Chosen

* * * * * Chapter 3: Together * * * * *

Spike takes her hand from his chest and kisses the palm, the grazing of his lips impossibly light.

“Buffy...” His voice is soft, barely audible.

She takes a small amount of pleasure in realizing that her words have left him dumbstruck. He doesn’t always have to do the talking. His voice is full of questions, of wonder. She aims to eradicate those questions, answer that wonder. Returning to her earlier task, Buffy works the buttons of Spike’s jeans as he simply stares down at her. For the first time in months, there is a weight lifted from his chest. A revelation sweeps through his body. She has forgiven him. He finally believes it to be true. It is written in the soft light of her eyes, in the gentle set of her mouth. Though he knows he doesn’t need to, he finally feels like he can breathe with her. He feels free.

The buttons undone, Spike’s jeans hang low on his hips. Spike wakes from his surprise to take Buffy’s hand. He pulls her toward his bed, narrow and rumpled. Turning her, he gently sits her on the edge of the bed. Kneeling down, Spike reaches up under her flares to grasp the zipper on her tall boot. The rasp of metal is loud against the concrete walls. Pulling the boot free, his hand runs over her warm foot. He leans down, laying a kiss on the top of it. His eyes lift, meeting her gaze above this kiss. The green nearly taken over by the pupil, her eyes are dark, deep. He repeats the action with her other boot before moving up to her waist. Undoing the fastenings, his strong hands press into her taut skin. He remembers how tiny she is, how delicately strong. Soft skin covering muscles of corded iron. Always a woman to him despite it all, skin yielding and warm. But the Slayer too, power tucked into a tiny package. The combination intoxicates Spike. He pulls the pants lower and lower, revealing her soft hips, lean legs, baring her to him.

Biting into his bottom lip, he stands and stares down at her. Seconds tick by as she locks into his gaze. Spike’s eyes sweep down her body and then back to her eyes. In the few seconds he left them, they have changed. He has never seen quite that look in her eyes. Yes, last year, she would look on him with lust blazing and burning in the green depths. And at times this year, she has given him a look that suggested something more...affection, caring, maybe even love. Just minutes ago, her look called out to him, telling him there was love present for him, even if she couldn’t, can’t say it. Buffy’s eyes always speak to him. He has always been able to find the truth in those eyes. The combination of love and lust emanating from her tonight sears him, burns into him with a palpable heat. He fights the urge to cover her body with his immediately, remembering that he wants to savor this moment. His memory of being nervous is completely squelched by the passion building inside him.

Buffy, leaning back on her hands, studies Spike. Standing there, vulnerable and beautiful, she sees him as he truly is. A man in love. And a man she loves. All the baggage of the last five years drops away with a thud. His soul has erased all of the badness and shown her how hard he struggled to be good, even back then. The soul he wears on his face, in his eyes, in the soft words he speaks. He has become the man she believed in. She tries to tell him this with her eyes. She knows her words will come out wrong. Buffy sits up, looking up the ridges and ripples of his chest towards his face. His head slowly tilts to the side, waiting to see if she will take the next step. Both her hands lift up, appearing in front of her face before she even realizes she has started moving. They come to rest on the skin just above his jeans. As her warm hands make contact, Spike inhales. Her hands slide up, skating over his chest lightly, mapping the terrain of his body with her fingertips. When she cannot reach any higher without rising from the bed, she draws her hands back down to his jeans, catching in the fabric and pushing. Pushing gently at first and then harder, more insistent. With a small smile, she yanks the jeans down his body, letting her fingers drag down his legs, loving the reaction she hears from above her. Spike closes his eyes after gasping. He feels her getting the jeans all the way off, lifts his feet to help. Then, that dancing touch skims back up his body before disappearing. Disappointed, Spike opens his eyes. Buffy is partly reclined on the rumpled bed, licking her bottom lip. She smiles, small and intimate. God, she is delicious when she wants to be. When she wants to allow him in. Spike stands there, completely naked and wanting so bad to touch her. Buffy’s right hand comes up and ever so slowly, she extends the index finger then crooks it, calling him to her.

That’s it. Spike needs nothing more than the small gesture of welcome. Quickly, he moves his body over hers, both hands grabbing the sides of her face, finding her mouth with unerring accuracy in the dim light. Their lips fuse, gentle then rough and back again. Mouths tasting, hands roaming, skin sliding on skin. The truth of the coming dawn falls away, the knowledge of the possible apocalypse pushed into the back of their minds. Right now, all that exists is this room, this other person, this night.

The air in the room is heavy. Thick, dragging their movements into slow motion. Their kisses become tender and searching, now that the first need for contact has been quenched. Spike’s hands move up and down Buffy’s torso, remembering the way it feels to have her there under him, to breathe in her scent. He re-learns her body by touch alone, though he has not really forgotten an inch of it in the past year. If anything, it has become more seared into his mind. She makes tiny sighing sounds which pierce him with their sweetness, sounds of contentment in his embrace.

Buffy twists her hands into Spike’s platinum curls, remembering how she has always teased him about this hair, but secretly loves it. Loves the way it blazes there, bold and defiant. Much like him. As Spike’s mouth moves down her neck, she moans, her whole body loosening and further molding into his. He sucks and nips his way down her neck, tasting, testing. She wants to clutch him to her chest and hold him there. The lump she has been able to hold off until now thickens in her throat. Why did she have to give him that amulet? She felt its power in her hand, the dull weight of it ominous. Felt a twist in her gut as she held it out to him. It couldn’t be helped. He is a Champion. It is his destiny to bear it, she is sure. Buffy knows from destiny and can see his scrawled across his sharp features. He will face it tomorrow when she leads them all into the Hellmouth. And while she wants him by her side more than anything, another part of her wants to send him away. To keep him alive…or undead. Or whatever. Just in one piece. Buffy shudders, a sob struggling in her throat to get out.

Spike feels the tension and the shake in her body and stops his movements. Shifting up to look into her eyes, Spike sees faint trails down her face. Tears? “Buffy, what is it?”

Pressing her lips together, Buffy shakes her head, unwilling to put her fears into words. The tears come faster. Spike leans forward, kissing away the moisture, the salt burning his tongue. “Don’t, luv.”

Her grip on his arm is strong. A bit too strong. Spike flinches slightly. She only loses control of her Slayer strength when she feels her emotions slipping. Looking at him furtively, Buffy whispers a few words. Despite his highly sensitive hearing, Spike cannot quite make them out. He leans forward, breaking eye contact to put his ear close to her mouth.

He feels her warm breath first and then, “Don’t leave me, Spike. Don’t.” Startled, Spike turns to face her.

“Buffy. I’m not going anywhere. Right here with you.”

Her eyes stay wide and scared, and he can see other words bouncing around in her, struggling to get out. “But I…I…” He holds very still, waiting. “I…can’t lose you.” Not the exact words, but good ones nonetheless. He is willing to wait for those others.

Without speaking another word, Spike dips his head back to her mouth and takes one sweet, soft kiss from her lips. The warmth of her body under him beckons. “Won’t lose me, Slayer. I love you.” Right as the last word drops from his mouth, Spike covers her mouth with his. No sense in risking the awkward silence. She may not love him, but she needs him, believes in him, wants him, cares for him. All good things. The love can come later. He finally feels that is something that could happen and for tonight, that possibility is enough.

Buffy slides her hand down his body, guiding him to her opening. She needs him inside her. She is wet with the need and he is startled to find her so ready so quickly. As he breaks the kiss, that familiar cocky grin slides into place. “Slayer. Didn’t know you cared.” He winks at her, allowing her to join him in playing, relieving the pain in her chest, her struggle with words she can’t say. Hands planted on either side of her head, Spike shifts his hips, teasing her entrance. She gasps, reaches up to clutch his shoulders.

“But I do. Spike. I do.” And with that, he slides into her, filling her to the limit of pleasure. Buffy inhales sharply, reminded in one brilliant flash of how he feels inside her. How he brings the power of his feelings into this act, enters her with emotion. Spike’s complete abandon is something she has always craved, even envied. The way he can throw his whole self into life, not holding back, not living to regret something he did not do. He tastes life more fully than most humans with beating hearts. She tainted her actions last year by using him for sex and she is determined to reinvest these motions with feeling. To have him feel the way he always makes her feel. Buffy looks at him, finds him watching her face, a look of pure tenderness written there. Never breaking the eye contact, he moves in her, one slow thrust. Buffy fights her tendency to look away and maintains the contact. Her eyes flutter in pleasure as he drives slowly into her again. Her fingers dig deeper into his shoulders and she makes a mental note that she is almost certainly hurting him a little bit. She just can’t release him, though. She just can’t let go.

Thrust after thrust, Spike plants his affection, his love, his tenderness deep. And Buffy rises to meet him, accepting all of it, all of him, her hips rolling to meet his. And through it all, their eyes never leave each other. In the shadow of the basement, she cannot see the color in his eyes, but she knows the blue like she knows her own hazel. She knows those storm cloud eyes are locked onto hers and it is comforting, soothing the ache in her heart.

Spike burns. Her body, her core is blazing hot, but it is even more than that physical heat. His heart seems to burn, maybe his soul? He still doesn’t fully understand his soul, how it works, what it means, but something is certainly filling him with a steady warmth. Buffy’s eyes speak volumes to him, of love and possibility and a future he doesn’t dare contemplate.

Buffy slides her legs up and around his waist, sliding her bare legs against his hips. The muscle in Spike’s jaw clenches as he realizes how close he is to losing control. Being with Buffy after all this time and with all this emotion heavy in the air is making it very hard. Seeing this reaction only emboldens Buffy further. She snakes her hand under his chin, pulling his face down to hers. Breaking eye contact to kiss him, Buffy lets her other hand slide around his back, trailing her nails up the skin there. Spike draws very close to complete sensory overload as he drives into her warmth, feeling her legs wrapped around him, her fingers dancing over his cool skin and her mouth, her soft, insistent mouth on his own. When he sees that his time is drawing near, Spike slips a hand between them. Buffy’s eyes widen as she feels his fingers pressing into her sensitive skin and is amazed at the sensation that comes screaming through her, literally. Wave after wave of tremors as Spike thrusts harder, deeper, faster. Buffy grabs his face, bringing those eyes back to her own. They glint in the moonlight and she feels close to falling into the depths reflected there. Just as Buffy’s body begins to convulse, shuddering and trembling, Spike arrives at the edge and plunges right over. His roar reverberates through the room, mixed with Buffy’s sounds of pleasure. Their bodies continue to move together for moments after, seeking the last fragments of their climax. And still, they match gazes, eyes wet and shining. As they come down, the events and people outside the basement threaten to crash back down on them. Buffy fights it, willing herself to stay right here, in his arms for the night. Not to think of the coming light. She refuses to release his face, her eyes searching his, desperate to memorize everything about this evening and about him. Her Slayer instincts tell her to do it and she is unwilling to examine why.

Spike can feel every inch of his body, can instantly feel every inch of hers in contact. He rolls to the side, pulling her with him. She finally lets go of his face, but will not let go of his baby blues. Spike smiles, just a little, brushes a long strand of hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear. His hand trails down her neck, sending a shiver through Buffy’s body. Out of instinct, his eyes cut briefly to the window, gauging the nearness of dawn.

“No.” Her whisper is faint, but snaps his eyes back on hers instantly. “Don’t look out there. Be in here. Okay?” Spike nods, brushing his lips across hers, pulling her tighter against him. He knows she means much more than him just looking outside. For the next few hours, their world is going to begin and end inside these four walls. Until the sunrise. Then, and only then, will they rejoin the world, face the coming evil.

Together.





~The End~