Chapter Twenty-Eight
The car ride to Spike’s place was done in a silence so thick, his teeth hurt from clenching his jaw. Buffy had stayed silent the entire car ride, her arms and legs crossed, her eyes trained out the window. In the car, he had been grateful for the silence. His vision was worse at night, and he probably would have wrecked if he’d had to deal with arguing with her, too. But now that they were here, outside his door, he was more than ready for the explosion.
Buffy breezed past him when the door swung open, blinking her eyes to adjust to the light that he had flicked on. She took a cursory look at the black denim couch and chair set they’d help him pick out, and the large, oak coffee table. A case made entirely of glass sat next to the door, his various trophies displayed within. Except for the Winston Trophy. It had it’s own, specially made case that was displayed proudly on the outer kitchen wall.
As soon as she heard the soft click of the door, she reeled on him, her tiny form shaking with an irrational rage.
“You bastard,” she spat, her hands curling into fists. “How could you sleep with that. . .that. . .WOMAN!?!” The last word came out as a shout, sending Spike’s own temper spiraling into the stratosphere.
“Don’t start that shit, Buffy. In case you forgot, we weren’t together at the time.” His blues eyes shot angry sparks, and he took a step towards her. “Besides, all I did was scratch an itch. YOU got ENGAGED!” Resentment that she would even consider marrying someone else suffused every word. She sucked in a breath at that, and her mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. What could she say to that? “What’s the matter, pet? Truth hurt?” Her eyes narrowed into slits, and she stepped forward.
“YOU left ME. TWICE! Where the hell do you get off judging me for moving on?”
“Where do get off doing the same to me? And I beg to differ, sweetheart. You left me, in a hospital room. All I did was say goodbye.” Her eyes widened at that, as the truth of it struck her.
“You loved your damn racing more than me. It was always that. I was never important enough,” she threw back, tears rushing to her eyes.
“You believe that if you fucking want to. I’m tired of rehashing this. I left to try to make my own way. I couldn’t change for you, or anyone else, and I’m bloody well tired of trying to explain it!” Their voices were raising with each sentence they uttered, their bodies coming closer together. “You wanted me to choose, and that wasn’t fair. I NEVER would have done that to you. I DIDN’T do it to you. You said you couldn’t live with the danger. I didn’t try to change you. Why did you have to try to change me?” The question slammed into her with the force of a train. His face was so desolate, so pain-filled, she finally realized what she had done. SHE had been the one to put the boundaries on their love. It had to be her way, or no way. He left, because she had given him no choice. Both times. “All I ever wanted was you, and my career. Was that really too much? I know you watched the races. Dad told me,” he said, when her eyes shot to his at that. “You said you couldn’t live with watching me risk death, but you watched the races. Why?”
“I. . .I had to,” she admitted quietly, feeling the rage drain out of her, and looking down at the floor.
“Why?” he asked again, tilting her head up until she was looking at him. His eyes swirled with the storm raging in them, their blue depths almost black.
“It was the only way I could be close to you.” Her voice was so quiet, he had to strain to hear her.
“No it wasn’t. You could have called me, anytime. I’ve loved you, practically since I first saw you. The only thing holding you back was you.” He dropped his hand, and walked over to the couch, sinking down into it with a sigh. He leaned his head back, and threw an arm over his eyes, digging in his pocket for a cigarette. Buffy stayed standing where she was, hands clasped in front of her, eyes on the floor, tears sliding down her cheeks. “When does this stop, Buffy? The pain. It’s not supposed to hurt like this.” His emotion roughened voice drifted to her, his accent thick with the pain he was talking about.
“No. It’s not,” she agreed, taking a deep breath, and walking over to him. How could he still love her after this? He would have taken her back, at anytime. All she’d had to do was call. What kind of man hangs on that long? The best kind, she could almost hear her mother saying to her. She had gone and gotten engaged, because Riley was safe. While she didn’t like the thought of Spike sleeping with other women, especially women like Crystal, he had never been linked with anyone romantically in the press. At least not in anything she’d read, and she had found every word ever printed about him. The sudden realization that he was waiting for her struck her, leaving her stunned.
She stared down at him, her fingers itching to touch him, but too afraid to try. She had always thought that she was the injured party between them. But really, it had been him. Hesitantly, she sat down next to him, wiping her damp palms on her blue jeans. She glanced over at him, trying to figure out what to say. He still had his arm over his eyes, shielding them from her, a smoldering cigarette dangling from his lips.
“So what do we do now?” he asked, taking the cigarette from his mouth and leaning forward to flick the ashes into the black glass ashtray. She studied the rigid set of his shoulders, and reached out, her hand trembling in the air. She felt his muscles tense further when she rested her hand on his back. A deep sigh erupted from him, and he crushed his cigarette out before turning his head to look at her.
“Try again?” she said, hope flooding her voice. His eyes drifted closed for a brief instant, then opened again to pin her with a gaze full of insecurity.
“Can we? Aren’t you still afraid?”
“I’m more afraid of living without you,” she whispered, hazel eyes begging. “I love you, Spike. I never stopped.” Fresh tears slid down her cheeks, glistening on her skin. He reached up and brushed them away, her eyes drifting closed as she turned into his touch.
“Buffy, look at me.” He waited until she did, and turned more fully to her. He cupped her face between his hands, his eyes burning into hers. “If we do this again, I’m not going to let you go,” he warned. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, his words causing a thrill of excitement to course through her. She didn’t want him to let her go, and she didn’t intend on ever letting him go. Not as long as she was breathing, anyway.
“Good,” she answered, tracing a thumb across his cheek. When he leaned his head down to hers, she raised her chin to meet him. The first, soft brush of his lips across hers caused them both to sigh. The second made them moan. The third had them desperate for more. She opened for him when his tongue sought entrance, her fingers moving to fist in his hair. He nibbled, almost delicately on her mouth, before sliding his tongue inside to spar with hers once more. She kissed him back with as much passion as he gave her, her lips and tongue dueling with his, relishing his taste. Nothing had ever seemed so right as when he kissed her, touched her, and she had denied herself for five long years. Never again.
She pulled away from him, and met his questioning gaze. She smiled softly, and stood, staring down at him. His brows drew together, his confusion written on his face. Then she held out her hand, and glanced over at the stairs. Arousal darkened his eyes, and he stood in one fluid motion, taking her hand as he did so. He allowed her to lead him up the stairs, no words passing between them.
When they reached his room, she released his hand and walked over to the sleek, black dresser across from the door. There on the corner was a squat, wrought iron candle holder with three fat candles. She picked up the matches next to it and lit each one, her eyes meeting his in the mirror when she was done. He walked over to her, his gait strong and smooth. She didn’t turn towards him when he reached her, just continued to watch him in the mirror. He brought up a hand to her shoulder, hooking his finger under the spaghetti strap of her tank top. He slid the string down, and brought his mouth to her shoulder. She hissed in a breath when his tongue flicked her skin, and she arched back into him, her heavy eyes never leaving the mirror. There was something dazzlingly erotic about watching him touch her like this. She suddenly understood why some people had mirrors over their beds.
His teeth nipped gently along the smooth line of her shoulder to her throat, while his hands slid under the material of her shirt to caress her stomach, his fingertips barely grazing the underside of her breasts. He expertly opened the front clasp of her bra, filling his hands with the firm flesh in the same second his mouth claimed her ear. A sharp wave of desire hit her, causing her knees to nearly buckle. Delicious tingles traveled from everywhere he touched to settle deep in the pit of her stomach. She felt his hardness nestled tight against her denim clad buttocks, and she shifted her hips to rub against him.
He growled deep, the sound echoing in her ear. She moaned in protest when one of his hands left her breast, only to change to a moan of pleasure when she felt his fingers brush the clasp to her jeans. They were undone quickly, and his hand was snaking inside, past the thin scrap of lace, to the very center of her. She reared up on her toes when he plunged two fingers into her, his thumb circling her clit.
“Oh God,” she moaned, bringing a hand up to clasp his neck, to keep herself upright. His mouth was on her neck again, his blunt teeth scraping the skin, and sending delicious shivers across her nerves. She thrust her hips against his hand, her eyes never leaving the mirror. The erotic sight in the glass was almost too much, and she thrust harder. He had pushed her shirt up over her breasts, and he was teasing the nipples alternately, being careful to keep his arm from blocking her view. Their eyes met in the mirror once more, and they watched her face together as she crashed over the edge. Spike continued to pump his fingers, drawing her orgasm out until she nearly collapsed. When he tried to turn her, she shook her head. “No. I want to see,” she gasped, her nerves still quivering from her climax. Spike growled against the skin of her throat, his desire heightened by her request.
With reluctance, he pulled his hand out of her pants, and started to push them down, while she kicked off her boots. Her tank top came next and she was suddenly staring at her nude form, the image of him undressing behind her causing desire to rush through her anew. He was so beautiful, lean and muscular. Sleek, like a panther. And he was hers.
She braced herself against the dresser when he pressed himself against her back, pushing back a little to invite him in. His grin flashed wickedly in the glass, his hands smoothing over her skin.
“See how beautiful you are?” he purred in her ear. “How could you think that anybody other than you would be enough for me?” His words skimmed along her senses, making her dizzy. He felt so good against her, but she needed him inside, so she could watch as he brought her over the edge again. Like only he could.
“Spike, please,” she gasped, purposefully rubbing her naked rear along the pulsating heat of his shaft. Unsteadily, he reached around her to pull out a drawer, his fingers searching for the little foil packet. Impatiently, she snatched one out, and ripped it open, thrusting it back towards him. “Hurry,” she begged. His hands were shaking so bad, that it took him a minute to get the condom rolled on properly. Almost as soon as it was, he gripped her hips, lifting her up and back. With one smooth stroke, he was inside, and they both called to God with the rightness of it.
Buffy threw her head back, her eyes trained on their image as he started to thrust, long and hard into her. Sweat beaded her brow, her skin was flushed rosy in the candle light, and her breasts bounced enticingly. THEY were beautiful, she told herself. This meeting, of two people so much in love, was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. He watched the mirror as well, a hand slipping through her curls to the sweet spot hidden there. She started to slam harder back against him when he did this, making him thrust harder into her, and filling her completely.
“Oh, Jesus, Buffy. So sweet. So damn good. You’re mine, baby. Mine,” he murmured into her ear. Buffy felt herself start to fall, his words giving her the final nudge. Spike moved even faster, the feel of her fluttering around him pushing him.
“Spike, oh God, yes. I love you. Yours,” Buffy screamed, slamming herself as hard as she could against him. The dual looks of exquisite agony reflecting back at them sent them flying into oblivion. They collapsed against the dresser as their climaxes tore through them, the intensity making them weak. Somehow, they managed not to upset the candles or the other objects laying haphazardly on the top. Spike’s arms banded around her middle, and his tongue drew lazy circles on her skin, tasting the saltiness there. Shudders racked through them both as they calmed, their breathing coming in ragged gasps.
When he felt steady enough to walk again, he slipped gingerly out of her, the loss of him inside making her whimper in protest. With a chuckle, he gathered her up and carried her to the huge bed, placing her gingerly upon it. She watched him through slitted lids as he walked around the room, first disposing of the condom, then lighting more candles, before stopping by the dresser. He pulled out several more packets and returned to the bed, throwing them, save one, on the nightstand. She saw, amazingly, that he was hard once more. Ripping open the packet, he smiled at her. She grinned back, seductively running a hand over her body, her legs spreading invitingly. As soon as he was done, he crawled onto the bed, dipping his head to sweep his tongue along her flesh. She arched into him as he made his way up her body, her fingers tangling in his hair, and pulling him up to fuse her mouth against his.
Their tongues battled fiercely, and hands flew over flesh, relearning each other. She pulled her knees up tight against him, moaning into his mouth when she felt the tip of his shaft at her opening. At her urging, he started to push into her, agonizingly slow. When she tried to hurry him, he’d stop completely, pulling back a bit to keep her from thrusting onto him. His lips and tongue continued to tease her, making her quake beneath him. When she stopped trying to rush, he continued his slow progression, relishing the feel of her surrounding him. She tore away from his mouth, panting. They stared at each other, desire and love sizzling in the air around them. She whimpered when he finally was buried to the hilt, her nails digging almost painfully in his back.
Slowly, he pulled back, drawing it out until only the tip remained inside. Then, he slid back into her, keeping the thrusts long, slow, and deep. All she could do was hold on as he continued this delicious torture, her climax building at an impossibly leisurely rate. Each time he pushed fully in, he would twist his hips a bit, hitting her clit and that elusive spot inside her channel. She arched like a bow beneath him, her breasts rubbing against his sweat slicked chest, the friction causing them both to moan. Steadily, he began to increase his speed, never taking his eyes off of hers. Soft mewling sounds escaped her as she climbed higher, her vision going hazy as the orgasm overtook her.
Spike buried his face in her neck when he felt her clench tight around him, his control snapping. He started to pump frantically into her, a hand sliding under her to angle her up. This deeper penetration had them both nearly sobbing with pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his lean waist, holding him to her as she trembled uncontrollably beneath him, her head thrashing, his name falling from her lips. She felt his body go rigid above her when his climax slammed through him, her name interspersed with the moans.
“I love you,” he gasped against her throat, collapsing on top of her.
“I love you,” she returned, running her fingers lazily through the silk of his hair. They stayed like that for a long time, just content to be where they belonged.
~*~*~
“I didn’t know you could cook,” Buffy said, watching him as he beat eggs in a bowl. She was sitting at the island, nibbling on an apple wedge, dressed in one of Spike’s shirts. He stood across from her, dressed only in a pair of jeans. They had fallen asleep for awhile, wrapped around each other. Buffy had woken up to him slowly making love to her, her orgasm hitting her almost as soon as she had opened her eyes to see him above her. Then, they had taken a leisurely bath in his huge tub, finding new and interesting things to do with soap. When Buffy’s stomach had started to rumble, they climbed out and dried off, throwing on whatever they could find and heading downstairs. Buffy had called Dawn to make sure she had made it home okay, as well as make sure that Connor had gone home. She thought it was funny that before the teens got together, she had never cared how late Connor stayed.
“You never asked,” he said simply, adding a bit of milk to the eggs. When he was satisfied, he poured them into the pan that was heating on the stove, giving them a quick stir before leaving them to set up. He then went to the refrigerator and pulled out a hunk of cheddar cheese and a soft drink. “Pet,” he started, when he returned to the island.
“Yeah.” She accepted the can from him, waiting for him to continue.
“I want you to be careful while Angel is in town. In fact, I’d feel a whole lot better if you and Dawn stayed here.”
“I’m not going to get run out of my home, Spike. He’s just a bully. I doubt he’ll waste any more time with me, any way. He never was one who liked to work for it,” she said with a snort.
“He stayed with you for quite awhile,” he reminded her. She nodded, swallowing the soda she had in her mouth.
“Yes. But, I was special,” her tone was sarcastic. “In other words, I was a virgin, and Angel had his mind set on being the one to relieve me of that burden.” His scarred brow shot up at that. He could admit, to himself anyway, though definitely NEVER to Buffy, that he did feel a bit proud that he had been the one. But he wouldn’t have cared if she hadn’t been a virgin. He loved her, and their first time had been a pivotal event in their relationship, virginity or no. Of course, the magnitude of the gift she had given him that day had been near soul stealing.
“I see,” was all he said, checking on the eggs. He then started to grate cheese into them, waiting a minute to let it start melting before flipping it expertly onto the plate. “I still want you to be careful. I think I’ll pick you up from work next week. According to Connor, Angel will be in town that long.”
“Spike, don’t you think that’s a bit of an overreaction?” The look he gave her told her, no, it wasn’t.
“Let’s just say it’ll make me feel better, alright?” She nodded, really not seeing the harm in him playing chauffeur while Angel was in town.
“So, where have you been the last few days?” she asked, officially closing the Angel subject.
“Had to meet a friend in LA,” he said, taking a bite of her omelet. She glared at him, and tapped his fork with hers. He just gave her a huge grin.
“A ‘friend’? Who?” He sighed, and Buffy could see the worry in his eyes. Apprehension started to thread its way through her.
“Remember me telling you about Jake?” She nodded, shoving a fork full of egg into her mouth. “Well, he seems to have fallen on some tough times. He’s getting a divorce and the ex is taking him for everything he’s worth.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah. Well, he owned his car, the one he raced,” he clarified, snagging another bite. “And he needs to liquidate everything, pretty quickly. He’s hoping to give her a cash settlement.”
“How’s he going to keep racing?”
“He’s got a new ride. Mine.” She heard the bitterness lace his words, and reached out to lace her fingers with his.
“I’m sorry.” Spike just shrugged a shoulder and gave her hand a squeeze. “So, what did he want from you?” Another sigh, and Buffy suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.
“He offered to sell me his car. Thought I might like to become an owner and stick it to Sheldon at Daytona.”
“Did you? Buy it that is?” Spike nodded.
“Yeah. Had it towed to that same place we stored the DeSoto.”
“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? I mean, you can still be part of the racing world.” Buffy smiled at him, happy that he would still be able to be involved in something he loved.
“It’s going to be a lot of work, and take a lot of money. Hopefully have it together by Thanksgiving. Was thinking about asking Xan if he wanted give being crew chief a go.” Her eyes widened at that, and her smile got bigger.
“Wow. He would love that. He never says anything, but when he watches the races, you can practically see the ‘what ifs’ going through his mind. I mean, he never regretted marrying Cordy and having Jazz, but you know he wanted the whole package.”
“I know how he feels,” Spike said, his eyes burning into hers. She blushed and looked down at her plate. When she looked back up at him, he smiled, easing the tension.
“Any ideas on a driver?” He snorted at that.
“I can’t afford the ones on the circuit already. Guess I’ll take a look around the dirt track circuit. Give one of those blokes the same chance I got.” He left out that he did, indeed, have a driver in mind. A very specific driver. But, it would take a lot, and he didn’t want to start another argument if it was going to fall through. He’d tell her once he had a better idea of what was going to be involved. He wouldn’t just do it, without telling her, but he needed to know how difficult it would be first.
“That would be great,” she agreed, finishing off the cooling eggs. When she was done, a huge yawn overtook her. She smiled when he chuckled, fatigue finally settling over her.
“Think it’s time to actually use the bed for sleep, luv,” he said, putting her dish in the sink.
“Yeah. Somebody wore me out.” His smug grin made her laugh.
“Come on, I’ll tuck you in,” he said with a leer. She shook her head and slid off of the stool. He turned the light off and followed her out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room, where sleep was a long time in coming.