|Drowning In You by BloodEnvy|
|Chapter #25 - 25|
Buffy awoke, warm and comfortable. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and when she did, she panicked. It lasted only a moment before she settled again, though, after her eyes fluttered open to make sure the couch was positioned out of direct sunlight. Reassured, she closed her eyes again.
At some point after she’d fallen asleep Spike had pulled his duster off the back of the couch and thrown it over her, covering her in the scents of leather, cigarettes and Spike. They’d shifted during the night; he was leaning on the corner where the arm met the back of the couch, his arms wrapped loosely around her. Her head had slipped to rest on his chest rather than his shoulder, and her knees were curled in his lap. One of her hands was holding a fistful of his shirt, clutching over his stomach, just above his belt buckle.
His lack of breathing made her believe he was still asleep.
She knew she should get up, but she just didn’t want to. She was too comfortable in his arms. Besides, they were friends, and there wasn’t anything wrong with couch-sharing between friends, was there? She glanced at her watch; they had a couple of hours before Giles and Anya would be there to open up shop.
Buffy felt herself begin to drift into unconsciousness again as Spike shifted underneath her, a muffled groan sounding in his throat. The rumble continued as she felt him settle, his nose buried in her hair, and she giggled quietly. He was purring.
She sat up, rearranging her hair into a neater ponytail and straightening her clothes. He stirred as her weight shifted, and she grinned down at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Do you do that often?”
“What’s that, love?” He asked sleepily, his hand ducking under his shirt to scratch his stomach.
Buffy giggled, but shrugged. “Never mind.”
Spike looked confused, but let it go. “Did you get enough sleep, pet?”
“Yeah.” she realized his duster was still covering her legs and handed it to him. “Yeah, I did.”
Spike made a move to settle back against the couch again, and Buffy noticed with a start that his hand was resting on her thigh. She stood up quickly, grabbing her jacket from the floor. “We should probably get out of here. Anya will be here soon to open up shop, and that would be something to avoid.”
Spike nodded lazily, standing and stretching. Buffy tried to ignore the way his shirt rode up, revealing a set of seriously toned abs. “Alright, love. You’re the Slayer.”
She rolled her eyes at him as he pulled his coat over his head, and let him lead the way to the back entrance. She made move to follow him, but hesitated, and turned to grab the poem from where it had fallen to the ground while they’d slept and tucked it into her pocket.
She didn’t see the vampire’s smile.
* * * * * * *
“Ewww!” Buffy looked down, her nose wrinkled as her foot landed in a puddle. She stepped back out of it, shaking her foot in disgust. “That better not be what I think it is!”
Spike chuckled, turning to face her. “You didn’t have to walk me home, pet. Could have managed to find my way to the crypt. Familiar paths and all that.”
“What, and have the entirety of Sunnydale bear witness to my bed hair?” She pointed to her head jokingly. “No thank you.”
Spike rolled his eyes teasingly at her, a smirk on his mouth as he continued to lead the way. His heavy boots sent sewer water splashing everywhere.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” Buffy pouted, stepping back to avoid the splash back. She looked up at him angrily, hands on her hips. Then she sighed, “I am not wearing the shoes for this.”
Spike laughed again, stepping towards her again. She backed up a little when drops of water landed on the toe of her sneakers. “How does the bloody Slayer, dealer of death and master of the gory get disgusted by the sewers?”
She folded her arms, pouting. Spike took one look at her, and melted. He wanted to grab her, push her against the wall and kiss her breathless. Instead, he rolled his eyes again, moved forward, grabbed her and swung her up into his arms.
“Spike! What the hell are you doing?!” She cried out, her voice echoing of the walls of the sewer. She slapped at his chest. “Put me down!”
Spike chuckled. “I don’t think so, Slayer. This way, you don’t get your bloody shoes wet and you’ll stop complaining.”
“Not likely,” Buffy scoffed. She rolled her eyes at him as he laughed, and folded her arms petulantly across her chest. He moved forward with cocky, ground-eating steps. “Now, damn it put me down!”
Spike suppressed a tortured groan as the lithe body of the Slayer wriggled against him, closing his eyes as they rolled back in their sockets. Instead, he adopted an irritated tone. “You keep squirming like that, pet, and I’m dropping you on your arse.”
Buffy stopped fidgeting, but the pouty frown remained. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she glared up at him defiantly. She watched as his eyebrow sunk back down slowly, the humor in his eyes softening until the bright blue looking back at her was serious… searching, as he slowly came to a stop. Her tongue slid across her suddenly dry lips nervously. Spike’s eyes fell to follow the movement, fixating on her lips. His head ducked slightly towards hers, and Buffy turned her head away quickly.
Spike pulled back, repressing a sigh. Instead, he lowered her carefully, gently setting her feet back on solid ground. “You can get up through there,” he jerked his head upwards. “It lets out just down the road from your house.”
Buffy nodded gratefully, “Okay, thanks.” She hesitated awkwardly for a moment before turning and heading up the ladder. A few rungs up though, she paused, looking back down at him. He hadn’t moved. “Spike?”
“Yeah, pet?” He looked up at her, and Buffy smiled inwardly at the fact that his eyes met hers, not her butt.
“Do you want to patrol with me tonight?” She asked, “I should probably get back to actual patrol is all, but it’d be… you know, nice to have some company and all.”
Spike’s mouth curved into a warm smile, and even in the dim light, Buffy could see happiness in his blue eyes. It, for some reason, made her feel like she should be blushing.
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”