Author's Note: Response to Prompt #20 "Silk Sheets" over at the LiveJournal Community 20_hot_prompts. Also, this was the Chapter From Hell. Written, deleted, rewritten, deleted again, abandoned for several weeks. The works. So I owe big, large, enormous thanks to Holly for her beta job, without which I doubt I would have had the confidence to post this chapter.
Warnings: This chapter is a bit angst-heavy. And, y'know, smutty.

*~*~*~*~*

Just watch.

That had been Tara's shaky command. She stood now, staring each of them down as their gazes darted amongst each member of the group. Surprisingly, it was Xander who first relaxed, dropping the axe he'd retrieved from the weapon's chest to the table.

"You already knew." Xander's comment was stated, not asked.

"I-I did. I mean, in the abstract, I knew, not that I'd...seen it myself." Tara swallowed. "Buffy, she...she told me."

At that, Willow spoke up, her eyes wide with confusion. "She told you and not us? Why?"

Tara sighed. "Maybe because she thought you'd all react the way you, y'know, are."

"I don't really care all that much," Anya said in a way she obviously thought was helpful, making Tara smile. "It's just a little surprising Buffy would actually give in to all that obvious sexual tension between them."

Xander flinched. "Ahn, please..."

Anya frowned, hackles raised. "What? It's the truth! We just saw--"

"Yes! We saw! And I'm having a hard enough time processing that, so do we really need to talk about it, too?

"Shouldn't we?" asked Willow. "I mean, this is a big deal."

Tara interrupted before Xander could reply. "Like I said, m-maybe we should watch. See how this plays out. We might...learn something."

Xander looked slightly ill. "I don't know if I can."

"You don't have to. All I know is that Buffy's been so unhappy, and she won't talk to any of us about it. She told me that she'd been sleeping with Spike, but I don't think she meant to. And the way she talked about it...it's like he's the only thing in the world giving her...anything!"

At that, all of the Scoobies felt a rush of guilt wash through them. They'd all been wrapped up in their own lives, with weddings and breakups and problems of their own. However, Buffy had always been the strong one. She seemed to be getting though things on her own. Except, now that they knew how involved Spike was in her recovery, maybe Buffy'd had more help than they realized.

Wordlessly, Xander reclaimed his seat at the table, eyes reluctantly returning to the image of Spike and Buffy sleeping onscreen. Willow followed silently, then Anya, and finally Tara all settled at the table. To wait.

And watch.

*~*~*~*~*

It was several minutes before the blond couple stirred. Spike groaned, turning his head to place lethargic kisses to the nape of Buffy's neck.

"Wake up, luv," he mumbled. "Gonna pull out now."

"Mmmph," Buffy squeaked, a pout marring her features.

Spike rose slowly to his knees, both wincing as his softening cock slipped out of her ass. He gently ran a hand over her smooth cheeks. "Not too sore, luv?"

"Mm-mmm." She shook her head as best she could from where it lay against the rug.

"All right, then." He watched as she rolled onto her back, meeting his gaze as he reached out and stroked the smooth skin of her belly. "'M gonna go wash up."

"'Kay."

He held her gaze for a moment longer, smiling slightly, then rose to his feet. Buffy giggled at the way he swayed for a second before he walked away.

"Drink?" she called out to him from her still-prone position on the rug. He glanced back at her, nodding absently before continuing on his way.

She stretched, lazy and cat-like, rolling to her stomach and rising to her feet. She strolled almost aimlessly back to the bed as sounds of running water and small splashes echoed in the crypt.

*~*~*~*~*

"Spike has running water?" Xander frowned. "In his crypt?"

Anya shrugged. "Well, it's not like he ever actually smells like a dead guy."

"Huh."

They watched as Buffy settled herself on the bed, legs curled under as she leaned against the headboard. Spike sauntered into view, a wet cloth dangling from one hand and a tumbler full of amber liquid in the other. He took a swig of the drink before handing it to Buffy, who swallowed a mouthful herself before cradling the glass to her chest.

And for some reason, that small instance of casual intimacy between the two blonds made their unwitting audience more uneasy than all that they'd seen thus far.

*~*~*~*~*

Spike sat on the edge of the bed, retrieving a pack of cigarettes from the small nightstand. He lit up, smoking idly while Buffy nursed her drink. No words were spoken for several moments, each seemingly lost in their thoughts.

For her part, Buffy's thoughts were focused fairly thoroughly on the pale expanse of Spike's back. The muscles across his broad shoulders shifted and bunched with each motion as he lifted his cigarette to his lips, took a drag, and brought it back down, the faint outline of his ribs expanding and contracting with each lungful of smoke. She reached out and watched her own fingers, dark in comparison to his gleaming flesh, trace down the silken skin along his spine.

Spike shuddered and closed his eyes at the contact.

"It's not fair," he heard her murmur.

"What's not, love?"

She paused for so long Spike began to wonder if his question was thoroughly unwelcome, but she finally answered, and when she did, her whimpered reply nearly broke his heart.

"Anything."

He frowned, stubbing out his cigarette and twisting around to face her, and the tears hovering in her eyes completed the fracture of his heart.

"Sweetheart--"

"Don't," she ground out, swiping angrily at her eyes. "Don't act like any of this is fair. You know it's not."

Spike's eyes softened. "I know."

Buffy sniffed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She finished off the last of the dwindling bourbon before setting the glass on the nightstand. There was a muted 'thunk' as she tilted her head back to rest on the headboard, her eyes gazing unseeing ahead of her. "It's not fair," she whispered again.

Spike turned to face her fully, one leg drawing up on the bed while the other dangled off the edge. He didn't think she was finished sussing out her thoughts, and after a moment of gazing at her unresponsive face, he was proven right.

"It's not fair that everything is so hard," she began quietly. "It's not fair that it always hurts."

Spike frowned at that. "Always?"

Buffy paused before answering softly. "No. Not always. But I almost dread those moments when it's not so bad more than the ones that are, because they never last and afterwards it's always worse." She huffed in morbid amusement. "God, how fucked up is that?"

"'d wager not much more than could be expected from a person who's been through what you have."

"And whose fault is that?" she mused bitterly. "Nothing is more unfair than the fact that I have my very bestest friends to thank for all...this. My friends, who then have to audacity to judge me for not being the happy-go-lucky little girl I was before. And the best part? The best part is that I should be telling them all this right now. Hell, should have told them months ago. I should be able to tell them just how much they hurt me. How angry I still am. I should be able to demand an apology. But I can't. Not only because I can't bring myself to do that to them, even after all this, but because they'll--" Her throat closed around the words, but she choked them out mournfully. "Because they'll never understand."

Spike reached out a cautious hand to clasp one of her ankles, slowly stroking the smooth skin with his thumb. "I understand," he asserted quietly.

Buffy lifted her head to meet his eyes steadily. "I know."

"You can't hurt your friends because your heart won't let you. It bleeds for them too easily."

Buffy snorted, eliciting a smile from him.

"You only want to be harsh with them. Little Miss Tough Guy. But the fact is, pet, you're too good for that."

She jerked her leg out of his grasp at that. "Don't do that. Don't put me up on a goddamn pedestal."

He grabbed her ankle again, this time pulling until her leg extended out beside him, where he started massaging her calf. "Don't try acting like that," he scolded. "Like I'm one of your poncy exes. I don't put you anywhere near a bloody pedestal." Anger flared in her eyes before he continued quickly: "What I do, luv, is see you. I see you for the beautiful, caring woman that you are, and not a bit more."

Buffy was at a loss as to how to respond, so she opted for careful neutrality, her face expressionless. That is, until Spike suddenly tickled the sole of her foot, eliciting a giggle before she stifled her amusement, kicking at him with her free leg and shooting him a warning glare. He laughed, grabbing hold of her kicking leg and began massaging that one as well.

"'Course," he continued, "I also see you for the right bitch you are."

"Shut up," she sighed, as though she was merely running through her lines.

But the sigh that next escaped her lips had more to do with the way Spike had begun gently running the forgotten cloth along the insides of her thighs, over her pussy and tenderly between the cleft of her ass, cleaning away their mixed spendings from her delicate flesh.

"I take care of you, don't I?" Spike asked softly, his eyes meeting hers for her answer.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Don't judge you. Can't. Would never."

"No."

"Make things a little bit better for you when I can, right?"

"Yes."

Spike ducked his head at that, a pleased little smile quirking his lips. "Does me a bit of good to know that, at least."

When he looked back up to see her reaction, her eyes were a storm of conflict, but before he could steer the topic to safer ground, the already-unsteady dam had burst. Buffy swatted away his touch, scooting farther back against the headboard.

"This isn't fair, either!" she hissed.

Spike reared back, hurt. "What?"

"This! All this!" she gestured at the room. "It's not fair that it's you, Spike. It's not fair that it's you that understands me, and takes care of me, and makes me feel good, because it's wrong! It's wrong that I can't find those things with anyone else! The people I'm supposed to. I should be able to. I should be able to feel and live with things that aren't you and I can't! And it's. Not. Fair. It's not fair that you have all the right things to say, and do, and it's not fair that you have those eyes that see everything and those hands that make me feel--and, a-and it's not fair that you have this bed that's more comfortable than mine and these goddamned expensive silk sheets that I know you didn't pay for but I don't care because they're nicer than mine and--" She finally broke off her frantic rambling, clutching at the aforementioned silk sheets and gathering them to her breast, a sob reluctantly tearing through her throat.

Cautiously, Spike reached out and clasped her tightly clenched fists in his hands. "Do you like them?" he asked quietly.

Buffy blinked at his apparent non sequitur. "What?"

"The sheets. Do you like them?" When she continued to stare at him, he went on. "They're for you. Don't you understand? It's all for you, Buffy. I'm trying so hard it's bloody embarrassing. I know I don't always get it right...bloody hell, I know most of the time I get it wrong, but I'm damn well trying. I want you to be happy, and I want you to be happy with me, but I'm beginning to wonder if having you and having you happy are impossible for me to have together, and at this point sometimes I think we should just--"

Whatever he was about to say, Buffy wanted to hear none of it, nor did she want to consider the implications. She lunged for him, wrapping her arms around his neck, sheets still clutched in hand, and crushed her lips to his. Their kiss was fueled by their mutual passion, and anger, and frustration, and it wasn't long before their energy was sapped. They parted with a gasp, and Buffy moaned as she collapsed back against the headboard.

Spike grasped her hips and pulled her toward him, her body sliding down the silken sheets bonelessly to lie on his pillows. She blinked suddenly heavy eyes, watching as he slowly lifted his hand to his mouth, his eyes boring into hers as he sucked his thumb between his lips, then lowered the moist digit to her pussy, slipping inside her and rubbing gently.

"Such a sweet little quim you have. Always so wet for me." And he suited action to words as his thumb spread her moisture up to her clit. Buffy writhed against the barely-there pressure, craving more.

"Spike," she moaned plaintively. "God, Spike, please..."

"I know what you need, baby," he panted, sliding two fingers all the way inside her, his other thumb still rubbing gentle circles around her slippery clit. "Always know what you need, luv, don't I?"

"Yes!" The word was torn from her throat as he pressed his fingers upwards, rubbing her soft spot while simultaneously bearing down on her clit, triggering a deep-body tremor through her, muscles convulsing and teeth chattering.

"Fuck, yes, make it tighter, Buffy. Squeeze my fingers right out of you." He removed his middle finger, leaving only the index inside her pulsing flesh, and continued his assault on her clit. "That's it, kitten, nice an' tight..." Slowly he eased his finger out, his thumb never ceasing it's rapid movement. Her pussy closed almost completely off, her inner muscles helpless to relax against him.

Spike edged forward on the bed, her legs settling on either side of his hips, and he used his free hand to angle his straining cock down to her opening. Buffy's hands flew to the mattress, her nails tearing holes in the beautiful, creamy, silky sheets, jaw clenched and brow sweaty with the exertion. Slowly, the velvet head of Spike's cock pried apart her drenched flesh.

"Oh, fuck, so fucking tight...fuckfuckfuck!" Spike was breathing hard, and Christ, the incredible heat of her. He gripped her hips in both hands, pale fingertips digging into toned tanned skin, pulling her onto his erection while pushing in with his hips.

"Aaarrrgh..." Buffy groaned at the astonishing feel of Spike's hardness forcing its way inside her body. He'd never felt so big, so deep, before. The pressure that had been building with a slow burn suddenly ignited when he was finally seated in her depths, and an orgasm quaked through her that left her entire body limp and sated.

At least, that was, until Spike started moving again, the feel of his cock sliding out of her sent rippling aftershocks through her body. He used his grip on her hips to move her back and forth, his hips thrusting at the end of each long stroke to strike the bundle of nerves deep inside her. In this position, with him sitting upright while she lay prone on her back, she had easy access to both his and her own body. She reached up to first run her palms over his chest, pinching his nipples lightly, then sliding her hands down to her own breasts, cupping and gently squeezing herself, rolling her nipples between her fingers.

Spike groaned at the feel of her exploration of his chest, then again at the sight of her playing with herself. He wanted to do the same to her, but was unwilling to relinquish his grip on her hips. So he settled for letting his words caress her, instead.

"Yeah, tha's it, luv. Touch yourself. Touch me." He sighed as one of her hands abandoned a breast to continue caressing his chest, her fingers grazing his neck and trailing down his abdomen. "Gimme your fingers." She knew what he was thinking and lifted her hand to his mouth, his lips wrapping around her first two fingers, caressing them with his tongue before releasing them. "Rub your clit, baby. Make yourself come all over my cock."

Buffy moaned, heat flooding her face, but did as he said, her wet fingers slipping easily against her distended flesh. A rolling orgasm radiated through her body almost immediately, and Spike groaned above her and sped up his thrusts, her breasts bouncing in time with his rhythm. She offered him her fingers again, this time wet with her own release, but he shook his head, razor blue eyes burning into her.

"Suck them," he ordered hoarsely, again placing his thumb against her clit and rekindling her waning orgasm. Buffy cried out harshly, the sound soon muffled by her own fingers, and all at once the smoky, tangy taste of herself on her tongue and Spike's strong strokes inside her pussy and on her clit assaulted her senses. Her mind went blank with the pulsating pleasure that spread through her.

Spike watched Buffy come with wide eyes, unable to hold off his own climax. His eyes clenched shut as he came inside her with a hoarse shout, clamping his hips hard against her, each pulse of his cock seeming to pull him deeper inside her molten depths.

Both were breathing hard, and a mutual sense of lethargy spread through them. Buffy's head lolled back and forth on the pillows as Spike slowly toppled forward, his head pillowing itself on her breasts. They were still a moment, returning to earth. Buffy ran a hand through Spike's tousled curls, curving down over his back before coming back up to cup the back of his neck. He turned his face upward and received a soft kiss for his efforts. Both whimpered softly as he pulled out, shifting slightly to the side to lie on his stomach beside her, his head settling in the crook of her neck. Buffy yanked on the sheet beneath them until she could cover them with it, and they were soon fast asleep in its silken embrace.

TBC

Author's Note: Like I said...Chapter From Hell. I don't usually go trolling for reviews, but if you could please let me know if you liked this, it would go a long way to bolster my confidence. *feels moronic* Okay, I'm done, really. I do hope it was enjoyable, though.