Chapter Forty-Three
Willow closed the book at last, a trembling sigh tearing through her body. In many ways, it felt like the night before the big exam—reviewing that one question over and over while her stomach knotted itself at the prospect of forgetting the answer to something she had memorized at the beginning of the semester. She hated this feeling. Hated being overly prepared for something that relied solely on her performance. A circle of friends, her best friend and Josh, of all people, holding hands as the god they had released attempted to destroy them as means to the world.
She was in a state to make coffee nervous.
Somewhere between the conclusion of the Christmas-party/last-night-on-earth, she had completely relocated to Sam’s room. A place of quiet where Donna wouldn’t be pacing herself into a frenzy and, therein, distracting her from the work at hand. More besides, Willow assumed that the Senior Staffers would spend what little time they had until the ritual together. Perhaps on speakerphone with the President—telling him that in twenty-four hours, there could well be no country left to govern.
The fact that, once again, she was shouldering the burden of banishing a god terrified her more than she wanted to admit. Not only that, it stole what could be her last night and turned it into something made of work and stress instead of love and reflection. She knew that Anya and Xander were spending their hours by an even more frantic session of lovemaking, and she hoped for them—even through her envy—that they did not have to emerge from their room until five thirty the next day.
Buffy and Spike…there was little question in her mind. And she felt sorry for them. For them; for herself and Sam. For those who had found each other on the brink of an apocalypse. For those whose time was stolen for reasons beyond control.
The thought of what she would have to channel in the coming hours loomed over her head—a storm cloud of doubt, whispering furtively at the demons in her head. The first time was bad enough; had ripped her skin and done more damage to her insides than she wanted anyone to know. She was healed now, of course. As though a part of that god mojo had transferred not only into Buffy, but into herself as well. It wasn’t anything akin to what the Slayer was going through. But now, the Slayer was built to manipulate this sort of power. The Slayer was a god whose boundaries exceeded even the limitation of the redhead’s imagination.
Willow was a witch. Nothing more, nothing less. In two days from amateur to a level that she had no conception of grasping. And here she was, on a playing field intent on banishing the god himself—not merely a reflection of what he could be.
Seeing Buffy like that had been bad enough. Tomorrow would break all the rules.
The knock on the door was a relief. A distraction from her disturbing thoughts as she battled her senses in looking over passages already committed to memory. The tremors rippling through her body could not be helped, nor was the drop of her stomach every time her mind reminded her that getting comfortable tonight was not an option.
God, what she wouldn’t do for one more night.
“Willow?”
It was Sam. Her heart tore in two. Poor Sam. Poor Josh, Donna, and Toby. All of them. Three weeks ago, they had no idea that vampires existed. That witches and demons and gods were things made of reality and not a mindset built on fantasy. And now they were at the eve of an apocalypse. An, as in plural. One of many. Perhaps one of many more.
A future built on nights like this. Nights when the sentiment was tomorrow could be the end.
“Yeah,” she said softly, trying and failing to control the shudder in her tone. Her back was to him. She didn’t want him to see her like this. If this was it, she wanted him to have hope. False hope was better than none. “I…I was…you and Donna…Josh and Toby…you were in the other room and I…I needed a place to…to look over this stuff. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Actually, I think Donna wants Josh to stay with her tonight.”
“Oh?”
“Best friends thing. I remember when Josh hired her. The minute she talked him into it, he became one of those people who wouldn’t know it was lunchtime if she didn’t remind him.” He took a step forward. “Toby’s with Giles and Wes. They’re going over some of the stuff for tomorrow.”
Willow licked her lips and nodded. Giles wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, either. Tomorrow depended on them and them alone. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”
There was a short, uncomfortable pause. “So…umm…I can…if you need the room, I’ll go—”
No. If he left her alone, she would go mad. Open more books; fill her mind with knowledge that her brain convinced her she needed filed in the ‘just-in-case’ cabinet. She was knowledged out. Shaken to her core and left to nothing but the ticking of a clock that refused to cut her a break. Right now, she needed to forget. She so badly needed to forget that tomorrow she was supposed to save the world. Tomorrow was the day all others had been leading to.
Tomorrow, she might be lost even if the world wasn’t. And dammit if she didn’t want to feel him once. Just once. Even if they weren’t ready for that. If the world was ending, if she was the one that was supposed to stop it, she needed him now. Tonight. Making her forget. Giving her a false promise of a future they could never have. Reminding her just how much, in such a short amount of time, she had come to love him against every rational bone in her body.
Tonight she needed solace.
Tonight she needed Sam. Just Sam.
Willow released a trembling sigh and turned around slowly, her heart thundering. Even with Oz, with as long as they were together, she had never felt comfortable initiating anything beyond kisses. Years of being a ridiculed geek had degraded her self-confidence when it came to the issue of sexuality, so where to go from looking at him with a come-hither expression was beyond her.
And yet, with one as hesitant as Sam—with one as thoroughly unhinged when it came to a relationship that still lacked formal definition—there was little she could do to convey her intentions short of shoving him on the bed and ripping his shirt off. Though seeing as the last time he had that happen to him the outcome was less than fulfilling, she would have to rely on words.
“I…” It took a second to swallow the knot in her throat. “Sam…tonight…with the world ending and…” She held out a hand, demonstratively showcasing how hard she was trembling. “I don’t know if I’m going to make it.”
“You’re going to make it. We all are.”
“No. That’s not what I’m talking about.” A shuddering breath hissed through her lips. “You…my world. That’s what’s ending. Tomorrow…the actual world could end. Might. But if it doesn’t, I think…” It took a minute but she sighed and shrugged, and met his eyes with a nerve of resounding resolution. “Sam…tonight—”
“Willow—”
“Tonight I just need you.” She licked her lips as he studied her curiously, his gaze widening in recognition when the hidden meaning behind her words stepped around the veil. His cheeks tinted a bit in that manner she found thoroughly adorable. And yet, for the rush of lust that flashed across his face—bordering that angle between what had been previously forbidden territory, she felt her heart skip a beat.
He waited a minute as though granting her time to rebuke the offer, then started with a slight edge to his voice. “Willow…are you sure?”
“I am seconds away from stripping.”
“Okay, then.” He took a few steps forward until just inches separated them, then held up a hand, charmingly befuddled. “I have this thing,” he said. “It’s something I need to say before we…before this goes any further. And not only because the world might end, but I want you to know this, and know that it has absolutely nothing to do with the aforementioned world ending, but this is a thing that you need to know before you…and you’re undoing my tie.”
“Keep talking,” she said, voice trembling as her fingers slipped against the fabric. “I need something to focus on before I lose my nerve.”
“Willow—”
She kissed him before he could protest, sliding his tie free from his neck. “I want to,” she whispered. “I’m just not very good at this…first time stuff.”
“Honestly, neither am I.”
“Well, we make quite a pair.”
He nodded, then frowned with new panic. “First time?”
“With you,” she clarified quickly, flashing a nervous grin. “I…Oz. Oz was my first. And, well, only. So it’s been a while for me.”
“Yeah. Ummm…” He glanced down awkwardly as her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. “Protection?”
“World’s ending, Sam.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Pill. Was taking it with Oz…just forgot to stop, really.” Willow licked her lips self-consciously. “That and you get to a point with it that taking it’s kind of an important just-in-case thing. And I’m not even a ‘just-in-case’ girl. I just—”
“I love you.”
Willow froze inexplicably, her large eyes finding his with a flare of astonishment that she could not hide. Her hands fell to her sides, and she could do nothing but stare.
“What?”
“I…that was the thing. Before we…and before the world ends but not because it is. I love you.” He glanced down bashfully. “Strange. Haven’t said that since before I got engaged.”
“Before?”
“Lisa didn’t like me very much. We didn’t say it all that often.”
“Oh.”
“But…that’s the thing. I love you, and I’m nervous about this in a way that guys shouldn’t get nervous, but I think it’s because I love you and I haven’t…with someone I love for the first time when I know I love them, you know?” He was bright red now. Flustered and embarrassed, but heartfelt, and more precious to her than he ever had been before. “Willow?”
“Yeah.”
“You heard all that, right?”
“Yeah.” It took a second, but she released the breath she had been holding. And slowly allowed a wide, genuine smile that had, just ten minutes ago, been nowhere within proximity. “I…and this isn’t because you said it or because the world is ending or because I think there’s a good possibility that I might die tomorrow, but I love you, too.”
His eyes widened endearingly. “Really?”
“Yeah. I was just…we haven’t known each other for all that long, but—”
“With as long as it feels like I’ve known you, I can’t consider the particulars.” His shirt fell to the floor, leaving his chest bare for her perusal. His own hands coming to the hem of her shirt and stopping obligingly as though he would get in trouble for wanting her naked. “Willow?”
Her nod confirmed it, and then there was no more need for words. Only now. Only tonight.
A night of splendor before the storm. It wasn’t too much to ask.
*~*~*
“I got you something, you know.”
Donna glanced up from her ghost book, eyes perked. “You did, did you?”
“Yeah. A few days ago before this thing came up. Sam and I were walking up to the Eola and he saw a bookstore, and you can imagine where it went from there.” Josh leaned over his suitcase and began rummaging through his sloppy packing job. “I was gonna wait until we were home, but it seems that might not happen now, so I wanna give you this thing.”
She held her breath. Deciphering what mood Josh would go for when selecting gifts for any number of occasions was never a clear-cut deal. Sometimes he could be the sweetest guy in the world; sometimes he did things to be spiteful. Flowers from Josh Lyman could mean anything from remembering her birthday to commemorating the anniversary of her break-up with her boyfriend, which subsequently led her back to him in search of a job. Knowing his mood of the past few days, she decided not to get her hopes up. “What thing?”
“Christmas thing, I guess. For you and your Protestantism.” He found whatever he was searching for and turned back to her, holding the surprise behind his back. “You promise not get all weepy on me?”
“Weepy?”
“You get weepy sometimes.”
“You know you’re seriously overestimating the power of your nonexistent charm, right?”
“I have plenty of charm.”
“Yes. You just opt not to use it.” Donna smiled at the frown that crossed his face. “Why couldn’t you give this to me downstairs? You know, for the actual Christmas trade?”
“’Cause the fact that I have charm is something I’d like to keep under wraps.” He took a few steps forward. “You want this thing or not?”
“Wow. Charming.”
His face fell and he bounced a little with the impending loom of a temper tantrum. “Donna!” he whined.
“Yes, Josh. I want your charming present.” She held her hands out expectantly.
And suddenly, for reasons beyond her, a nervous look overwhelmed his features. And she realized that this might be one of those times—those few times—that Josh shoved aside his alter-ego and became the version of himself that could make her weepy. The sort that reminded her when she needed reminding of why he was her best friend, and why she stayed with him out of loyalty more than pay.
“It’s nothing,” he said quickly, thrusting his hands forward and dumping an aged book into her waiting grasp. “You just mentioned something about skiing and I found this, so I thought—”
“You bought me a book on skiing?”
“I’m hoping you start talking about that and give up the cat.” He smiled slightly when the look on her face softened. “And I wrote a note inside.”
Oh God. This was going to be a weepy moment.
She tentatively opened the book cover and sighed. A very weepy moment.
There weren’t many areas on the emotional spectrum that Josh specialized in. He was a fantastic friend and would defend anyone he cared about to the death if need be. More than once, he had put himself in the line of fire to protect her from any amount of ridicule that spewed from any mouth other than his. He was very protective—loving, even if he would never admit it. When Leo’s thing became a thing, he had lashed at everyone that called the Chief of Staff a drunk and, at one point, might have been charged with assault if Sam hadn’t stepped in. Aside the derision she received from him, it was all in jest. Never had she had a cross word from him that wasn’t deserved, or apologized for later. If she made a mistake, he would tease her about it but most times it was forgotten by the next day.
His note was a depiction of the side of him he kept closely guarded. And it brought tears to her eyes.
“You see,” she said, hating herself for the emotion that flooded her voice. “You spend most of your time being…you. Then you write something like this to me.” She drew in a deep breath and set the book aside, hugging him before he could object. “Thank you.”
Josh buried his face in her throat, hugging her back just as tightly. “I meant it,” he replied softly.
Donna’s world was spinning. There were certain truths she could reckon with; things she had confessed to herself—and at once to Wesley—that could all be explained very carefully. The thing that had been happening between her and her boss—the thing that they never talked about because they couldn’t, because it was them—found itself shoved to the front of her conscious once more with the loom of what was happening around them. What was happening right now. What could well happen tomorrow.
From the first day—since that afternoon that she walked into the Bartlet For America headquarters and all but begged him for a job, there had been something. The moment they stood in his office, her resounding, “I think I can be good at this. I think you might find me valuable.” And when his eyes had changed, reading her as though seeing something there that even she couldn’t identify…it was then. That moment. And he had told her to answer the phone that was ringing as though the job had been hers since he stumbled into the room, and had handed her his campaign badge.
And put her on the payroll almost immediately after telling her that he couldn’t carry her to the Carolinas.
For everything else that had happened between them, it was kept at a distance. Interoffice romances weren’t done when you worked for the President. It was simply a no-no, and for those reasons, the acknowledgement of the begrudging feelings that had started developing the moment he handed her the campaign badge were shoved to the far end of her psyche. Never to be mentioned. Never to be talked about. Something that didn’t exist except for the glowing knowledge that, yes, it existed.
Admitting her feelings to Wesley was the worst step she could’ve taken. It was out there, now. Even if she hadn’t spoken them to anyone—even if she had just spoken them—it was out there. The words I’m in love with Josh had come out of her, Donnatella Moss’s, lips. The world knew. From something beyond the shreds of recognition to something that was very much a thing.
And now the world that knew was ending. And Josh was holding her to him in what could be their last night.
God, her heart was thundering. If tonight was her last night on earth, she wanted to make it memorable. Tie up loose ends; tell her parents that they have her love and that she was sorry for anything she might have done to disappoint them in the past twenty-five years. Call up her roommate and apologize for that one time she had thrown a hairbrush at the meanest of her cats.
And she wanted Josh. God help her, but she wanted Josh. And she was scared to death of it. From being his assistant to being his friend to being in his arms. Tonight was their last night, and she wanted Josh.
Thing was, telling him was something she couldn’t do. It was Josh. Even if he felt anything—a possibility of which she was almost certain—there was no telling if he had reached a similar epiphany. If he had fought through rational and come to the conclusion that whatever was between them had boiled down to tonight. That if they were going to be together at all, it was now. Now or never. But she had none of that. All she had to go on was the note he had scribbled inside a book on skiing and the fact that he had yet to release her from his hug.
Donna expelled a deep breath and forced herself to pull back a little.
The look in Josh’s eyes bordered on uncomfortable but was similarly set in determination. As though the serious thoughts that had been bouncing back and forth within her mind were not for her and her alone. He released a trembling breath and licked his lips, offering a slight grin. “I, um…this thing. End of the world thing,” he began. “We’re…I want to ask you something, and if the answer’s no, I want you to walk out of the room and pretend this never happened, ‘kay?”
Oh God.
“Ummm…well, no. But okay.”
His brows perked. “Which one is it?”
“Which what is it?”
“Donna—”
“You can’t tell a girl that there’s something important you need to ask and then to forget about it if you get an answer you don’t like. In many civilized cultures, people have been known to sit down and talk through things.”
Josh shook his head. “This isn’t something we could talk through,” he replied. “This is a ‘you walk away and pretend it never happened’ thing.” He jerked a hand through his hair and sighed, shoulders sagging. “Maybe this is a sign that I shouldn’t ask.”
The only thing worse than him asking would be him not asking. She knew that without having to know anything more. Never in her acquaintance of him had he told her to leave the room after he asked a question because the result could be his embarrassment. And other than hopeful, the demand had her similarly intrigued. “No, Josh—”
“End of the world, Donna. And I’m standing here in your room.”
“No one’s holding you here.”
“Yes.” He frowned and wrestled a bit with whatever he needed to say; the tightness of his body making her more nervous than she thought possible. “You’re holding me here. It’s the end of the world…well, maybe…and I’m here ‘cause I wanna be. ‘Cause there’s this thing. ‘Cause if the world’s ending, this is where I wanna be. Okay?” He expelled a deep breath and met her eyes almost timidly. “Never thought I’d…it’s you, right?”
She offered a weak laugh. “Last time I checked…”
“Yeah.” He rolled a bit on his heels. “Are you really gonna make me say it?”
“Well, yes, because I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
“You don’t.” Another sigh. “This might be the reason that you can only get Republican gomers to go out with you.”
She would have been offended if she didn’t recognize the tension in his tone. “Because they get right to the point?” she retorted. Then frowned. “Josh, if you…is this your way of saying you want sex before the world ends?”
Ordinarily, he would have laughed at her and told her to get 243 for the meeting on the Hill. Or to call Leo’s office and have them reschedule the sit-down with the majority leadership. But they weren’t in DC, so it was already beyond the ordinary. And he wasn’t laughing.
Well, there was a certain air of defense in his eyes that made an appearance whenever the subject of his personal feelings was given the spotlight. “Well,” he replied in the tone she was most familiar with, “on the upside, I came here instead of going to see Anya, so—”
That she couldn’t deal with. It was a tad more insulting than she was used to, but likewise a statement to how close to the mark she had come. Donna threw him a look of disgust and made a step around him to leave and go somewhere where she wouldn’t have to look at him for a while, but he grabbed her arm before she could reach the door.
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, face falling again. “I didn’t mean that. And I…this isn’t about me wanting sex. Well, not entirely. This is about me wanting…you’re the person I want to spend what could be our last night on earth with. You. No one else. And even if there was someone else that I could spend my night with…you know, Mandy or what’s her name on that show I like but never get to watch.”
“Law And Order?”
“Yeah, that one. Even if what’s her name from Law And Order was here and very willing, I’d still be here. With you. It would still be you.”
She smiled faintly. “I’d hope so, seeing as you can’t even remember her name.”
“I can, too.” He frowned. “It’s Janet.”
“Mariska Hargitay.”
“I was close.”
“Hardly ever.” Donna wet her lips and took a step forward. “So it’s me,” she said. “What does that mean?”
“Donna—”
“It’s a fair question, Josh.”
“Can’t it just be tonight? Can’t we just be whatever for tonight?”
“Be whatever?” she replied incredulously. “What do you mean—”
“Oh, for Chrissake, Donna.”
“What?”
Before she knew what was happening, the world had tipped off its axis and spun out of their solar system. The next minute, hell was frozen over and the Cubs were the champions of the World Series. Israel and Palestine were in the middle of peace agreements, and Republicans had proposed legislation that would forever define the strict boundaries between Church and State. It all had to have happened in that second, because Josh was kissing her. Josh was kissing her. On the lips. With tongue. And god.
Did she mention Josh was kissing her?
She had no idea how long it lasted. Whether it was ten seconds or forever. Something inside of her went off at the feel of his lips against hers. Something that was terrified and invigorated at the same time. Something she couldn’t name for fear of what it meant.
When he pulled away, they smiled at each other awkwardly. But grateful. That barrier was crossed.
“So that’s what you were trying to say?”
“Yeah. That was the thing,” he agreed.
“Okay. You could’ve just—”
“I know.” He kissed her again, almost liberated now that the first kiss was out there. And suddenly, it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Kissing Josh. Josh kissing her. As though they had led every day of their adult lives for this moment.
Donna’s heart was thundering. Suddenly it wasn’t enough. This wasn’t enough. If they were going to have only tonight, she wanted to have tonight in the fullest sense.
Suddenly the tables were turned, and she was the one who wanted sex.
Though for the look in his eyes when they pulled away again, she doubted there would be any objections.
*~*~*
Buffy was curled in Spike’s arms, her back spooned against his chest; her eyes fixed on the shaded window that allowed no light into the room. They had been lying together for an hour or so. After the discussion in the Wensel House and the reality of what would happen in less than twenty-four hours, they had stayed awake, discussing everything the future would hold if they were so lucky as to get out alive. The apartment or duplex that Spike wanted to get—a place for them that wasn’t too unlike the set-up they had so enjoyed here. A place close to campus because he thought she should stay in school; that knowledge in itself humoring her to no end. A place cozy and small, though spacious enough that they wouldn’t bump into each other at every turn. A place for them. The first of many homes at the start of their eternity together.
She wanted that. The things he had talked about made it real. So real. She could practically imagine the layout. See the furniture they would never buy. Hear them arguing about some demon they had killed together, making representative accounts on who provided the most help on the battlefield. Imagined movie nights and even holidays. Times when Willow and Xander could come over with Anya and Sam (because in her fantasy, Willow got to keep Sam in Sunnydale) and play Pictionary or something incredibly coupley like that. Perhaps Spike and Sam could go a round at Scrabble, Sam thinking he was the superior player because of all the speechwriting but Spike’s talent with words stretching back through centuries. Her man with her. Her mate. Being as normal as they could be—he a vampire, she a god. Their friends: witches, former demons, carpenters, and politicians. Every now and then they would save the world together. Save the world, then come back at the end of the night and make love until the sun came up. Be as they were now, only without the loom of tomorrow clutching her heart.
Spike’s arm tightened around her middle. He wasn’t asleep. They were lying in silence, waiting for sleep to come while knowing it was nowhere near a possibility. And similarly acknowledging that basking in quiet just because there was nothing else wasn’t helping anyone.
He shifted above her, brushing a soft kiss across his claim mark. “Buffy,” he whispered, running a hand down her arm. “It’ll be all right, you know.”
“It won’t.” She drew in a breath, fighting the cold that tickled her insides. “When is it ever all right? The Powers don’t like things to be all right. Not with me.” She twisted in his embrace so that they were facing each other, the warm blue of his gaze drowning her with effortless ease. “The night we…the very next day from the night we first…and I was jonesed up with god power. And now today…we thought everything was all right, didn’t we? I mean, I was terrified. Still am…about the god thing. But it was all right. I was…Spike, we never get a break. Just when things are all right, something terrible happens.”
“Yeh, an’ we fight back.” There was determination in his voice that both invigorated her and made the world all the more real in its cruelty. “We always fight back. An’ guess what? We’ve won every round. Suffered a few…” He broke off, eyes welling with emotion as he ran a hand across her face. The impression of what they had lost aside the power of which they had gained. “You hero types are always inventin’ new ways to save the world, kitten. What happens tomorrow happens. Won’ be the last. It won’t.”
He sounded so sure, so positive, that for a few seconds she could believe him. Believe that the world didn’t hate her so thoroughly. Believe that the Powers could show mercy every now and then, even on those that didn’t deserve it. Believe in anything if nothing at all.
She wanted to believe him so desperately.
“And if it is?”
Spike paused and brushed a kiss across her forehead, drawing her near. “If it is,” he replied softly, “then I have no regrets. None. I love you. I wouldn’t’ve known that ‘f all this hadn’t happened. An’ whatever else happens, I’d rather the world end tomorrow—loving you like I do—than live an eternity in a world an’ not know this.”
His mouth covered hers before she could respond, drawing from her soft, heartfelt kisses that she felt echo through her body in a silver jubilee of everything they had shared. Just a few days. They had only known each other like this for a few days. She had only surrendered a few days before. A few days when they could have been doing this from the start.
There was so much she wanted to do. So much she wanted to make up to him. His tongue caressing her tongue, his hands skating down her body with graceful knowledge of what touches turned her into a whimpering puddle. He knew her body well. As though they weren’t still so new to this. As though, on some level, they had known it would happen from the beginning.
He knew her body well because every time they were together, he made it about her. All about her. It wasn’t something she demanded of him, but she certainly hadn’t been complaining. And now in the reaches of what could be their final hours, she wanted to make it about him. All about him. She wanted to know his body as fluently as he knew hers.
Gently, Buffy persuaded Spike away with a whimper of loss as his mouth was forced from hers. He flashed her a confused glance that she rectified with a small, heartfelt smile, whipping the blankets away to cast herself astride his naked hips; her fingers drawing artless patterns at his chest. His eyes flickered a shade darker, then. Reflecting that endless spiral of lust that had her stomach fluttering with anticipation before she could think to seize control. He cupped her breasts, rubbing her nipples in small circles and arching his erection against her backside.
“Buffy…”
Her eyes fluttered shut. One hand abandoned her breast and slid down her abdomen to massage her mound. Light touches that drove her beyond the border of ecstasy without even trying. He could render her a wreck of incoherent babbles with the slightest caress. Prying fingers slipping through her feminine folds and into her haven with learned ease, his body arching off the bed to tend to her neglected breast with his mouth.
It felt wonderful. Wonderful and more so. There were no words for what Spike did to her. What he did to her surpassed words. Surpassed everything she had ever experienced.
Only again, he was succeeding in making it entirely about her. And that wouldn’t do. Not now.
Not tonight.
Buffy drew in a breath and clasped her hands around his wrists to draw them away from her body. His mouth released her breast with a soft plop, eyes finding hers in confusion before she lowered her head to caress his lips with a kiss. “Lay back,” she whispered. “And keep your hands to yourself.” The heated look he gave her made her insides tremble, and she reveled in the shudder of desire that tremored through his body. With a moan, he nodded and reclined.
She sat for a minute and just looked at him. Spike, trapped under her body, his hands clutched in the bed linens as though he did not trust himself to not touch her. Hers for the taking. All hers. How she had come to be here, she didn’t know or care. All that mattered in the time between now and tomorrow was that she was. Her vampire. Her mate and lover. She loved him more than she thought possible, and it was time to show him how much.
She started at his chest, her head descending to tease his nipples as he was so fond of teasing hers. She mimicked his technique almost entirely, lightly scraping his hardened tips with her teeth, then blowing onto his skin as he gasped and arched beneath her. Her hands stilled on his shoulders and drew down slowly, nails just barely scraping at his skin. Her touches were subtle and hesitant, but the sounds rumbling through his throat prompted her enough to know that she must be doing something right.
And lower still. Dropping kisses down his chest, she slid until she was straddling his leg and face to face with his erection; studying him with such intent that her body tensed. It was strange; with the few sexual experiences in her past—Angel, Parker, and now the man she would spend eternity with if they lived through tomorrow—she had never come close to doing what she was about to do. She had never had the nerve to study him like this. To study anyone. The mechanics of sex were obviously of no surprise to her, but even with their carnal knowledge of each other, looking at him so intimately made her cheeks redden.
Spike grew harder under her scrutiny; his pants painting the air as he waited to see what she would do. Her hands were at his thighs, running long sweeps while similarly avoiding contact with the source of his need. Her mouth was watering and her body trembling. She had no idea how to proceed. No idea what he would expect of her once she began. A hundred years experience to her three men and his already proven guarantee of marathon sex, and suddenly she was terrified of displeasing him.
Drusilla would have done this for him, she wagered. Vampires weren’t nearly as inhibited when it came to such things.
A long moan tore through the air, and Spike threw his had back, propping himself on his elbows. “God, Buffy,” he gasped. “Please.”
“What do you want me to do?” It was an honest question; not meaning to be witty or dangle him at the end of a very cruel string. He had to know this was a first for her. Hell, he knew the details of her prior transgressions better than she did. Knew what had actually gone on other than the physical. And her inexperience now was certainly being shoved to center stage.
His eyes widened and her anxiousness increased. Something he must have seen for his expression softened the next minute, and boldly breaking the rule she had implemented not two minutes before, reached to cup her cheek. “You don’ have to do anythin’, sweetheart,” he assured her softly, though his voice was tight with barely restrained hunger. The head of his cock was weeping, his skin trembling with promised anticipation. “’F you—”
Instinct alone, then. She lowered her head defiantly and licked a long lap up his length, sending him back to the bed with an impassioned growl. The touch was light; his reaction notwithstanding. She dropped a wet kiss to the head, tongue curling out to lap at the moisture that collected across his sensitive skin.
“Jesus,” Spike swore reverently. “Buffy…oh god, please…”
“Guide me.”
There was a pause. He sat up again, albeit with some difficulty, his eyes wide with astonishment. “You really have never…?”
“You can’t tell that I have never?”
“I wasn’ gonna make any assumptions, pet. Thought at worst one of the wankers you were with before made a show of their lack of gratitude that you even looked at ‘em.” He paused, trembling. “Mean what I said, though.” He did, though his voice was tight with need. “Don’ have to do this ‘f you—”
“Guide me.”
Spike nodded, the love in his eyes swelling, if such was possible. And that alone pushed her over the final threshold of determination. He knew what this meant for her, other than the obvious. The weight of what she was giving him. What she wanted to give him. More than she had anyone before. More trust than she had ever allowed herself to bear for one person. More anything. “All right,” he agreed hoarsely. “Touch me, pet. Please.”
The small request was the only bit of guiding he would do for the night.
She licked her lips and he moaned at the sight, curling a hand at the base of his erection, watching his gaze widen in ecstasy as his head fell back again. This was good. She knew this. She had simply never seen it up close. Her hand pumping him slowly, up and down and up again. And then, tentatively, her tongue swept across the head. Softly at first, then again when he whimpered his encouragement. Her mouth took down his length, a hand dropping to cup his sac. Massaging him there as he did when he took her breasts into his hands. Slow, sensuous squeezes as she planted wet kisses along the underside of his cock.
“Buffy…” The strangled moan of her name ruptured through the air, his hips jerking violently against her. “God, baby, please.”
A sigh shuddered through her as her lips finally closed around him. He gasped sharply and bucked, forcing himself deeper, then flashed her an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he whimpered. “Just feels so fucking good.”
Buffy smiled around him, coaxing a strangled mewl from his throat. She drew her mouth back and lingered at his head, tongue swirling, and she descended again. A steady trek of back and forth, drawing him in as deep as possible. She squeezed his sac rhythmically, her mouth engulfing him, measuring his steady, half-experimental thrusts. His eyes on her face. Watching her with such passion that she nearly lost her nerve in mid-act. Watching her carefully to make sure he didn’t hurt her. Afraid that his lust would overwhelm his senses, and he would do something unforgivable as to never feel this bliss again.
“God, Buffy,” Spike gasped, squeezing his eyes shut, then open again. There wasn’t a part of this he wanted to miss. Everything committed to memory. The delicate tease of her touch, as hesitant as it was. The almost innocent way she looked back up at him, eyes shining with uncertainty but love. The teasing nibbles at his aching head.
Fucking Christ.
She pursued him with long laps of her tongue, taking him into her hand and bathing him in her glory. Every sweep of her heavenly mouth drew him further into a paradise that could never be fully his. “Ooohhh, bleeding fuck,” he groaned, wrenching his hands into the bed linens again. He wanted to lose his fingers in her golden hair but refrained. He was too afraid of holding her there out of his need, and he understood how desperately she needed to be in control, and he never wanted to presume—never wanted to be that inconsiderate. Never wanted her to think this was something he expected, and not a gift more precious than she could ever imagine. “God, Buffy, feels so good. You feel so good. Oh, fuck.”
“Really?”
The uncertainty buried in her voice tore at his heart.
“God, yes,” he gasped. “So good. So fucking good. You’re so perfect. My Buffy. Oh God, love you so much. Love you.” His head lulled back as she drew his belled head into her mouth again, suckling with renewed vigor, and his blabber of adorations intensified. “Fuck. Love you. So hot. So sweet. My girl. Love you, Buffy. Oh god, I love you so much.”
Her tongue swirled around him, and he drowned in her heat. But as wonderful as it felt, it still wasn’t enough. Never enough. And though his nearly nonexistent refractory period would allow him to seek pleasure in thousands of venues before the sun rose, he needed to be inside her. Now. With her lips against his and his cock buried in her pussy. Choosing one paradise over the other. The best of both worlds.
“Buffy…Buffy, ohhhh…stop.” She did so immediately, her eyes wide at the unexpected request, and he cursed himself for fumbling that so inconsiderately. “No, baby. I jus’…gonna come ‘f you—”
She relaxed and lowered her head again. “It’s all right,” she said softly, drawing him into her mouth. “I—”
“No.” He reached for her, coaxing her head up. “I don’…I wanna be inside you, sweetheart. Please.”
It didn’t take much coaxing. The next second, she was in his arms, and he was kissing the life out of her. Flipping her beneath him as his hands roamed freely down her body, his mouth abandoning hers to worship her breasts as his cock nudged at her entrance.
“Uhhh…”
God, she was so wet for him. His fingers ventured southward to tease her, capturing her clit as he suckled needily at her breast. Drowning in her scent. Breathing her in and losing himself all over again.
“Spike!” she gasped. “God, please!”
And that was all the encouragement he needed. His lips found hers as his cock sank within her warmth. Given again to this sanctuary beyond the stars. A home he had taken for himself. His body touching heaven. And when he began to move within her, her small sobs of pleasure rumbling into his ear, he made a vow for both her and himself. That final sinking bit of knowledge that claimed him when no other could.
Tonight could not be the last of this. He would not allow it. Her arms were around his neck; he was thrusting into her with need and love all rolled into one. That fine line between fucking and making love. They had defined it, he wagered. From that first night with her, they had defined it. Knowing now that Buffy was the only woman that had ever made love with him. That allowed him to love her while he was inside her rather than striving solely for her pleasure alone. Her head arched back as his hands found her breasts again, squeezing them tightly as his mouth dipped to taste her nipples.
The hard but slow slide of his flesh from hers…it was a sensation he would never give up. Not tomorrow. Not for any god other than the one in his arms. The one scratching at his back. The one wrapping her legs around his middle and lifting her hips to recapture him every time he withdrew. He was dancing in the clouds, and she was right there with him.
“Perfect,” he whispered against her breast, thrusts intensifying as the demands of his body surpassed his need to make it last. “You’re so perfect. My goddess.”
Yes. His goddess. No one else’s.
“Yours,” she agreed, tugging his mouth up to ravage with hers. “Always.”
“So hot. So tight. Killing me slowly. My girl.” He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer; was honestly surprised he had fought his impending orgasm this long. But he wasn’t about to go overboard without her. He slithered a hand between them, tongue sliding into her mouth. Their mingled gasps colored the air. The raw slap of their flesh melding together alongside the squeaky hinges of an old bed that desperately needed to be oiled. A cadence to a song that never stopped. Over and over again.
He captured her clit and massaged her roughly, sliding a finger into her as his body threatened to explode. “Love you,” he roared, eyes flashing yellow, canines descending. He was able to keep his face from completely reverting, but he couldn’t deny himself a nip at his claim mark. Suckling intently at the small drop of blood he procured.
“Love you.” She clutched him tighter, head bowing back. “Spike. Do it.”
“Buffy—”
“Bite me.”
There was no need for further invitation. At the moment, his defenses were too weak to deny her anything. The full of his demon burst through those last barriers, and he sank his fangs into her milky flesh. And they came together. Her orgasm triggered by the feel, his by the taste. Gods blood pouring into his mouth, her body milking him for everything he was worth, sending him past euphoria and into a state of uncensored bliss. Something about this. It was more powerful than before. More powerful than he thought possible. Again. Like earlier when they arrived home. This. Just this.
He was making love with a god, and his body felt it. The claim felt it. The wealth of her blood now, as sweet as its taste was before, was unlike any ambrosia the world had to offer. Pure and unabated. For him and him alone.
For the one person who did not deserve her. How in the world did he get so lucky?
The air settled with their mingled pants. Spike rested his head at her chest, holding her to him. His cock still buried within her, hard, not nearly spent. Despite all else, despite his vows and his certainty, the loom of what waited ahead never got further than the door. But he wanted tonight; so did she. Needed it almost as much as they wanted it. Wanted to keep this peace before reality claimed them once more.
“I love you so much,” he whispered against her skin.
Her arms tightened around him. “I love you, too.”
“Not squishin’ you, am I?”
She chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Hardly.”
“Din’t think so.” Spike lifted his eyes to smile at her, whispering a kiss across her lips. “Now then,” he said lowly. “Don’ move.”
“What?” He slipped out of her the next second, a tormented groan rumbling through her body. “Spike!”
“Jus’ stay still, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good.” He grinned at her unrepentantly, sliding down the length of her slick body and burying his face in her pussy, lapping at her juices and eliciting a long moan from her body. “Gonna worship you like you deserve.”
“Spike…”
He sucked at her clit for a few agonizing seconds, then plunged his tongue into her. “Gonna make you scream till you’re hoarse,” he promised. “Gonna love you like this till dawn. Tomorrow an’ every day after.”
“Spike…”
“Hush now. I’m eating.”
“Perv.”
“Naturally.”
“Love you.” Her back arched and her eyes fluttered shut. “Don’t stop.”
He smiled and licked a long trail up her slit before delving inside her haven once more. “Never will.”
There was this. This for the hours until tomorrow came. Reveling in love that was still so new. Love that was deeper than anything either had felt before. Love that had brought them this far.
There would be a day after tomorrow. There had to be. They had not gained this—they had not battled a god and won the first time for it to be over so soon. They had not come this far to lose.
She was in his arms. The Powers had given him that second chance.
Tomorrow would not be about endings. He refused to think it.
Tomorrow would be a beginning. Tomorrow would close the chapter on this part of their lives. Tomorrow they could go home and begin their toast to eternity.
*~*~*
“Where do you suppose everyone is?” Wesley asked as though noting for the first time in two hours that the parlor room was mostly vacant. His observation drew several wry glances from Giles and Toby, who were seated at opposite ends of the neighboring settee.
“I believe Willow was going to practice some magicks,” Giles said after a moment, face flushing. Wesley had gone out for some late night snacks, again at the grace of the Millers’ car, and thus had not fallen victim to his own reminder that sound tended to carry in the Wensel House. “I thought she might come down, but she must have fallen asleep.”
“It’s been uncommonly quiet,” the younger man observed.
Giles and Toby exchanged another glance.
“It’s the end of the world,” Toby said, puffing on a cigar he had managed to wheedle from Mr. Miller. “What would you be doing if you could?”
A tentative silence. They looked at each other speculatively.
Then glanced down and continued with research, furtively agreeing to no more conversation.
TBC