of their throats as they started panting in time with their movements. Spike was moving faster, though no less skilled in the pivoting of his waist, striking that spot inside her that he found on day one, driving her over the edge with his thick cock, his sweet voice and his wet lips.
“Come,” he said with a strained voice, looking her in the eyes.
Without missing a beat, Buffy cried out in pleasure as her body tightened, trembled and pulsed. She clawed at his scalp, shouted his name as he tucked his hands beneath her ass and lifted her into every powerful thrust. He was coming too, digging his nails into her soft flesh as he made low, throaty moans, burying his head in her throat. They collapsed, gulping for air and she kneaded his ass with the heels of her feet, keeping him in place, wanting him to stay inside, to love her like he always had. Spike kissed the corners of her mouth when she smiled and sighed happily.
“I missed that,” he said sadly, though he wasn’t cheapening the moment as he stroked her hair and kissed her again.
“Me too,” she traced his cheekbones with her fingers. “I love you, so much. I know you’d never…”
“Shh,” he said before he kissed her. “None of that. Tonight was about us.”
She smiled with watery eyes and nodded gently. He rolled them on their sides and turned off the table lamp. They settled into one another, caressing soft skin, entwining their limbs, seeking that closeness that had been vacant for so long. Buffy loved him with every fiber of her being, trusted him completely and even though she still had a ways to go, she had someone to help her get there. Spike meant so much more to her than a lover. He was her strength, her courage, her laughter, her pain…her everything. He could read her like a book and it used to frighten her, but now it made her feel special that there was a man who loved her so much that he knew her deeply, knew her in ways no one ever would. With Spike, it was real and he wouldn’t accept anything less from her, nor would she from him.
He kissed the palm of her hand before resting it on his chest, holding it there. “G’night, Buffy.”
“No, not goodnight.”
“Ok, whatever you say.”
She smiled against his chest and tugged the sheet up over her shoulders. “Good night, Spike.”
Buffy used to think that life was too short to spend it with one person. But now, after everything she’d been through, after everything she’d learned, after falling hard, crazy, mad in love…she knew that life was too short to spend it alone.
* * * *
A/N: Yes, it’s over. I’d been working on this for a few days now and it just felt done. I know there are still questions about Oz and about Tony, but this fic was started and ended being about Spike and Buffy and their relationship. You can choose your own adventure for what happened with those two, but it wasn’t important to me to write, nor did it call for another chapter. Do we really want to hear about the healing process? I don’t…that’s not what this was about. At any rate, your support and reviews have meant so much to me and I’m glad that you’ve (hopefully) enjoyed this story.
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