If You Want It
Title: If You Want It
Summary: Days after their bespelled engagement, Buffy returns Spike’s ring and gets something in return.
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,150
Beta: SeaPea
Buffy lingered by the door of Giles’ apartment long after it had closed behind him. He had gone to run errands in town, leaving her on Spike duty, alone. It was the first time she would be alone with him since their faux engagement courtesy of Willow’s spell, and dread was setting in.
The time she and Spike had spent kissing and snuggling had awakened something within her - something she wished had stayed sleeping. Since then, her attraction to him had been growing steadily and thoughts of him - the softness of his lips, the intoxication of his touch, and the tenderness she’d seen from him - plagued her mind more and more.
For the past few days, she had been successfully avoiding being near him and being alone with him even more so. Giles’ apartment had been a full house most of the time, with the gang in full research mode about the commandos. She’d barely had the need to talk to Spike unless it had been about his knowledge, or lack thereof, of the mysterious government organization that had turned him into an angry little neutered puppy.
“What’s the matter, Slayer? You seem a bit skittish. Afraid to be alone with me?”
Buffy whirled around and saw Spike leaning casually against the kitchen pass through with the yellow novelty mug he’d seemed to claim as his in his hand. She took a moment to admire the way his black shirt molded and accentuated his lean, muscular arms and torso before saying, “Shouldn’t you still be asleep, being a disgusting creature of the night and all?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Heard you were coming. I got all excited,” Spike drawled then took a sip of blood with his eyes still trained on her.
If she didn’t know any better, she would swear he was leering at her. Blood rushed to her cheeks as dozens of wild possibilities, all ending with him on his back one way or another, raced through her head. She hurriedly turned her back to him and set her bag on Giles’ desk.
“I have a lot of reading to catch up on,” she said, more to herself than him, and busied herself with pulling her books out of her bag until she saw the cold and heavy silver ring on her finger. It was the ring Spike had proposed with when they had been under Willow’s spell. She’d forgotten to take it off after trying it on one last time while she was on her way there. Thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to notice.
She hadn’t planned on keeping the ring for this long, or at all. She’d had every intention of returning it; she just hadn’t found the right time to give it back to him, until now.
That was what she’d kept telling herself anyway. A part of her hadn’t been too keen on the idea of giving it back. As bizarre as it was, she liked the thought of being able to hold on to a piece of that day. But she knew the ring wasn’t hers to keep; it didn’t even fit her properly.
Besides, what good would it do to keep a reminder of feelings she so desperately wanted to suppress?
“I found this in my stuff.” She touched the ring wistfully before subtly slipping it off and holding it up between her forefinger and thumb to him. “Figured you might want it back.”
Spike’s lips pressed into a thin line, betraying a hint of disappointment. He pushed himself off the wall and set the mug of blood on the kitchen pass through countertop. “About damn time. I quite like that ring. Thought you’d kept it as a memento of our short-lived engagement.”
“You wish,” she countered, although also wishing that he did, in fact, wish it. “I’d bleach that memory out of my brain if I could.”
Spike tensed his jaw, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the strong cut of it.
“Give it here, then,” he demanded, forcing her eyes back up to his.
She walked warily toward him until she was at arm’s length and held out the ring to him. She could feel how close he was now, and it made her nearly shiver. She could just reach out and touch him and take him if she wanted to.
Suddenly, he seized her wrist as he took the ring from her, his grip firm and confident, as if he knew she’d been dying to feel his hands against her skin again.
Buffy let out a small gasp and yanked her arm away. “What are you doing?” she said hoarsely.
Spike pointedly ignored the question. He raised his hand to her face, cupping her chin as his thumb brushed over her bottom lip in a languid sweep. Buffy’s lips parted as if in response.
“Stop it.” It was the most rational thing to say, but reason was slowly giving way to something else. She was turning into putty in his hands and he’d barely even touched her.
He inhaled deeply. “Make me.”
She drew a tremulous breath.
The corner of his mouth quirked up into a knowing smirk, and he inched closer until he was mere inches from her. She stood still, her arms rigid at her sides, as she held his challenging gaze. The silence in the room seemed to last forever, and her pulse quickened in anticipation.
Then, he bent his head and whispered against the curve of her neck, “Afraid of me now, pet?”
“No,” she breathed and tipped her head to the side, offering her neck to him. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself this moment of weakness and urged him on.
Spike drew back for a second, a little crease of surprise between his brows. He hadn’t anticipated her reaction. Why would he? Up until just a few days ago, they had been sworn enemies at each other’s throats.
Maybe what she’d said to Riley about her and Spike rang true after all.
I think maybe we fought because we couldn't admit how we really felt about each other.
A deep craving welled within her when he finally pressed his lips to her jaw, trailing down to the shadow of her neck and the ridge of her collarbone.
He was toying with her; she was sure of it. He couldn’t want this too, could he? Had she been too obvious, with her furtive glances and subtle stares? Had he figured out a new, fun way to torture her, hurt her, without that damn chip frying his brain?
As if to refute her thoughts, he lifted his head to meet her gaze. Burning desire had seemed to scorch his eyes into a darker shade of blue, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. Then, he leaned in, breathing her name, Buffy, - not Slayer, not some impersonal nickname - before tentatively touching his lips to hers.
He kept it light and gentle at first, taunting her, making her ache for more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, opening her mouth to invite him deeper. He let out a soft growl that hummed against her mouth, all the way down to her toes.
It felt as good as she’d remembered. Or maybe even better. This felt real and true, and that made it feel more incredible.
He pressed his body against hers as he kissed her, driving her back until her legs bumped against Giles’ desk. Without any prompting from him, she sat down on the edge of it. He then pried her legs farther apart and moved between them. Heat rushed through her like an inferno when she felt how hard and rigid he was and she moaned, her hips grinding against him of their own volition.
“Fuck,” he grunted.
His kisses grew more fevered and fervent. His mouth plundered, nipped, and sucked; her mind swirled and spun. His tongue sought out every inch of her mouth, sliding across and entwining with hers, while his hands snaked beneath her top and skated up her back.
The feel of his calloused fingers on her bare skin made her lose her senses and a muffled whimper escaped her lips. He clasped her tighter against him then, wrapping his arms around her as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. Buffy felt like she couldn’t breathe and she pulled away from the kiss just long enough to gasp for air.
They continued to kiss, long and lingering, everything except him and her falling away, as his hands wandered and claimed every part of her that he could touch as his.
The distinct sound of a belt unbuckling jolted Buffy out of her daze. All the repercussions of what they were doing came flooding to her like a burst dam and she panicked.
With as much strength as she could gather, she shoved him backward and lurched past him, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth. “Oh, my God,” she said with more disgust than she’d intended.
Spike spun to face her, scowling. “Oh, get off your soddin’ high horse,” he hissed and stared at her in disbelief before buttoning up his pants and fastening his belt. “You wanted it, Slayer. I felt it. I smelled it.” He exhaled sharply. “You were practically dripping-"
“You’re a pig, Spike.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re a fucking tease," he said resentfully.
She looked at him squarely, still breathing heavily. “If you tell anyone about this…”
“What? You’ll kill me?” He scoffed. “Please. Like I haven’t heard that little ditty before.”
It caught Buffy off guard when the confusion and frustration in Spike’s eyes turned to hurt. “No, it’s not… That’s not what I meant,” she said gently and fixed him with an apologetic look to placate him. His expression softened a little.
A few seconds later she added, “But it was a mistake. You and I both know it. So, let’s just forget about it. Okay?” She tried to sound firm and resolute but her voice came out plaintive.
Spike shook his head, rolling his eyes upward, and bit out, “It’s already forgotten,” as he moved past her into the living area. He switched the TV on and plopped down on one end of the sofa, resting one leg on the coffee table.
Buffy heaved a sigh and moved to sit on the other end of the sofa. “I think…” she began, but he cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. His eyes were emphatically fixed on the TV, but she could tell he was deep in thought. She guessed he was as confused as she was, and she continued. “It’s probably just leftover feelings. You know, from Willow’s spell.”
“You know bloody well it isn’t,” he muttered sullenly. “Wasn’t even a proper love spell.”
She nodded and folded her hands on her lap. “You’re right.”
Her assent seemed to throw him off and he turned to her suddenly, blinking.
Staring at her hands in her lap, she chuckled wryly. “This is so messed up.” She waited for him to disagree and tell her she was wrong, but he didn’t.
“Preaching to the bloody choir, love.”
“Maybe if…” The next words she’d wanted to say stuck to her throat and instead, she settled on “I don’t know.” She jutted her lower lip out and furrowed her eyebrows.
Maybe if things were different. Maybe if she came to know him better. Maybe if she was ready. The list of maybes went on and on.
When she felt him studying her intently, she faced him.
“Some other time, then?” He cocked an eyebrow and smirked, clearing the tension in the air as he did.
She released a breath of relief and a small smile flickered across her face. “Presume much?” she said, rolling her eyes playfully.
“That’s not a no.”
“It isn’t a yes.”
“Fine.” Spike shrugged. “You have stupid hair, anyway.”
“Says the guy who bleaches his.”
“Oh, you love it.”
Her eyes drifted to his bleach-blonde hair. When she bit her lip to stifle a grin and didn’t contradict him, he titled his head and narrowed his eyes at her.
A short silence followed before Spike dug around in his pocket and placed something on the coffee table with a muted clunk.
Buffy looked at it and then at him quizzically.
He shifted in his seat and made a point of averting his eyes from hers. “It’s yours, if you want it.” His voice was low and earnest. Then he asserted, “Don’t make a thing of it.”
She opened her mouth a few times to make a quip but decided against it.
She gazed at the ring in all its chunky and unsubtle glory. It was so distinctly Spike, and a smile tugged at her lips. Wordlessly, she took the ring and slipped it into her back pocket.
THE END
Summary: Days after their bespelled engagement, Buffy returns Spike’s ring and gets something in return.
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,150
Beta: SeaPea
Buffy lingered by the door of Giles’ apartment long after it had closed behind him. He had gone to run errands in town, leaving her on Spike duty, alone. It was the first time she would be alone with him since their faux engagement courtesy of Willow’s spell, and dread was setting in.
The time she and Spike had spent kissing and snuggling had awakened something within her - something she wished had stayed sleeping. Since then, her attraction to him had been growing steadily and thoughts of him - the softness of his lips, the intoxication of his touch, and the tenderness she’d seen from him - plagued her mind more and more.
For the past few days, she had been successfully avoiding being near him and being alone with him even more so. Giles’ apartment had been a full house most of the time, with the gang in full research mode about the commandos. She’d barely had the need to talk to Spike unless it had been about his knowledge, or lack thereof, of the mysterious government organization that had turned him into an angry little neutered puppy.
“What’s the matter, Slayer? You seem a bit skittish. Afraid to be alone with me?”
Buffy whirled around and saw Spike leaning casually against the kitchen pass through with the yellow novelty mug he’d seemed to claim as his in his hand. She took a moment to admire the way his black shirt molded and accentuated his lean, muscular arms and torso before saying, “Shouldn’t you still be asleep, being a disgusting creature of the night and all?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Heard you were coming. I got all excited,” Spike drawled then took a sip of blood with his eyes still trained on her.
If she didn’t know any better, she would swear he was leering at her. Blood rushed to her cheeks as dozens of wild possibilities, all ending with him on his back one way or another, raced through her head. She hurriedly turned her back to him and set her bag on Giles’ desk.
“I have a lot of reading to catch up on,” she said, more to herself than him, and busied herself with pulling her books out of her bag until she saw the cold and heavy silver ring on her finger. It was the ring Spike had proposed with when they had been under Willow’s spell. She’d forgotten to take it off after trying it on one last time while she was on her way there. Thankfully, he hadn’t seemed to notice.
She hadn’t planned on keeping the ring for this long, or at all. She’d had every intention of returning it; she just hadn’t found the right time to give it back to him, until now.
That was what she’d kept telling herself anyway. A part of her hadn’t been too keen on the idea of giving it back. As bizarre as it was, she liked the thought of being able to hold on to a piece of that day. But she knew the ring wasn’t hers to keep; it didn’t even fit her properly.
Besides, what good would it do to keep a reminder of feelings she so desperately wanted to suppress?
“I found this in my stuff.” She touched the ring wistfully before subtly slipping it off and holding it up between her forefinger and thumb to him. “Figured you might want it back.”
Spike’s lips pressed into a thin line, betraying a hint of disappointment. He pushed himself off the wall and set the mug of blood on the kitchen pass through countertop. “About damn time. I quite like that ring. Thought you’d kept it as a memento of our short-lived engagement.”
“You wish,” she countered, although also wishing that he did, in fact, wish it. “I’d bleach that memory out of my brain if I could.”
Spike tensed his jaw, and she couldn’t help but marvel at the strong cut of it.
“Give it here, then,” he demanded, forcing her eyes back up to his.
She walked warily toward him until she was at arm’s length and held out the ring to him. She could feel how close he was now, and it made her nearly shiver. She could just reach out and touch him and take him if she wanted to.
Suddenly, he seized her wrist as he took the ring from her, his grip firm and confident, as if he knew she’d been dying to feel his hands against her skin again.
Buffy let out a small gasp and yanked her arm away. “What are you doing?” she said hoarsely.
Spike pointedly ignored the question. He raised his hand to her face, cupping her chin as his thumb brushed over her bottom lip in a languid sweep. Buffy’s lips parted as if in response.
“Stop it.” It was the most rational thing to say, but reason was slowly giving way to something else. She was turning into putty in his hands and he’d barely even touched her.
He inhaled deeply. “Make me.”
She drew a tremulous breath.
The corner of his mouth quirked up into a knowing smirk, and he inched closer until he was mere inches from her. She stood still, her arms rigid at her sides, as she held his challenging gaze. The silence in the room seemed to last forever, and her pulse quickened in anticipation.
Then, he bent his head and whispered against the curve of her neck, “Afraid of me now, pet?”
“No,” she breathed and tipped her head to the side, offering her neck to him. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself this moment of weakness and urged him on.
Spike drew back for a second, a little crease of surprise between his brows. He hadn’t anticipated her reaction. Why would he? Up until just a few days ago, they had been sworn enemies at each other’s throats.
Maybe what she’d said to Riley about her and Spike rang true after all.
I think maybe we fought because we couldn't admit how we really felt about each other.
A deep craving welled within her when he finally pressed his lips to her jaw, trailing down to the shadow of her neck and the ridge of her collarbone.
He was toying with her; she was sure of it. He couldn’t want this too, could he? Had she been too obvious, with her furtive glances and subtle stares? Had he figured out a new, fun way to torture her, hurt her, without that damn chip frying his brain?
As if to refute her thoughts, he lifted his head to meet her gaze. Burning desire had seemed to scorch his eyes into a darker shade of blue, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. Then, he leaned in, breathing her name, Buffy, - not Slayer, not some impersonal nickname - before tentatively touching his lips to hers.
He kept it light and gentle at first, taunting her, making her ache for more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, opening her mouth to invite him deeper. He let out a soft growl that hummed against her mouth, all the way down to her toes.
It felt as good as she’d remembered. Or maybe even better. This felt real and true, and that made it feel more incredible.
He pressed his body against hers as he kissed her, driving her back until her legs bumped against Giles’ desk. Without any prompting from him, she sat down on the edge of it. He then pried her legs farther apart and moved between them. Heat rushed through her like an inferno when she felt how hard and rigid he was and she moaned, her hips grinding against him of their own volition.
“Fuck,” he grunted.
His kisses grew more fevered and fervent. His mouth plundered, nipped, and sucked; her mind swirled and spun. His tongue sought out every inch of her mouth, sliding across and entwining with hers, while his hands snaked beneath her top and skated up her back.
The feel of his calloused fingers on her bare skin made her lose her senses and a muffled whimper escaped her lips. He clasped her tighter against him then, wrapping his arms around her as if he couldn’t bear to let her go. Buffy felt like she couldn’t breathe and she pulled away from the kiss just long enough to gasp for air.
They continued to kiss, long and lingering, everything except him and her falling away, as his hands wandered and claimed every part of her that he could touch as his.
The distinct sound of a belt unbuckling jolted Buffy out of her daze. All the repercussions of what they were doing came flooding to her like a burst dam and she panicked.
With as much strength as she could gather, she shoved him backward and lurched past him, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth. “Oh, my God,” she said with more disgust than she’d intended.
Spike spun to face her, scowling. “Oh, get off your soddin’ high horse,” he hissed and stared at her in disbelief before buttoning up his pants and fastening his belt. “You wanted it, Slayer. I felt it. I smelled it.” He exhaled sharply. “You were practically dripping-"
“You’re a pig, Spike.”
“Yeah? Well, you’re a fucking tease," he said resentfully.
She looked at him squarely, still breathing heavily. “If you tell anyone about this…”
“What? You’ll kill me?” He scoffed. “Please. Like I haven’t heard that little ditty before.”
It caught Buffy off guard when the confusion and frustration in Spike’s eyes turned to hurt. “No, it’s not… That’s not what I meant,” she said gently and fixed him with an apologetic look to placate him. His expression softened a little.
A few seconds later she added, “But it was a mistake. You and I both know it. So, let’s just forget about it. Okay?” She tried to sound firm and resolute but her voice came out plaintive.
Spike shook his head, rolling his eyes upward, and bit out, “It’s already forgotten,” as he moved past her into the living area. He switched the TV on and plopped down on one end of the sofa, resting one leg on the coffee table.
Buffy heaved a sigh and moved to sit on the other end of the sofa. “I think…” she began, but he cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. His eyes were emphatically fixed on the TV, but she could tell he was deep in thought. She guessed he was as confused as she was, and she continued. “It’s probably just leftover feelings. You know, from Willow’s spell.”
“You know bloody well it isn’t,” he muttered sullenly. “Wasn’t even a proper love spell.”
She nodded and folded her hands on her lap. “You’re right.”
Her assent seemed to throw him off and he turned to her suddenly, blinking.
Staring at her hands in her lap, she chuckled wryly. “This is so messed up.” She waited for him to disagree and tell her she was wrong, but he didn’t.
“Preaching to the bloody choir, love.”
“Maybe if…” The next words she’d wanted to say stuck to her throat and instead, she settled on “I don’t know.” She jutted her lower lip out and furrowed her eyebrows.
Maybe if things were different. Maybe if she came to know him better. Maybe if she was ready. The list of maybes went on and on.
When she felt him studying her intently, she faced him.
“Some other time, then?” He cocked an eyebrow and smirked, clearing the tension in the air as he did.
She released a breath of relief and a small smile flickered across her face. “Presume much?” she said, rolling her eyes playfully.
“That’s not a no.”
“It isn’t a yes.”
“Fine.” Spike shrugged. “You have stupid hair, anyway.”
“Says the guy who bleaches his.”
“Oh, you love it.”
Her eyes drifted to his bleach-blonde hair. When she bit her lip to stifle a grin and didn’t contradict him, he titled his head and narrowed his eyes at her.
A short silence followed before Spike dug around in his pocket and placed something on the coffee table with a muted clunk.
Buffy looked at it and then at him quizzically.
He shifted in his seat and made a point of averting his eyes from hers. “It’s yours, if you want it.” His voice was low and earnest. Then he asserted, “Don’t make a thing of it.”
She opened her mouth a few times to make a quip but decided against it.
She gazed at the ring in all its chunky and unsubtle glory. It was so distinctly Spike, and a smile tugged at her lips. Wordlessly, she took the ring and slipped it into her back pocket.
THE END