Disclaimer: Not mine.
Timeline: AtS Season 5, post corporialization (pre Harmony :P)
Summary: Spike does his vampirely duty and goes to Rome. Spuffy ensues.
Warnings: Un-betaed, pretentious title, excessive shmoop.
A/N: This is my first attempt at fan fiction so… be brutal! Let’s make this learning curve a sharp one people. Plus, I’ve read so much fic that I’m convinced I’ve never had an original idea, but it was fun to do it my way. Thanks to beanbeans for much appreciated encouragement!
He’d been waiting a couple of hours when he heard her stompy little feet on the cobblestones. Spike sighed and shouldered himself slowly away from the wall and right into her scent. He closed his eyes. Buffy smelled of her new perfume, her new city, her new home. No new lover, not yet. But this girl wasn’t grieving on any old ones either.
It’s not like he’d expected anything different. Shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans, he scuffed at some non-existent dirt with the heel of his boot. Every time some damn smelly cabby or snippy ticket seller had asked him where he was going, he’d wondered. Maybe he ought to turn aside, go back. Nothing waited at the end of this road but the pity of the woman he loved (dammit), the ever delightful scorn of her friends, and the satisfaction of ruining one of his better exits.
And every time, some inner voice had kicked his ass for whinging. What was he gonna do, send her a postcard? ‘Dearest Buffy, Guess what? I’m back! Shame about my stones not makin’ the trip, eh? Angel says I’ll never miss ’em. Toodles! Love to Giles.’ No. Just get it done and over with, try not to bollocks it up.
Shouldn’t be too hard. He and Buffy, they understood each other these days. Once he’d done his duty, he could go south, along the coast where the night air was warm and smelt of spices and brine. Work on getting his mojo back with a bevy of lovely ladies. Dark-haired lovely ladies, that found violence off-putting and liked best to run about unshod.
Buffy was almost to the steps now. He could see her maybe, but he was giving the sharp medieval curve of her street, off in the other direction, a good hard look. He heard her foot hit the first step. He turned his head.
And there she was. Her head was bent slightly, her eyes on the steps ahead of her. She seemed distracted, but her forehead was smooth, unconcerned. He heard the muffled jingle of her keys. Her head lifted and she looked him full in the face, wide-eyed. He started.
Christ, she was beautiful.
There were roses in her cheeks. Hell, she had cheeks! And that wasn’t all that was filled out a bit. His eyes moved down over the curves of her breasts and hips to the edge of her flirty little skirt. When last he’d seen her, her legs had been acquiring cuts and bruises faster even than she could heal. Now they looked sleek and flawless all the way down to her little, pink… He yanked his gaze back to her face.
Buffy had stopped at the sight of him. She had an odd smile on her face, but he couldn’t say she looked ruffled or even surprised. Bemused, he watched her climb the remaining steps. She reached out and put her hand on his chest over his heart. Her smile widened into a pleased grin.
“Hey,” she said. Delighted with her, he smiled back.
For a long moment she stood there, smiling up at him, then her eyes dropped to her hand on his chest and her expression changed to something more private. She stepped in to him and her hand slid up, across the point of his collar bone and then it was warm on his throat and around the back of his neck. She tugged his head down and pressed her cheek hard to his.
Well, this was where they’d left off wasn’t it? More or less. He slipped his hands from his pockets and put his arms around her, pulling her in tight.
He’d been right to come. It was worth it, to see her happiness and hold it close for a bit. She sighed and shifted closer, and her other arm slipped around his waist under his coat. Maybe she hadn’t been surprised, but she wasn’t unmoved, and after awhile he quit waiting for her to pull away.
The warmth of her body carried the scent of her up from between them. He was maybe a little drunk on it when she finally tilted her head and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the side of his mouth. Then her lips were closing over his and a warm tongue lapped over his lower lip, and then over the sensitive skin just inside. Not so chaste. And then she was slowly, softly seducing his mouth, and it seemed like there was really nothing for it, but to stand there and let her. She moaned when she finally swept her tongue over his and tightened her grip on his nape.
And then he was kissing her back, slipping his tongue deep inside, so sweet. Damn near every word, every breath made him remember the taste of her. He couldn’t help that. But he hadn’t allowed himself to want. Now the having was– It wasn’t until she arched back and pushed at his shoulders that he realized he’d lifted her off her feet. He relaxed his hold and she wriggled down, making everything he had clench. The sounds she made when his erection bumped against her pubic bone and then pressed hard into her belly almost made him grab her again. And then he was bereft.  She was gone, turning away without a glance. A little fumbling, more jingling of keys, and she had her door open. In a second, she’d be through it and–
He felt her fingers close around his wrist. She looked back at him. Her eyes were so dark. Apparently the invitation there was enough; she tugged him inside without a word.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/98209.html