Spuffy Ficlet - It's Okay
Title: It's Okay
Rating: PG
Pairing: Spuffy
Sometimes things aren't the way we dreamed, but it's as close to perfect as we'll get. Set sometime after Chosen, and I'm not sure about his timeline. This just came to me as I went through my Spuffy manipulations. They always inspire me and I bow to those that can create in picture what I can only do with words (hopefully). Thank you and this is dedicated to all of you. Oh and its not beated so forgive me.
Buffy was there.
He knew it the moment he opened his front door. The lovely womanly scent of him attacked him as he stepped over the threshold. It swept over him like a warm embrace of a welcoming lover, swirling around his body, taking her into him as if she'd never been gone.
How long had it been?
He'd lost count somewhere around 1275 days, 13 hours and twenty seconds when he finally allowed his baser natures to take control with another woman. She hadn't been his Buffy and he had to start counting again, but it seemed useless because he'd never see her again.
Yet, here she was…well, somewhere.
His feet were frozen just three inches and three and a half inches over the threshold. If he retreated he would be returned to the familiar hell of his life with the sound of cars and their blaring horns, the smells of gas, foreign foods and people that didn't come close to her in any way.
He opened his mouth to call her name. Just to see if there was a return call, but his mouth opened and closed without a sound. What if he'd finally gone insane and this overwhelming sense of her was just a trick of his hungry mind? He swallowed back his disgust and tried again. Her name issuing from between his lips sounded rusty but still solid.
There was no returning call of his name. At least not her voice saying his name…Spike. God, he used to love it when she would call his name, in battle, in exasperation, in the throes of sexual desire or just to get his attention when he would get lost in one of his countless fantasies of her, but in reply there was a slight rustling…
Of bed sheets?
The gall of her, he thought. He hadn't seen her in years and she just presumed that she could crawl in his bed? Anger spurred him on when wishful thinking, intense need and crazy, stupid love had done nothing to move him. He slammed his front door shut even as his feet decided to move in long strides toward his bedroom. It was a short walk. His apartment, basement apartment was just two rooms. He hadn't needed more, at least until now. She would need a room just for her fucking shoes, he dreamed of them being together, even as he thrust himself into the darkness of his bedroom to confront her daring invasion of his place.
And once again, his feet stopped. Useless buggers, he decided, as he allowed his vision to adjust to the dimness. She was sitting on his bed, fully clothed he saw in disappointment and his libido dimmed its hopefulness just a tad.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Unable to get closer to her, he threw a hand out just to break through the air between them. "Need someone to rescue or babysit Dawn? Perhaps lead you to a monster?" His voice cracked, but he still threw out the last tidbit of sarcasm to prove he wasn't wanting desperately to hold her against him. "Or maybe to die a champion's death for you?"
She hesitated, looking down, but then she glanced up as only Buffy could do with both uncertainty and a general's unwavering watchful command, "Spike."
Nothing but his name. It had been a ridiculous amount of time since he'd heard it and he couldn’t figure out what the hell she wanted by her intonation of it. He rolled his head before returning, "Yeah?"
"I thought I was answering your question."
"What question? I asked a few."
"I want you."
"So, you come all the way from Europe because you want me to service you? Don't think so, lamb." He turned away. It seemed he had a little pride left, after all. "Close the front door on the way out."
Everything stopped when he heard her move, and then a tentative hand landed on his arm. "Not sex, well yeah, I want you, but that's not all, I mean…"
"Quit blubbering," he turned to face her and realized his mistake. She was there. Right there, only inches away, and if she had overwhelmed him before, she was taking everything now. He reached out to steady himself with his hand on the curve of her waist. God, she was still as soft and as hard as she'd ever been. Her eyes were glistening with something he couldn’t figure out and damn it, she was glowing…effulgent. How had he never found a word to rhyme with it? He closed his eyes, but he could still see the beauty of her burned forever in his mind.
"I'm done," she whispered as she seemed to lean into him.
"Woman, would you speak your mind? I'm not in the mood for games."
Well, not word games. It wasn't a lie because a long afternoon of playing with her was different. Wasn't it?
She sighed. Then she was gone. Sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap. He took a step to sit beside her until she could speak her mind, when the words came soft to his ears, but somehow were like a bomb exploding in his mind, and a tornado throwing his heart to somewhere over the bloody, fucking proverbial rainbow.
"May I stay…for good?" She glanced up. Not at him, but at a pile of luggage against the wall that he hadn't noticed before. "I'm done baking."
He barked out a sound of mirth that quickly turned into peals of laughter. Her face turned bright red, but she didn't say anything. Didn't run away or curse him, but only waited. He stopped laughing and said the only thing that a man in his position could, "May I have a taste?"
This time she laughed and it wasn't until hours later that he could form a word to tell her that she was definitely a sugar cookie. Sweet, innocent with all the joys of home and she thanked him by pressing her lips to his once again and wrapping her naked body around his.
It wasn't the grand love scene that he had planned when he was a youth in London waiting for a woman to be his, but it was him and it was certainly Buffy and that was okay by him.
~~The End~~
Rating: PG
Pairing: Spuffy
Sometimes things aren't the way we dreamed, but it's as close to perfect as we'll get. Set sometime after Chosen, and I'm not sure about his timeline. This just came to me as I went through my Spuffy manipulations. They always inspire me and I bow to those that can create in picture what I can only do with words (hopefully). Thank you and this is dedicated to all of you. Oh and its not beated so forgive me.
Buffy was there.
He knew it the moment he opened his front door. The lovely womanly scent of him attacked him as he stepped over the threshold. It swept over him like a warm embrace of a welcoming lover, swirling around his body, taking her into him as if she'd never been gone.
How long had it been?
He'd lost count somewhere around 1275 days, 13 hours and twenty seconds when he finally allowed his baser natures to take control with another woman. She hadn't been his Buffy and he had to start counting again, but it seemed useless because he'd never see her again.
Yet, here she was…well, somewhere.
His feet were frozen just three inches and three and a half inches over the threshold. If he retreated he would be returned to the familiar hell of his life with the sound of cars and their blaring horns, the smells of gas, foreign foods and people that didn't come close to her in any way.
He opened his mouth to call her name. Just to see if there was a return call, but his mouth opened and closed without a sound. What if he'd finally gone insane and this overwhelming sense of her was just a trick of his hungry mind? He swallowed back his disgust and tried again. Her name issuing from between his lips sounded rusty but still solid.
There was no returning call of his name. At least not her voice saying his name…Spike. God, he used to love it when she would call his name, in battle, in exasperation, in the throes of sexual desire or just to get his attention when he would get lost in one of his countless fantasies of her, but in reply there was a slight rustling…
Of bed sheets?
The gall of her, he thought. He hadn't seen her in years and she just presumed that she could crawl in his bed? Anger spurred him on when wishful thinking, intense need and crazy, stupid love had done nothing to move him. He slammed his front door shut even as his feet decided to move in long strides toward his bedroom. It was a short walk. His apartment, basement apartment was just two rooms. He hadn't needed more, at least until now. She would need a room just for her fucking shoes, he dreamed of them being together, even as he thrust himself into the darkness of his bedroom to confront her daring invasion of his place.
And once again, his feet stopped. Useless buggers, he decided, as he allowed his vision to adjust to the dimness. She was sitting on his bed, fully clothed he saw in disappointment and his libido dimmed its hopefulness just a tad.
"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" Unable to get closer to her, he threw a hand out just to break through the air between them. "Need someone to rescue or babysit Dawn? Perhaps lead you to a monster?" His voice cracked, but he still threw out the last tidbit of sarcasm to prove he wasn't wanting desperately to hold her against him. "Or maybe to die a champion's death for you?"
She hesitated, looking down, but then she glanced up as only Buffy could do with both uncertainty and a general's unwavering watchful command, "Spike."
Nothing but his name. It had been a ridiculous amount of time since he'd heard it and he couldn’t figure out what the hell she wanted by her intonation of it. He rolled his head before returning, "Yeah?"
"I thought I was answering your question."
"What question? I asked a few."
"I want you."
"So, you come all the way from Europe because you want me to service you? Don't think so, lamb." He turned away. It seemed he had a little pride left, after all. "Close the front door on the way out."
Everything stopped when he heard her move, and then a tentative hand landed on his arm. "Not sex, well yeah, I want you, but that's not all, I mean…"
"Quit blubbering," he turned to face her and realized his mistake. She was there. Right there, only inches away, and if she had overwhelmed him before, she was taking everything now. He reached out to steady himself with his hand on the curve of her waist. God, she was still as soft and as hard as she'd ever been. Her eyes were glistening with something he couldn’t figure out and damn it, she was glowing…effulgent. How had he never found a word to rhyme with it? He closed his eyes, but he could still see the beauty of her burned forever in his mind.
"I'm done," she whispered as she seemed to lean into him.
"Woman, would you speak your mind? I'm not in the mood for games."
Well, not word games. It wasn't a lie because a long afternoon of playing with her was different. Wasn't it?
She sighed. Then she was gone. Sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap. He took a step to sit beside her until she could speak her mind, when the words came soft to his ears, but somehow were like a bomb exploding in his mind, and a tornado throwing his heart to somewhere over the bloody, fucking proverbial rainbow.
"May I stay…for good?" She glanced up. Not at him, but at a pile of luggage against the wall that he hadn't noticed before. "I'm done baking."
He barked out a sound of mirth that quickly turned into peals of laughter. Her face turned bright red, but she didn't say anything. Didn't run away or curse him, but only waited. He stopped laughing and said the only thing that a man in his position could, "May I have a taste?"
This time she laughed and it wasn't until hours later that he could form a word to tell her that she was definitely a sugar cookie. Sweet, innocent with all the joys of home and she thanked him by pressing her lips to his once again and wrapping her naked body around his.
It wasn't the grand love scene that he had planned when he was a youth in London waiting for a woman to be his, but it was him and it was certainly Buffy and that was okay by him.
~~The End~~