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57 Whispers
 
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Chapter 57 - Whispers

Buffy could feel it coming. They had never had the conversation in bed before, but the moment just seemed to call for it.

It being what Buffy had mentally termed their ‘I really should kill you, y’know,’ conversation. She couldn’t remember exactly how or why the conversations had begun, only that they had started it once during a training session. The exchanges were completely phony, verbal sparring that was no more real than the blows they traded.

Now, the words would be belied by their intertwined bodies.

Spike had just finished and was still completely on top of her. His right hand was on her breast, trapped between their chests; his left was grasping her shoulder, his thumb under her arm. The fabric of his shirt touched her where his skin did not. His smooth face was pressed against her cheek, his breath tickling the hair by her ear. One of his thighs was between hers, and she remembered arching into him, squeezing back as his teeth had entered her—as his hands had kneaded her, telling her physically that she wasn’t lacking.

Buffy could still feel his erection pressing against her, and she knew that whatever line they’d been dancing on had been crossed. Neither one of them was merely thinking of blood. Funny how she didn’t care. But she couldn’t bring herself to start a new conversation. The last time she had started a new conversation, it hadn’t turned out so well, not to mention completely spoiled the moment. So she settled for a conversation already completed to break the silence, at least to begin with.

There was also something comforting under the words; somehow it seemed they were saying everything they weren’t saying.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said half-heartedly, making no move to extricate herself.

“Right,” he breathed.

“I’m insane to let you have my blood.”

“Right.”

“I really should kill you. Or at least try. Slayer—Vampire.”

“Right.”

Silence.

“I really should get with it and just drain you already,” Spike said, taking his turn.

“Uh-huh.”

“Kill you dead.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Natural enemies and all. Vampire—Slayer.”

“Uh-huh. Fight to the death.” Pause. “Except I’m too comfortable to move right now.”

“Yeah.”

“Some other time, then.”

“Later,” he agreed, kissing her cheekbone.

Buffy sighed, a half giggle.

Then, more seriously, “What are we, Spike?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

Spike breathed in. He had his nose buried in her hair, and she could tell he was doing more than just taking a deep breath. He was inhaling her scent, immersing himself in her.

He did it again and then started to move.

Buffy wrapped her arms around him.

“Stay.”

“I’m—”

“You’re not too heavy,” she said, anticipating him. “Slayer, remember?”

“Just want you to be comfortable. Could get under the covers.”

“You’re comfortable. And cover.”

Buffy ran her hand over his back, over the soft leather that covered them both in this position. Her right arm came up to the back of his head. She flexed her fingers in Spike’s hair. “You should leave the gel out.”

“Don’t like it with the gel out.”

“Mm, I kind of did. But you should at least leave it out sometimes. Makes it easier to run my fingers through.”

“When you put it like that…”

Buffy giggled.

Spike shifted slightly, and she felt again what was now pushing directly between her thighs. Buffy pressed against him automatically, reacting to the feel of him.

But he didn’t move again, so neither did she.

“Spike?”

“Hm?”

“You know that whole ‘your blood is you’ thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Were you thinking about that at first? When we made the deal? I mean, I didn’t know that. I wasn’t—I mean, it’d be like—” Like you knew you were getting something I wasn’t offering. “Obviously, the blood—” she stammered.

He turned his head to the side, resting it on her shoulder. “You pretty much had me at Slayer blood, love. Didn’t really realize the other until later.” He paused. “Until I realized what you meant.”

“Meant?”

“To me.”

Buffy was silent for a moment. “Oh.”

Spike moved his hand, slowly caressing the skin to the side of her breast. She could almost feel each rib under the pressure of his finger.

“I’m too thin.”

His pinky traced the indentation between two of the bones. “It’s just cause you’re stretched out, is all.”

“Don’t you think I’m too thin?”

“You’re thin, Buffy. I’m not gonna say you aren’t. But you’re hardly skin and bones. Weigh enough, I’ll bet.”

“Yeah…”

Spike slid his hand under her, running it down the firm planes of her back. “So you lost a little padding.”

Buffy closed her eyes for a moment, lost in the feeling of his semi-massage.

“Well, it helped fill out some things,” she said after a moment. “Like designer clothes, for one. I can’t afford any now, so it’d be nice to be able to wear the ones I have. Besides, isn’t…padding, nicer to, well, touch?”

“I s’pose. But it doesn’t matter. I always thought you were a bit thin, anyhow.”

“Any more then and I would have been fat!”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

“You thought I was too thin, even before?”

“Mm-hmm.” He nodded against her. “Told myself I shouldn’t like you at all. Too thin, too blonde—”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I’m a natural blonde.”

“Believe me, love, I know.”

Buffy remembered exactly how he knew that her hair was all the same color. For some reason, even with the position that they were in, she felt herself flushing.

“What else did you think about me, back then?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Well, that you had a nice neck, for one.”

“Noticed all the important things, did you?”

“Vampire.”

“So what else?” she prompted.

“I liked your hair,” Spike said. “Even if you were just another blonde. It looked so…touchable.”

As if to emphasize his point, Spike moved his right hand up her back and brought it to the base of her neck. The crook of his elbow pressed into her side, and the leather of his coat creaked as it rubbed against itself.

His fingers slid into her hair, traveling from the bottom of her skull to the crown of her head. Then they were running through the strands, pulling them out straight in a halo around her head as his hand slipped away.

He propped himself up on his other arm, then spreading out the hair on the side that he’d had his face next to.

Apparently satisfied at his work, Spike appraised her. He smiled one of those genuine smiles. “Besides, you’re missin’ the point.”

“Which is?” she whispered.

“You’re still Buffy to me. It doesn’t matter what you look like.”

Buffy opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“Straight, curvy, hard, soft—it’s still you. Although—” He raised an eyebrow, a half leer— “you really don’t have cause to be complain’ now. Looks pretty good from here. If it bothers you, eat more.”

“I try to be healthy—”

“Like with doughnuts?”

“I eat bad stuff,” she admitted. “But I can’t eat it every day. And you’re the one who keeps bringing me doughnuts.”

“You don’t have to eat all junk. Just eat more.”

“I guess.” Then she laughed. “God, I’m pathetic. I’ve got the reverse problem of every girl who hates her body, a gorgeous guy telling me I’m beautiful, and I still can’t shut up about it. So, I’m just going to.”

“Gorgeous, am I?”

“I always thought you were,” she said. “Though strange, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He smirked.

Buffy sighed after a moment. “I really should sleep. I’m tired.”

Spike slid off her, pulling the comforter up to cover her. Lying down on top of it, he draped one arm across her as he settled next to her on his side.

Buffy curled to him. She smiled. “I feel like a high-schooler—sneaking a boy into my room after dark, having him climb up the tree outside my window.”

“Did that a lot, did you?”

“Never, actually. But don’t people do that? They always do that on TV.” She snuggled into him. “It’s nice sleeping with you.”

Then she froze, realizing what she’d said. She could practically feel Spike grinning.

Buffy quickly looked up at him. “Um, not what I meant. Not that that wasn’t nice—it was! But I just meant this is nice—going to sleep like this. With you here.”

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I know.”

“Do you…think it’s nice?”

“I do.”

“You know you can leave after I go to sleep.”

“I could.” His tone told her that he wasn’t going to.

“But I’ll be asleep. You don’t have to stay.”

“I could stay with you all night.” He was silent a long moment. “Do you know what it means that you sleep in my arms?”

She wanted to say ‘That you’re comfy?’ But she could tell he was being serious. “No…?”

“It means you trust me.”

Buffy frowned. “Of course I trust you. I wouldn’t let you bite me if I didn’t trust you.”

“It wouldn’t be that hard to get me off you, not for you now. But this,” —his hand ghosted over her face— “when you’re unaware, helpless…giving yourself to me to keep until you wake up again… It means something.”

Buffy met his eyes, though they were shadowed in the darkness. “You would never hurt me.”

“Never,” he agreed. “But it still means something.”

“What does it mean?” she breathed.

“It means that you’re mine.”

Buffy was momentarily stunned. He said it so plainly, with finality. The words gave her a shiver, but she wasn’t sure how to respond.

Finally, she managed a timid, “This is the twenty-first century, y’know.” She could tell from Spike’s suddenly rigid posture that whatever he had intended to say, it hadn’t been exactly that.

“I didn’t mean—well, yeah I did…just didn’t mean for it to sound like that. You’re mine to keep safe. To have and hold and l—look after. Didn’t mean that you don’t have your own mind or are dependent. I just—”

“It’s fine. I understand.” She paused. “So if I’m yours, are you mine?”

Spike pulled her closer, and whispered in her ear:

“Forever.”
 
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