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This chapter was kinda hard to write...hope you like it anyway.
"She comes every Christmas," he said softly, his voice carrying across the pre-dawn darkness. "We spend the day together and then she disappears for another year."
Buffy tensed when he spoke, butterflies awakening in her stomach. She had been dozing, but when she heard his voice, she was was immediately alert.
"Why?"
"Habit, mostly." He paused and then said almost apologetically. "She left me, I didn't end it."
"And so you rolled over every time she came around?"
Spike ignored the bitchy tone. "Something like that."
"Why didn't you tell me she was coming? Or tell her not to come? Why did you..."
"I don't know, Buffy. I didn't know what to do, and part of me thought that she wouldn't show up at all. It's not like I could just call her--I didn't know where she was."
"But you could have just told me. I came back because you said you would be alone."
"What should I have done Buffy? Say 'Oh yeah, my ex-wife is going to come by on Christmas and fuck my brains out, so don't worry about me. Have a nice holiday'?"
"No, but you could have said 'My whore of an ex-wife will be by, but I'll kick her out before she can lay a skanky hand on me'," Buffy said hotly.
His fingers bit into her hip. "Don't talk about her that way."
Buffy, oblivious to the warning in his voice, pushed on. "Why not? I saw the way she was dressed..."
Angrily, he jumped out of bed. "I don't want to talk about this right now."
"Then you shouldn't have brought it up," Buffy countered.
"You don't know anything about her."
"Are you going to tell me?" Buffy asked, sitting up. "Are you going to tell me all about your tragic love? About how misunderstood she is?" Her anger and her hurt was forcing her to lash out. Even after six weeks, and what they just shared, it still stung.
"Let it go, Buffy."
"No, I won't let it go. Last time I let something go, you nearly fucked your Christmas ho ho ho."
"What do you want me to say, Buffy? I was telling her to leave when you showed up. I was pushing her out of my life for the first time since I met her. It's done ok?"
Buffy got out of bed and walked across the room to him. "How do I know that, Spike? How do I know that she won't show up on the 4th of July? Or next Christmas? Or St. Patrick's Day? How do I know that you've let her go? You're divorced for Christ's sake and she still shows up!"
Spike stubbed out his freshly lit cigarette, his eyes cold. "That is a hell of a thing for you to say to me after tonight."
"I thought there was something between us before Christmas, Spike. Something strong, and that was betrayed."
He grabbed her upperarms. "I didn't betray you, Buffy. Bloody hell, I told her to leave!"
"But you didn't tell me she was coming," Buffy ground out.
"And I'm sorry about that."
They stared at each other, both of them breathing hard, both of them angry.
"Do you still love her?"
"No." As if it were that simple. As if you could turn it off and walk away when you were done, and over a decade of history and sex and laughter and tears could be forgotten for a little girl he knew for just a few short months.
"Do you love me?"
It was that simple.
He answered her by pulling her against her body and smashing her mouth with his, pouring out all the love and lust and anger and frustration, filling her with it, until he was completely empty. Eventually, he tried to break the kiss, but she clutched the back of his head, and refused to let him go.
The bed was only ten feet away, but it felt more like 10 miles, so Spike ignored it. Buffy wasn't too concerned about reaching the bed either. The collapsed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, the carpet only barely cushioning their fall.
Buffy didn't let the kissing distract from her anger, she just allowed it to be redirected from words to physical contact. She landed on top of him when they fell, and she wasn't about to give up her position. When he was firmly beneath her, she bit his lips until he yelped, but he didn't push her away. Her nails scraped down his chest, leaving angry red marks in their wake. She clenched his ribs with her knees to keep him still as she moved from biting his mouth to his neck and chest. They weren't quite hard enough to be painful, but not quite gentle enough to be just foreplay.
He allowed the abuse to continue, letting her have the upper-hand until he felt the tears falling from her face. He rolled her over and covered her with his body, holding her down. Trapping her. When she tried to struggle away from him, he caught her hands and held them above her head.
Spike held her down until she had calmed, capturing each tear with his lips until she stopped crying. The first rays of the morning peeked through the blinds, and fell on her face, making her green eyes shine and sparkle.
Buffy looked up at him, let the weight of his body settle on her, warm and comforting and real. He wasn't hurting her, and Buffy suspected that he would move the second she told him too.
"I love you," he said slowly. The ever-brightening sun highlighted the marks on his face and neck, his swollen lips, and she winced at the evidence of her own anger. He kissed the side of her mouth softly and repeated, "I love you."
She pulled one of her hands free and stroked the side of his face. "I'm sorry."
He caught her fingers with his lips and kissed each of them, before sucking one into his mouth. "Don't be. I'm fine."
"But I hurt you, and I..."
He licked the pulse point on her wrist. "Then we're even, aren't we?"
"She comes every Christmas," he said softly, his voice carrying across the pre-dawn darkness. "We spend the day together and then she disappears for another year."
Buffy tensed when he spoke, butterflies awakening in her stomach. She had been dozing, but when she heard his voice, she was was immediately alert.
"Why?"
"Habit, mostly." He paused and then said almost apologetically. "She left me, I didn't end it."
"And so you rolled over every time she came around?"
Spike ignored the bitchy tone. "Something like that."
"Why didn't you tell me she was coming? Or tell her not to come? Why did you..."
"I don't know, Buffy. I didn't know what to do, and part of me thought that she wouldn't show up at all. It's not like I could just call her--I didn't know where she was."
"But you could have just told me. I came back because you said you would be alone."
"What should I have done Buffy? Say 'Oh yeah, my ex-wife is going to come by on Christmas and fuck my brains out, so don't worry about me. Have a nice holiday'?"
"No, but you could have said 'My whore of an ex-wife will be by, but I'll kick her out before she can lay a skanky hand on me'," Buffy said hotly.
His fingers bit into her hip. "Don't talk about her that way."
Buffy, oblivious to the warning in his voice, pushed on. "Why not? I saw the way she was dressed..."
Angrily, he jumped out of bed. "I don't want to talk about this right now."
"Then you shouldn't have brought it up," Buffy countered.
"You don't know anything about her."
"Are you going to tell me?" Buffy asked, sitting up. "Are you going to tell me all about your tragic love? About how misunderstood she is?" Her anger and her hurt was forcing her to lash out. Even after six weeks, and what they just shared, it still stung.
"Let it go, Buffy."
"No, I won't let it go. Last time I let something go, you nearly fucked your Christmas ho ho ho."
"What do you want me to say, Buffy? I was telling her to leave when you showed up. I was pushing her out of my life for the first time since I met her. It's done ok?"
Buffy got out of bed and walked across the room to him. "How do I know that, Spike? How do I know that she won't show up on the 4th of July? Or next Christmas? Or St. Patrick's Day? How do I know that you've let her go? You're divorced for Christ's sake and she still shows up!"
Spike stubbed out his freshly lit cigarette, his eyes cold. "That is a hell of a thing for you to say to me after tonight."
"I thought there was something between us before Christmas, Spike. Something strong, and that was betrayed."
He grabbed her upperarms. "I didn't betray you, Buffy. Bloody hell, I told her to leave!"
"But you didn't tell me she was coming," Buffy ground out.
"And I'm sorry about that."
They stared at each other, both of them breathing hard, both of them angry.
"Do you still love her?"
"No." As if it were that simple. As if you could turn it off and walk away when you were done, and over a decade of history and sex and laughter and tears could be forgotten for a little girl he knew for just a few short months.
"Do you love me?"
It was that simple.
He answered her by pulling her against her body and smashing her mouth with his, pouring out all the love and lust and anger and frustration, filling her with it, until he was completely empty. Eventually, he tried to break the kiss, but she clutched the back of his head, and refused to let him go.
The bed was only ten feet away, but it felt more like 10 miles, so Spike ignored it. Buffy wasn't too concerned about reaching the bed either. The collapsed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, the carpet only barely cushioning their fall.
Buffy didn't let the kissing distract from her anger, she just allowed it to be redirected from words to physical contact. She landed on top of him when they fell, and she wasn't about to give up her position. When he was firmly beneath her, she bit his lips until he yelped, but he didn't push her away. Her nails scraped down his chest, leaving angry red marks in their wake. She clenched his ribs with her knees to keep him still as she moved from biting his mouth to his neck and chest. They weren't quite hard enough to be painful, but not quite gentle enough to be just foreplay.
He allowed the abuse to continue, letting her have the upper-hand until he felt the tears falling from her face. He rolled her over and covered her with his body, holding her down. Trapping her. When she tried to struggle away from him, he caught her hands and held them above her head.
Spike held her down until she had calmed, capturing each tear with his lips until she stopped crying. The first rays of the morning peeked through the blinds, and fell on her face, making her green eyes shine and sparkle.
Buffy looked up at him, let the weight of his body settle on her, warm and comforting and real. He wasn't hurting her, and Buffy suspected that he would move the second she told him too.
"I love you," he said slowly. The ever-brightening sun highlighted the marks on his face and neck, his swollen lips, and she winced at the evidence of her own anger. He kissed the side of her mouth softly and repeated, "I love you."
She pulled one of her hands free and stroked the side of his face. "I'm sorry."
He caught her fingers with his lips and kissed each of them, before sucking one into his mouth. "Don't be. I'm fine."
"But I hurt you, and I..."
He licked the pulse point on her wrist. "Then we're even, aren't we?"