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Unreal Together by dawnofme
 
His and Hers
 
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A/N: In this chapter there is reference to a poem. If you are interested, you can find the poem and a brief history about it at this link: The Masque of B-ll--l

Thank you slaymesoftly for all the help/beta work with this chapter.

Chapter eight: His and Hers


Spike found the stack of cardboard boxes when he slipped out of bed late in the afternoon. He had been bored and, while Buffy slept, he quietly tried to clean out the rubble and add to the progress that she had made the other day. Clem had done well. The demon must have spent a lot of time going through the rubble while Spike was gone.

He found one box full of shirts and a jean jacket. Another one had belts and twelve pairs of identical black jeans and one pair of tan Dockers. The clothes were clean and smelled like Downy Softener. Spike chuckled as he pictured a busy Clem at the laundry mat folding his jeans.

Spike was relieved to see that some of his books had survived. Picking through a box containing the dusty volumes, he pulled out his 1939 copy of The Balliol Rhymes. He'd gone through three copies of it in his unlife and they were getting harder to find. Spike thought of the hand written copy of The Masque of B-ll—l, that he'd put under his mattress just days before he was turned. Cecil, a classmate and one of the authors, had given it to him with a snide remark about it being real poetry. William had been incensed at the blatant disregard for authority in the lines of silly poetry, but after his turning, Spike often read it for amusement.

He stood now in the upper level reading the quatrains and doing his best to ignore the garment bag that he'd tossed over the couch right before dawn. He had his back turned when he heard Buffy come up.

“Where'd you get that shirt?” she asked.

Tossing the book on to his chair, he turned and smiled at her. She walked towards him, her dark brown skirt swaying and the off-white sweater emphasizing the way her tan was fading.

“Clem kept my stuff for me.”

“I've never seen it before.” She hesitated in front of him before reaching up to adjust his collar. Standing completely still, he watched her and took in her scent.

“I like it. The blue matches your eyes,” Buffy said with a small smile.

He frowned. “I don't usually coordinate my clothes by my eye color.”

“You don't usually coordinate at all. Black, black and more black.” She waved a hand at his t-shirt peeking of the blue one, and his jeans and his boots. “Oh, and speaking of black, I see Dawn has already gone and come back with this.”

He cringed when she unzipped the bag in one quick motion. He should have just dumped the thing in a trash bin, but he couldn't bring himself to part with it just yet.

“You left it at my place,” she told him while avoiding his gaze. “I...I had it professionally cleaned and I kept it for you.”

Buffy opened the coat, dug into a pocket and pulled out two nicely whittled stakes. “When the cleaner handed me these and told me she'd found them in a pocket, I said they were the new cool drum sticks.” Putting them back where she found them, she added with a smile, “I don't think she believed me.”

Picking up the duster, she held it out to him, but he took a step back shaking his head and holding an open hand out at it. “I don't need it.”

She stared at him with narrowed eyes and tilted her head. Slowly, she turned and draped the coat across the couch. “Where's Dawn?”

“I walked her home right before sun up. She was too cold to stay down there. She gave me the duster and I took it back with me.”

Buffy ran a palm over the cool leather, and then touched her hair with both hands. “You have no mirrors in this place, but I guess it wouldn't do me any good if you did.” She smoothed her hair down while gazing at him with a resigned face. “Do I look alright?”

Putting his hands on her waist, Spike leaned away from her, making a big show of looking her up and down. “You look like a goddess, pet.”

Her golden hair shown with healthy body and he longed to run his fingers through it. Her vivid green eyes stood out against her pale skin. “A little less of a tan, but you're still so beautiful.”

She moved in closer to him and he wrapped his arms around her. Buffy's voice was muffled against his chest. “I don't know where I'll get my roots done. The salons all close at six.”

“I'll do it for you.”

Just the thought of massaging her scalp made his jeans get tighter. Attempting to put some distance between them, Spike untangled himself from her and headed for the fridge.

She sat down on his chair and flipped through his book. “You? Do my hair? I don't think so.”

He stopped by the fridge and glared at her.

“I think one platinum blond vampire in this town is enough,” she said dryly. “What is this that you were reading?”

Buffy turned the book upside down and back again, while Spike got the last of the blood out to heat in the banged up microwave that he'd nicked from the curb the night after some one had a yard sale.

“It's just an old book of poetry. I read it when I need a laugh," he told her. "You might even like it, because it pokes fun at some of the faculty and professors I had in University.”

Buffy stared at him incredulously. "You went to college?"

"Yes. And you don't have to look so surprised." Spike handed her a cup and sat on the couch. It was so nice to see her smile.

After putting the old book on the table, she took a quick sip before asking, “So, you and Dawn are speaking again?”

He leaned back and took a long drink from his own chipped mug, while he watched her. Buffy appeared relaxed and she asked the question casually, but she was too still. Spike closed his eyes and let the realization sink in that it was important to Buffy that Dawn like him again.

Attempting to keep his tone light, he said, “She declared her forgiveness after much thought on the way home last night.”

She smiled but didn't say anything.

“She's getting older.”

Buffy gave him a confused look. “What?”

“She used my guilt over the whole thing to get me to give her my bomber jacket,” he said dryly.

“Well you have your duster back. Why won't you wear it?”

He looked over at the offending garment beside him and shuddered. He'd worn that thing for twenty plus years as a badge of honor. Every time his confidence waned or he needed a boost, he could look down at it surrounding him, could feel the heavy leather and remember that he was a master. He had the stones to be the slayer of slayers.

Turning his gaze to Buffy, he thought of the times he had run away after an ass kicking by her. One battle may have been lost, but in the end, Spike knew he would win the war. He would run his hands over the cool leather and remember that he'd done it twice and he could do it again.

“Do you know who that belong to before I took it off her dead body?” he asked in a dejected voice.

“The slayer you killed in the subway, right? You told me about it that night before you tried to kiss me in the alley.”

He covered his eyes with an arm and groaned. “Don't remind me. I was nutters to think you'd want to kiss me after I described in graphic detail how I killed two of your sister slayers.”

“Imagine how I felt. I wanted you to kiss me and I hated myself for it.”

Spike sat up on the edge of the couch with an open mouth stare. She had rendered him speechless. He thought he'd felt a connection with her that night. Buffy looked mighty uncomfortable now.

“What was her name again?” she asked and picked at some lint on her skirt. “The slayer in New York?”

He sobered up at the thought of her. “Nikki Woods. She was a beautiful, strong woman.”

“If you didn't kill her, she would have killed you. It was her calling,” Buffy said softly.

He smiled sadly, thankful that she was trying to cheer him up. “The thing is, I went to New York and sought her out. I didn't have to.”

She got up and sat between him and the duster. “But you're a different vampire now. You have a soul and you've saved people even when you just had a chip.”

“Anything good I did with the chip in my head was all about you.”

She rolled her eyes and dragged the duster over her lap. “I think you should wear it; this is a coat for a rebel.”

“I'm just a pussy cat now, love.”

“Hah! I don't think so. How many vampires go looking to get their soul back? Tell me that, Mr. Soft and Fuzzy.”

“I was the demon's only customer to ever ask for a soul,” he told her proudly and smiled as he thought about it.

“See that's what I mean. You are a rebel and I like you that way.” She stood up and held the duster upright. “Besides, the first time I ever saw you, you were wearing this thing. “ He looked up at her. “And that same night that you told me about how you got this duster, when you came into my yard with that shot gun, the bottom of this coat was flowing behind you. I have so many memories of you wearing it.”

“We should go.” He stood up and looked around the crypt, avoiding her direct gaze. It was dark now and one candle was not enough to brighten the place up.

She groaned. “Yeah, we should. Here.” She held out the coat. “Put it on.”

Spike rounded the couch and went for the door before saying firmly, “No.”

She followed with the black leather coat in her outstretched arms. Buffy looked at him with pleading eyes and she stuck out her lower lip.

“Don't do that,” he complained. “It just makes me wanna kiss you and we have to go.”

She sucked her lip back in and bit down on it. That was even worse. Spike closed his eyes for a minute and when he looked at her again, she was scowling at him.

“How about this then.” Buffy forced the duster at him with a jerky motion. “Put the damn thing on!”

He started at her tone and smirked at her. “Right, then.”

He turned around and backed up as she held it out from him. Spike stayed with his back turned while he adjusted it. It felt the same. Heavy. He rolled his neck, jumped twice, and turned to her with a grim face.

Buffy's arms were folded across her chest and she looked him up and down before a slight grin came over her face and turned into a full smirk. “There's my Spike.”

He walked around her and she turned in a circle following him until her back was to the door. He gently pushed her against it and whispered in his deep voice, “Yours, am I?”

She kept her eyes on her hand as she put it on his chest. He waited, for what felt like forever, for her to look up. When she did, she stared at him with resolve and nodded her head slightly. Grabbing her by the shoulders Spike pulled her closer, their lips smashed together, and while they generated no real heat, he felt like he was going to combust.

She forced her hands up between his arms and pulled the hair at the nape of his neck. He groaned and moved his hands to her thighs. He rubbed at her thighs until her skirt was high enough that he could get to her knickers. It was a lacy little bikini thing and he pulled at the elastic with his thumb and let go. The snapping sound echoed in the room and Buffy whimpered as she wrapped a leg around him.

She pulled her lips from his and the look she gave him was hot and needy. She leaned in, kissed, and sucked on his neck. Spike opened his eyes, stared at the door, and came to his bloody, downright intrusive senses. He let out a frustrated groan and stepped back so he could push her skirt down properly.

“What?” Buffy looked around.

He put a finger up. “We are supposed to be taking it slow.” He put up a second finger. “They were expecting you at sundown and it's way past that now.” A third finger went up. “And they are going to come looking for you if we don't get moving.”

She sighed and yanked his hand down before adjusting his shirt and duster. Holding back a grin Spike followed her out the door and went past her. She slammed it shut, the ground below them vibrating with the force.

“This is all your fault,” she said in a frustration.

“What are you blathering on about now?” Spike frown, not sure what she was getting at.

“What happened back there.” She pointed at him in accusation. “You kissed me.”

“Hey, now. You're the one who forced me to put this coat back on. And-” He glared at Buffy when she opened her mouth to argue, so she snapped her mouth shut. “You started this with all that ownership stuff.”

She threw her hands up in frustration and pushed past him. Catching up with her, Spike turned her towards him and softened his gaze. “I love that you think of me as yours.”

“And I loved that kiss.” She stood tall and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before resuming her brisk walk towards the house on Revello Dr.

He stayed rooted to the spot, and put a hand over his lips. When she realized that he wasn't moving, she stopped and looked over her shoulder and asked, “Are you coming?”

“Yeah.”
 
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