Put the Masks Away
Buffy had insisted on going to “The Bronze”, saying she wanted an Apple Martini and to dance since her head had begun to feel better. Spike had argued that at that point it seemed nearly impossible that she’d be able to dance in the first place.
She held onto Spike’s hand as they entered through the crowded doorway and she kept turning around every few seconds while they squirmed through the crowd of bodies, to tell him that he would have to dance with her. Spike shook his head no and held her hand in the air as they passed a group of college guys who were drinking way too much Budweiser. They reached the bar, still in tact and he was proud that she hadn’t stumbled or fallen.
“Well that was bloody hell,” he blurted out referring to the effort it had taken just to get to the bar. Buffy had already dropped her hand from his. Her back to him, as she waved to the bartender who immediately smiled at her, making Spike want to punch the young man in the face.
“Apple Martini,” Buffy called out over the music, which was blasting from the sound system. Live bands had become rare as far as “The Bronze” was concerned since anyone with brains didn’t want to come within ten miles of Sunnydale, let alone play at one of it’s infamous clubs. She turned her body around to face Spike. “Want something?” she asked knowing he would say no. Spike responded by shaking his head in the exact way she had already predicted in her mind.
Someone bumped Spike from behind, shoving him into Buffy. Her chest met his, bones crashing into one another and their eyes locked. She placed her hand on the indent of his waist and stopped herself from leaning up and kissing him, feeling the heat that had transpired between them hours before, erupting between them once again in the inevitable way it always had. She smiled as he put his hands on the counter, leaving her with no escape, not that she needed one. Surprisingly enough, she could tell that it was him who was nervous instead of her. During their walk through town, as well as, the tumultuous walk to the bar, holding his hand, her nerves had melted away. Why deny what I really want? she thought, and stood on her tippy toes and surprised him with a razor-sharp kiss.
Spike reciprocated by dropping his hands from the bar’s smooth surface and positioned them on the small of her back, pressing her closer to him. She tasted different, a mixture of vodka from her lips and tongue and raspberries emanating from her hair. He wished at that instant that he was alive, just for that kiss so that he could know what it was like to feel a pulse beating as fast and as hard as her’s was. Somehow the idea of it, made the kiss cavernous, never ending. He buried his wet tongue into her mouth, mingling, dancing with her own sultry tongue. She could feel her lips growing numb and the sounds in the club glided away.
Spike could make out the song humming over them. Must be your skin that I’m sinking in. Must be for real, cause now I can feel. The lyrics were perfect. He was sinking into her, forgetting the past, drowning himself in her lips, lifting the hem of the small baby blue tank top he’d ripped from her skin earlier and ran the inside of his hand up and down her back. She grew hotter underneath his fingertips and pressed her clothed body nearer to his, driving him wild in the process. If they hadn’t been standing there, he would’ve slipped his hand into the back of her jeans and teased her in the delicious delectable way she was tantalizing him. She moaned into his mouth, pulling onto his shirt and making a ball of fabric with her fist.
They were rudely interrupted by the bartender who was saying ‘miss,’ over and over again but had been masked by their ever-growing passion for one another that was bursting at the seams. Buffy broke the sweltering kiss and threw a few bucks onto the counter from her back pocket, glaring at the bartender, annoyingly, for ruining a perfectly good kiss. “Dammit,” she shrieked, downing the drink in one gulp and then licked her lips. “C’mon,” she said, taking Spikes hand in hers feeling the yearning piercing through her insides. She wanted him and not just his lips on hers, she needed him inside of her because it was the only thing that would make the sting in her muscles go away. He enfolded his fingers over hers, feeling the sweat that was indented in the curves of her soft hand.
“What? – Where?” the words came out fast as she dragged him through the crowd once again except this time towards the door. “You want to leave?” questions still formed on his lips, completely oblivious to her motivation. Spike was suddenly more aware of how strong she was now that she seemed to have sobered up. His hand was growing red from her clenched fingers. “Ow,” he got out before they’d made it outside.
She hauled them past a group of girls and she stopped, shoving Spike into the brick wall burning her lips into his. His eyes widened then closed to appreciate the feel of her body urging him on as he bit her lip, causally tugging at it. He opened his eyes to a pleading look of longing in her eyes. Buffy was growing impatient. It was obvious to him but before he had time to react she was unbuttoning and unzippering her jeans, shoving his hand next to her hot, wet skin.
“I need you,” she whispered, biting back a scream as his fingers slid into her. He knew her body better than his own, the curves, what made her tick and what didn’t. He’d never truly wanted to give her pleasure for her own benefit, mostly it had been to maintain something from her, gain access into her life. They had fucked time and time again and her flesh was not an obstacle to him but he knew this was different. The look in her eyes was unlike all the times before, even earlier that night. Buffy wanted and needed him the same way he wanted and needed her. It wasn’t about love, at least not at that point. It wasn’t about pain either and in more ways than one, it made him more inclined to dig deep down inside of her because the time might not ever come again where he got the chance to feed his own want.
Buffy breathed hot air onto his neck as he pummeled his fingers around inside of her. She clung onto him with her arms and bit into his neck trying to prevent herself from screaming in gratification. She ran her tongue over where she’d already bruised him. Spike closed his eyes feeling the breeze from the midnight air wash over them. The sound of the music from “The Bonze” chimed in their ears. I needed us. When we wanted us less. I could not kiss just regress. Her lips brushed past his. He licked her bottom lip, biting into it gently as to not render any blood. He sucked on it, bringing it nearer to his own bottom lip where he inserted his tongue into her succulent mouth.
Buffy slithered her sweat-drenched hand into his pants and he gasped in her mouth, taking his free hand and placing it on the back of her head. They smacked their lips together, over and over again while he untangled her ponytail and enveloped her golden locks with his fingers. She played with the zipper of his jeans, signaling that she was ready for him to become a part of her. Could’ve been easier on you. He removed his hand from her insides as she gave him another insistent look and as quickly as it had started he found himself entering her with the effortlessness that had been consistent in their sexual encounters. Buffy sucked in a gasp of breath when his lips left hers and he sunk into her. Spike picked up her legs and circled them around his waist.
The alleyway had grown quiet; time seemed to melt away as he thrust into her, fast, and then slow, following her jerks. Buffy didn’t close her eyes. She stared at him, one hand against the brick wall, her nails breaking as she pressed them into the crevasses where mortar had been positioned inside each brick. The other hand was inside his shirt, near his collarbone, stroking his skin with her fingertips. Spike forced himself down into her, freeing his left hand from her waist where he was keeping her balanced and reached up inside her shirt to her bra and pushed the elastic aside, rubbing her nibbles which made her squirm sinking her teeth into the other side of his neck, making a new bruise.
“Spike,” Buffy panted pulling him closer. He repositioned her legs and bent his knees thrusting himself upwards into her until he felt her legs buckle around him, squeezing him harder as she reached her climax. The craving for him wasn’t dying. She’d hoped that if she got him alone even if it was outside where people could’ve caught them that she would get over the need to have him inside her. Buffy made circles with her body, around his erection until she felt shivers run up her spine. Her muscles tensed with excitement and then collapse when the orgasm was over. “Fuck,” she breathed not letting him go. She wasn’t satisfied although she knew he most likely could go another round she was too nervous and the drunkenness that had been affecting her before, was slowly returning.
“You okay?” he asked, his eyes skimming over her, waiting for a reaction. Buffy bobbed her head dizzily making sure he understood she was all right, relieved. “Okay,” Spike smiled timidly, taking himself out of her and zippering up her pants, patting them lightly before zippering his own pants. She grinned back at him, fixing her hair and tucking loose strands behind her ears.
Buffy could tell he was panicky and since she felt the same way it was hard for her to articulate her own feelings into words. She wanted him to understand that it wasn’t about sex. That she’d just needed to be close to him. She wanted him in a way that wasn’t just talking or pretending that they didn’t want to kiss. She just desired a certain sexual intimacy so that she did not have to feel so alone and responsible anymore. She knew that Spike was often very good at taking on her emotions even if it was short-lived and she was thankful for that. The reason it wasn’t about sex for her was because she couldn’t imagine being that way with anyone else anymore. Her friends saw it, her sister saw it but she denied that what she felt for him was anything close to love even if it was. Subconsciously she understood that, yet she was not ready to face that fact.
“Do you…” he trailed off pointing to the bronze’s door.
Buffy opened her lips that still had his taste permeating them, causing her to lose her train of thought for a brief moment. “No,” she answered knowing he was about to ask her if she wanted to go back in. “Lets just walk for a little while,” and with that she pulled the straps of her tank top up on her shoulders.
Spike took a cigarette out of the pack of cigarettes that had been wedged in his left pocket, and stuck it in his mouth. Buffy made contact with his jeans and heaved her hand into his pocket, taking out his silver plated lighter. She flicked the top and pulled back the spin that executed fire. Her free hand blocked the wind that was barreling down on them as she lit his cigarette. She watched him inhale the tobacco easily. She slanted her head to the side, staring at him lovingly.
Spike didn’t catch the look, though it was probably for the best.
He didn’t want to have to return to walking around on eggshells with her just to protect the fact that this night had happened. “Thanks,” he said as she handed the lighter back to him. He blew smoke into the air, making strangely shaped triangles saunter up to the clouds.
“Yep,” Buffy replied as her heals clicked along the pavement, hands bouncing at her sides. Spike watched her out of the corner of his eye, smiling to himself. She looked so innocent, walking beside him. It was the first time he’d seen her look happy over something that didn’t involve Andrew running around like a maniac. He laughed to himself, shaking his head as he tapped the ashes of the cigarette to the ground. “What?” Buffy asked referring to his laugh.
“I was just thinking about Andrew,” he answered not realizing how it sounded. Buffy raised her eyebrows inquisitively. “Not that way,” Spike stumbled over his words while peeking over at her expression.
Buffy started to laugh. “I didn’t know you had those kind of feelings for him,” she hit him lightly in the ribs spinning on her heels before he grabbed her shirt, making her stop in her tracks. “Hey,” she cried out brushing his fingers off her shirt and smoothing out the wrinkles.
“I thought you looked happy” he paused. “The last time I really saw you smile was when Andrew was running around with some hot pockets,” he whispered, tossing the cigarette to the ground and crunching out the line of smoke with his boot.
The look came again. Her eyes glistening with pure love. “Oh,” and she was sure that if she smiled any wider her jaw would break apart. “I am happy,” she answered the question that had been hanging in the air for some time. “With you,” Buffy finished, smirking at him taking his hand in hers. Spike clasped his fingers around hers, knowingly. “I only wish it could last,” and sadness dripped from her lips. The idea that they would have to return to the world where she needed to make believe that she did not want to touch him, feel him or even really be around him made her inconsolably sad.
They walked along in a heavy silence for some time, just the sound of their shoes snapping along the street and the whishing of their arms swinging together. Buffy stretched her fingers every few paces, while tracing the scars on his knuckles. They were similar to her own blemishes.
They fed off the other’s unhappiness and each step that guided them closer to her house made their walk slower. Buffy sighed every so often, gazing up at the stars that were peaking through a blanket of clouds She resisted the urge to pull him down on the dry grass on someone’s front lawn, persuade him to lay on his back with her and stare up at the sky because it would just hold up the inevitable journey back to reality.
“Maybe when this is all over we could go somewhere,” Spike didn’t look at her just let the words fall from his lips. Buffy knew what he meant and she wanted to believe that there would be an “after”, so she went along with the idea in her head, imagining them somewhere other than Sunnydale, drinking wine and him smoking cigarettes at night.
“That would be nice,” Buffy commented, smiling up at him while bumping him with the side of her hipbone. He instinctively draped his arm around her waist, hugging her closer to him.
When he’d told her a some time ago that it was still about her, he’d meant that and he didn’t think that his actions would ever express anything else. Although, in the mean time, he’d never imagined that they would act the way they were now, regardless of the sexual encounters. Something was changing between them and he felt more hope than he had before. Spike still wasn’t expecting anything from her. He’d even try not to take it personally if she ignored him the next day.
“What are you thinking?” her voice interrupted his thoughts as she blocked him from moving any further down the road that wasn’t unexpectedly vacant. She’d learned over time to read his countenance since neither one of them were good at communicating through talking. She stuck out her bottom lip, jokingly in a manner that reminded him of the little girl that was wasting away inside of her; the one that would die off at some point from all the stress of her life. He’d always thought there was something fatally wrong with Angel when he was in love with Buffy, until he’d realized how vulnerable and beautiful she could be, then it all made sense.
Spike’s arm had fallen from her waist and he placed the palms of his hands on her bare shoulders. “Cold love?” he asked, rubbing her cold flesh even though he’d barely be any help in warming her up.
Her green eyes twinkled. He hadn’t initiated a kiss all night long but looking into her eyes, then down at her lips, made him tilt down and without much thought kissed her in a way that made him scared for his undead life. Buffy kissed him back while his hands tugged on the strands of her hair lying loosely on her shoulders. Her lukewarm hands found their way to his cheeks and tugged him closer.
Their lips met like a perfected “on-screen” kiss, one that actors would be asked to recreate time and time again in big budget films. The small streetlights tapped on and off. If someone had seen them from their bedroom window they would’ve smiled. Buffy and Spike were fixed in a tender, loving position. Their arms curled down to the other’s hips, lips entwined as if, were they to break apart, a spell would be broken. No one would’ve suspected that they could not reach the pinnacle of happiness that was dancing all over them. The kiss happened to be the most passionate so far, milked with the intense desire to never let the other go. Alcohol lingered on their lips but soon they would break apart in complete wretchedness.
Once the kiss ended, Buffy licked the saliva off her lips and brushed the hair that had fallen into her eyes, away from her eyelashes. She stared at him with an intensity, aching for so much more; an eternity of things that would not come. A tear fell from her eye and she quickly swiped it away, hiding her pain and frustration with a fake smile.
There were a thousand things that were running through Spike’s brain. The fact that daylight would come soon, being one of them as the moon faded slowly into the feathery clouds. He was haunted by the idea that he would never get to kiss her again. The overwhelming dread made him want to turn around, run back to town and raid the now closed liquor store for anything and everything to drown his sorrows in. Spike had tried so often to convince himself that all he needed was to be near her, to know that she believed he could be a better man but it was a lie. He wanted more, he always would and they both knew it, partly because she desired the same thing, something he’d never imagined until that night.
“I don’t know if I could’ve done the whole crypt and the white picket fence deal anyway,” Buffy snorted through her un-fallen tears, grabbing a hold of his hand. Spike was grateful he didn’t have a heart, wondering if it would’ve caused him more pain. If being human made it all harder. At the same time being human wouldn’t have put them in this predicament in the first place.
Spike silently cursed himself over and over in his brain for all the wrongs he’d done, for all the things he would never have and for loving a woman he could never fully give everything to. The alcohol didn’t change that or the sex and kisses but it still left him with some shred of hope that they would be okay, that their connection was deeply rooted, overriding time and agenda.
“Yea. Me either,” Spike answered smiling meekly, slouching his shoulders a little bit, sadly.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/84049.html