- 5 -


Spike let a growl bubble to the surface as he paced. He was frustrated, he was angry and above all he was bloody well confused. For the life of him he didn't understand women. He'd been around for almost a century and a half and what little knowledge he'd amounted concerning the opposite sex seemed to make a swift exist whenever he had to deal with one. It explained why things with Drusilla had gotten so fucked up. It explained why things with Buffy weren't playing out the way he'd imagined or planned.

Running an irritated hand through his hair, Spike stalked into the kitchen, opened up the fridge and took out the orange juice. He didn't understand the bint. He thought things had changed after the other day—hell, he'd swear to anyone who asked that he felt them change. He'd been ready to make his move, gently nudge things along, then she'd gone and thrown a bloody spanner in the works and he didn't know where he stood.

Scowling furiously at the carton of juice before him, he decided to forgo the glass and swig straight from the container. At a time like this, Spike would've preferred bourbon, or perhaps a good whiskey, but orange juice was all they had and despite it all he'd developed a taste for it. Buffy'd skin him alive if she came home and found him drinking straight from the carton again, but he found he didn't particularly care. In fact, pissing Buffy off sounded like the best bloody idea he'd had all night right at that moment. He didn’t care that it was irrational and childish.

Smirking to himself, Spike stalked into the living room and flopped down onto the sofa, swinging his booted feet up to land comfortably on a cushion at the other end. Lifting the carton to his lips he took a hefty swallow smacking his lips loudly in satisfaction. Lets just see how you react when you come home and find me like this, Spike smiled smugly. After all it only seemed fair that if he was irritated and pissed off, then she should be too.

He couldn't believe that he read the situation so wrong. The way her heart beat had picked up, pounding away so furiously in her chest, the gentle flush that had stained her cheeks, the way she'd melted into his arms... He'd taken them as signs that perhaps she felt something for him, something more than simple friendship. Had he really read her so badly? Or had he seen and felt what he wanted to rather than what was there?

No. She hadn't pulled away from his embrace, or stiffened as the gentle kiss he'd pressed into her hair, she'd welcomed it. She'd gripped him just the little bit tighter, her hands splayed out across the expanse of his back almost possessively. They'd been pressed together so tightly—so intimately—it couldn't have all been wishful thinking.

Things had felt so clear in that moment, and for once, without a word being spoken, he'd felt like he knew exactly where he stood. So of course it followed that she'd have to go and complicate things, and the worst of it was that he couldn't really blame her for it. Not really, not when she had no idea she'd even done anything wrong. One simple word whispered into the night as she dreamt away beside Spike and his certainty had crumpled around him.

Angel. Bloody fucking Angel. And not in a scared or uncertain voice either. It had come out like a prayer, like a whispered promise of something more, like a lover. Spike had frozen, unsure what to do or whether to do anything. Suddenly it felt wrong to be holding her so intimately when she was dreaming of some other bloke. His insecurities raged to the forefront of his mind. It felt like Drusilla all over again, dreaming of her daddy and making do with Spike. He hadn't slept a wink, holding Buffy till day break and then feigning sleep when she stirred. He didn’t want another Drusilla. He didn’t want to devote himself to someone he couldn’t have—to someone who wasn’t willing to give him everything and take everything he was in return. If Spike didn’t believe Buffy was worth it, he'd say to hell with this masochistic merry-go-round he seemed to be stuck on. He was sick of falling in love with Angel's birds and coming up second best, the bloody great poof was dead and Spike was still losing out to him. He couldn’t help but feel that he was setting himself up for one hell of a fall.

The creak of the front door opening told him Buffy was home, and instinctively he sat up, his feet sliding from the couch and onto the floor. Bloody whipped, I am.

"Spike?"

Despite himself, he felt his stomach flip wildly as she made her way into the room. She looked tired and sweaty, her hair was a mess and she still had a streak of dirt across her cheek from patrol. God she was beautiful.

He was tired of this, tired of waiting and pussyfooting around the issue. It was a torture of the worst kind and he’d damn near had enough. Only he hadn’t, not yet, and he doubted he ever would. He cursed his tendency to love so deeply; what had it gotten him so far aside from a truck load of heartache?

"Spike!" She exclaimed, her face crumpling into a frown at the sight of the orange juice dangling loosely in his grasp.

He ignored her. The orange juice found its home on the table before him and he was in front of her in two strides, "Buffy."

His hands cupped her face, tilting it up towards his own and his lips claimed hers. He felt shock course through her: she stiffened briefly in his arms, her heart skipping a beat as tremors passed through her frame before slamming back into existence at almost triple the speed of her normal heart rate. And she was right there along with him, kissing him back, her hands on his face and in his hair holding them together.

Buffy’s lips were soft and pliant under his as Spike’s hands slid down her back to settle on her waist. She responded eagerly as his tongue slid into her mouth, her moan reverberating through his entire being. His hands tightened on her hips, his fingertips sinking into the soft flesh.

“Do you want this?” he asked pulling back only enough to speak, his forehead pressed against hers. It was ridiculous; he had no need to breathe yet he was feeling breathless. Buffy forced reactions out of him, she made him feel almost human and Spike had the feeling that if he let himself, he could become addicted to how she made him feel.

“What?” she asked, her own voice breathless and panting.

“Do you want this? Do you want us?” He repeated, pulling back again so he could look at her and gauge the honesty in her answer.

Buffy looked up at him, her eyes clear and certain, “Yes. Yes, I want this.”

“Not just because you can’t have Angel?” Spike hated himself for asking, but he needed to hear it. He saw a light of understanding in her eyes, and for a split second wondered whether the same ghosts had been haunting her, too.

“No, not because I can’t have Angel,” Buffy said softly, “Because I want you.”

Spike stared at her seriously for a moment letting her answer sink in: ‘because she wanted him’. It was an almost novel idea, but he believed her—he had to. He was not so insecure as to second guess something when it was handed to him on a silver platter. She was telling the truth—yet the thought was staggering.

Finally a slow smile began to work its way across his face. “It’s about damn time, pet.”

A rush of tingles broke out across Buffy’s skin as Spike’s free hand came up to gently cup her face again, lifting her chin so her mouth was in perfect line with his. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest and she smiled as she realised that the sound of it was more than likely filling his senses and betraying how excited she was.

“You have no idea what you do to me, kitten,” his said softly as though he’d known exactly what she was thinking and was responding in kind, baring that little bit of himself for her that she couldn’t reach as he did.

His voice was no more than a rumble against her skin and it sent a wave of excitement racing down her spine. They kissed again and she lost herself to the sensation. A slow heat began to pool in her belly and she pressed herself against him tightly, revelling in the feel of his hard body against hers. A breathy sigh escaped her as his lips strayed down to her neck to suck gently on the junction of her neck and shoulder, his blunt human teeth scraping lightly across the taut skin.

This was what she wanted. This is what had filled her every waking thought for the past few weeks, driving her to distraction and tying her emotions up in knots...

She tensed unexpectedly as his hand slowly started to creep into her pants. Spike’s hand froze on the button of her jeans and he pulled away confused at her suddenly hesitancy.

“Kitten?”

Buffy blushed brilliantly and looked away, “Sorry. I, um...I’ve never really...”

She looked up at him her eyes pleading with him to fill in the gaps as she trailed off not knowing how to voice what she was trying to say, or if she even wanted to. It was embarrassing freezing up like that, especially now when they were finally getting somewhere. After all, she’d done far worse—she’d had sex, hadn’t she? But then that’s all it had been—just sex. Angel hadn’t touched her much beforehand, just enough to know that she was ready and again towards the end to make sure she followed him over the edge.

The thought of Spike touching her made her inexplicably shy. It wasn’t that she didn’t want his touch, or was afraid of it, the thought made her nervous though in ways that were somewhat unexpected. It was just so intimate—so personal—like nothing she’d done with anyone else and it had a huge embarrassment factor linked to it should something go wrong.

Spike frowned, “Never? I thought you and Peaches...?”

She shook her head unable to meet his gaze. “Angel and I never really fooled around like that. It was just the once, when he lost his soul and even then he didn’t really...”

Spike was silent and she was almost afraid to find out what he might be thinking. Would he still want this? Want her? She swallowed thickly and looked up at him. He had a shocked and oddly smug expression plastered across his face and she didn’t know how to respond to it.

He smiled down at her when he noticed her attention and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, “It’s alright, love. Not your fault that Peaches doesn’t know how to look after his women. We’ll take things nice and slow, yeah?”

Buffy nodded and offered him a small smile in return. She couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made the right decision in telling him. The mood they’d been creating together was ripped to shreds and all she was left with was a lingering sense of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she moaned, letting her head fall against his shoulder, concealing her face from his view. His arms automatically slid around her in an embrace.

“I kind of ruined things, didn’t I?” she continued.

“Don’t be sorry, I’m glad you told me. We’ll take things one step at a time. I’m a patient man when it counts and I can wait until you’re ready,” Spike said before a smirk took over his face. “In fact, I like that it’ll be me who introduces you to these things, Pet. I like knowing that no man besides Peaches has been there before me.”

Buffy felt her cheeks heat up again as he wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, but her body’s reaction to his words betrayed her. Spike smirked as her arousal began to perfume the air around them.

“Come on,” Spike said, taking pity on her embarrassment. “Let’s make us some dinner, shall we?”

Buffy took the hand he offered and allowed him to lead her into the kitchen. She couldn’t fight the pleased smile that made its way onto her face despite everything. The heaviness she’d been carrying in her heart was gone and instead her stomach seemed to have grown wings. The smile grew as Spike lifted their joined hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles tenderly.

“What do you feel like having for dinner, love?”


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AN: Thanks, as always, to Slackerace for the beta. I hope you all enjoyed :)