Part Two of my Reunion Ficlet from last week
I'm a little drunk from my fun lunch. So I decided to post the continued story of Spuffy, the Reunion.
Two
It was a fact he learned long ago, that when Summers’ women tried to be quiet, they irrevocably failed. They were trying to whisper, but it came out in extremely loud stage whispers, and despite his fatigue and the blissful comfort of Buffy’s worn mattress he sat up to listen.
“Do you think he’s hungry? Should we make dinner?” They were talking behind the closed bedroom door, in the living room, he guessed, and it was music, bloody fucking poetry, listening to Dawn asking about him. He grinned.
“I don’t know. You think?”
“I don’t know! Are there even any butcher shops around here?” Dawn’s voice got loud and Buffy shushed her.
“Wait, aren’t you mad at him anymore?” Buffy asked.
A pause. Dawn must have thought this out.
“No,” Dawn replied. “I mean, I’m annoyed that he ignored me completely the year before he died saving us and the world and all, but that was when I was an adolescent. I’m a woman now.”
He heard Buffy snort laughter. Then he heard a smack.
“Ow.”
“Should we call Giles?” Dawn was talking a mile a minute, like a kid on Christmas Eve. “Willow? Xander? Can I go in there and wake him up? Is he excited to see me? Should we…”
“Dawn, remind me too restrict your caffeine intake. Now calm down and go get some food. And some blood. Here’s some money.”
Spike heard some more loud whispering, then he heard a door open and close. He lay back down, turned over, inhaled the scent of the pillow, and closed his eyes. He had never napped so well in his life before.
In a minute, she entered her dark bedroom. He heard her cross to the bed, then he felt the weight of the mattress sag when she sat on the edge. It was easy for him to feign sleep, not needing breath. He waited.
He sensed, rather than felt, her hand approach, and when it rested on the small of his back he tried not to stiffen. Her fingers traced the path of his spine up, then down, his bare skin, slowly. The ache he had felt upon seeing her again intensified, moved from his stomach and his heart to his groin. Not now, you stupid git.
“Do you mind? Man’s tryin’ to sleep,” he murmured lazily, to cover the ache. Her hand stilled, and he turned over to look at her.
“I’m so sorry…”
“Kidding, Slayer,” he said, grabbing her wrist before she could move away. He liked this, sitting in the dark, where he could see her but she could not see him. He reckoned the look in his eyes would scare the living hell out of her.
“You’ll need a new nickname for me. Not the Slayer anymore. Alone shmalone. Last count, there’s 246 around the globe, and that’s only the ones we know about.”
“How long’ve I been asleep?”
“Just a few hours. Dawn just stepped out. She’s coming back with treats.”
“She didn’t insist that you throw me out then?” Spike propped himself up on the pillows, watching her animated face, trying not to smile too much.
“Are you kidding! She’s so excited. They all will be… I haven’t called anyone. I kind of… thought we could wait til tomorrow for that.”
“How are they all?”
He watched her smile widen, and he liked seeing that smile that memories of Willow, Xander, and Giles could evoke. She looked so genuinely, blessedly happy. He realized he had probably never given her cause to smile like that. Not yet, anyway. He fully intended to if she’d let him.
“They’re all good. Xander and Willow are in New York, and Giles is here, and Faith… oh god, Faith is in New Orleans last we talked, fighting the good fight and breaking hearts.” She paused. “You know about Anya?”
Spike could only nod.
“I think of her at the oddest times. I never got to…. ” she trailed off, eyes sad. She looked at him. “I’m so happy now, and I feel bad that I’m happy, after so much has happened. But here you are, in my bed, you’re alive. This is so totally strange, and yet not strange at all.”
He could listen to her babble, he realized, for eternity. His Slayer. His one true thing.
Spike sat up straight. “Come give us a kiss, Buffy,” he said. She didn’t hesitate. She moved close, and he closed his eyes.
Then promptly opened them when she pushed him, hard, shoving him back on the pillows.
“You’re such a jackass!” she shouted.
Spike looked around. “What’s that? Me?”
“No, I’m talking to the other freaking bleached blonde stupid-ass vampire in my bed.” She stood up and started pacing. He distinctly heard her mumble, “Thanks for saying it. Thanks for saying it??”
“Um, don’t mean to be rude, love, but what the hell are you prattling on about?”
“I tell you I love you, and you say, No, you don’t… but thanks for saying it? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Hold on…”
She continued, fuming. “I figure, hey, I have finally found the right moment to tell you what I’d wanted to tell you for, like, months, and you… you just reject it? You and your noble urges make me sick.” She was getting really angry now, which only got worse because Spike started laughing at her.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she turned, pointing at him. “I really, really can’t believe you did that.”
“Aw. Come on. I had rays of light shooting out of me arse, I wasn’t in my right mind. Forgive me.”
Buffy stopped pacing and looked at him. She frowned. “So you knew I was telling the truth?”
Spike folded his hands behind his head and grinned. “’Course,” he lied. “Just didn’t want you to pine for me too much, so I thought I’d give you an out.”
“You… you are a really cocky… imbecile.”
“Damned if I do with you, Summers, and damned if I don’t.”
Buffy sighed and sat back down on the bed. She stared at him steadily, unnerving him in the way only she could.
“I did mean it.”
Spike looked down, then looked up with a brave smile. “I know that. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it back. Figured it was a given.”
“Okay, so that’s out of the way, then.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Buffy would have waited, really, she would have, except that life was too short and his lips were too sexy and she planted one on him, and oh, how good he tasted, and oh God this was why she was on earth, she reasoned, and so they fell back against the mattress together. Not too soft, not too hard. Just right.
Two
It was a fact he learned long ago, that when Summers’ women tried to be quiet, they irrevocably failed. They were trying to whisper, but it came out in extremely loud stage whispers, and despite his fatigue and the blissful comfort of Buffy’s worn mattress he sat up to listen.
“Do you think he’s hungry? Should we make dinner?” They were talking behind the closed bedroom door, in the living room, he guessed, and it was music, bloody fucking poetry, listening to Dawn asking about him. He grinned.
“I don’t know. You think?”
“I don’t know! Are there even any butcher shops around here?” Dawn’s voice got loud and Buffy shushed her.
“Wait, aren’t you mad at him anymore?” Buffy asked.
A pause. Dawn must have thought this out.
“No,” Dawn replied. “I mean, I’m annoyed that he ignored me completely the year before he died saving us and the world and all, but that was when I was an adolescent. I’m a woman now.”
He heard Buffy snort laughter. Then he heard a smack.
“Ow.”
“Should we call Giles?” Dawn was talking a mile a minute, like a kid on Christmas Eve. “Willow? Xander? Can I go in there and wake him up? Is he excited to see me? Should we…”
“Dawn, remind me too restrict your caffeine intake. Now calm down and go get some food. And some blood. Here’s some money.”
Spike heard some more loud whispering, then he heard a door open and close. He lay back down, turned over, inhaled the scent of the pillow, and closed his eyes. He had never napped so well in his life before.
In a minute, she entered her dark bedroom. He heard her cross to the bed, then he felt the weight of the mattress sag when she sat on the edge. It was easy for him to feign sleep, not needing breath. He waited.
He sensed, rather than felt, her hand approach, and when it rested on the small of his back he tried not to stiffen. Her fingers traced the path of his spine up, then down, his bare skin, slowly. The ache he had felt upon seeing her again intensified, moved from his stomach and his heart to his groin. Not now, you stupid git.
“Do you mind? Man’s tryin’ to sleep,” he murmured lazily, to cover the ache. Her hand stilled, and he turned over to look at her.
“I’m so sorry…”
“Kidding, Slayer,” he said, grabbing her wrist before she could move away. He liked this, sitting in the dark, where he could see her but she could not see him. He reckoned the look in his eyes would scare the living hell out of her.
“You’ll need a new nickname for me. Not the Slayer anymore. Alone shmalone. Last count, there’s 246 around the globe, and that’s only the ones we know about.”
“How long’ve I been asleep?”
“Just a few hours. Dawn just stepped out. She’s coming back with treats.”
“She didn’t insist that you throw me out then?” Spike propped himself up on the pillows, watching her animated face, trying not to smile too much.
“Are you kidding! She’s so excited. They all will be… I haven’t called anyone. I kind of… thought we could wait til tomorrow for that.”
“How are they all?”
He watched her smile widen, and he liked seeing that smile that memories of Willow, Xander, and Giles could evoke. She looked so genuinely, blessedly happy. He realized he had probably never given her cause to smile like that. Not yet, anyway. He fully intended to if she’d let him.
“They’re all good. Xander and Willow are in New York, and Giles is here, and Faith… oh god, Faith is in New Orleans last we talked, fighting the good fight and breaking hearts.” She paused. “You know about Anya?”
Spike could only nod.
“I think of her at the oddest times. I never got to…. ” she trailed off, eyes sad. She looked at him. “I’m so happy now, and I feel bad that I’m happy, after so much has happened. But here you are, in my bed, you’re alive. This is so totally strange, and yet not strange at all.”
He could listen to her babble, he realized, for eternity. His Slayer. His one true thing.
Spike sat up straight. “Come give us a kiss, Buffy,” he said. She didn’t hesitate. She moved close, and he closed his eyes.
Then promptly opened them when she pushed him, hard, shoving him back on the pillows.
“You’re such a jackass!” she shouted.
Spike looked around. “What’s that? Me?”
“No, I’m talking to the other freaking bleached blonde stupid-ass vampire in my bed.” She stood up and started pacing. He distinctly heard her mumble, “Thanks for saying it. Thanks for saying it??”
“Um, don’t mean to be rude, love, but what the hell are you prattling on about?”
“I tell you I love you, and you say, No, you don’t… but thanks for saying it? Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Hold on…”
She continued, fuming. “I figure, hey, I have finally found the right moment to tell you what I’d wanted to tell you for, like, months, and you… you just reject it? You and your noble urges make me sick.” She was getting really angry now, which only got worse because Spike started laughing at her.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she turned, pointing at him. “I really, really can’t believe you did that.”
“Aw. Come on. I had rays of light shooting out of me arse, I wasn’t in my right mind. Forgive me.”
Buffy stopped pacing and looked at him. She frowned. “So you knew I was telling the truth?”
Spike folded his hands behind his head and grinned. “’Course,” he lied. “Just didn’t want you to pine for me too much, so I thought I’d give you an out.”
“You… you are a really cocky… imbecile.”
“Damned if I do with you, Summers, and damned if I don’t.”
Buffy sighed and sat back down on the bed. She stared at him steadily, unnerving him in the way only she could.
“I did mean it.”
Spike looked down, then looked up with a brave smile. “I know that. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it back. Figured it was a given.”
“Okay, so that’s out of the way, then.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Buffy would have waited, really, she would have, except that life was too short and his lips were too sexy and she planted one on him, and oh, how good he tasted, and oh God this was why she was on earth, she reasoned, and so they fell back against the mattress together. Not too soft, not too hard. Just right.