For the Sake of the Song (8/17)
Buffy ducked into a dark alley between a greasy spoon and one of the pawnshops. She opened a heavy metal door and glanced back at him for the first time since leading him out of his house into the night. She didn’t say anything, just held the door open for him to pass by her into a narrow staircase. They walked slowly up the stairs together in a ringing silence to a door adorned with a cheery ceramic flower and a placard reading ‘2E’. Buffy unlocked it and stepped across the threshold.
“Here we are,” she said. “Home sweet home.”
The apartment was one not-very-large room. A mini fridge and a hotplate on a rickety table standing next to a minute pantry and sink, plumbing exposed, comprised the kitchen area. A full-size bed dominated the wall opposite the kitchen. The dingy walls were, for the most part, bare. The only decoration, the only thing that made William believe this was Buffy’s home, was a large framed photograph of Buffy with an attractive blond woman and a younger, dark-haired girl. They sat beneath a cedar tree in dappled sunshine; they all had the same bright smile.
“Your mum?” He gestured to the picture.
Buffy nodded.
“Who’s the Little Bit?”
“That’s, um, that’s my sister.” Buffy turned to close the door, effectively hiding her reaction from William.
“And where is li’l sis?” He didn’t move or look away from his perusal of the family portrait. He thought Buffy’s smile was blinding now? It was nothing to the smile on the carefree girl in the picture.
Buffy sat down on the bed. “Iowa. Our aunt Darlene volunteered to take Dawnie. She left a few weeks ago. She really didn’t want to leave.” She paused. Her voice, when she spoke again, was very quiet. “I didn’t want to let her go.”
“And why aren’t you with your family?” William glanced at her.
Her shoulders dropped. “Wasn’t invited. I’m too much trouble.”
William was suddenly at her side. “Now I don’t believe that for a minute, kitten,” he murmured in her ear as he pulled her snug against him.
She shrugged his arm off her shoulders. “Well, believe it,” she snapped. “As if getting expelled wasn’t enough, I got busted for underage drinking. Darlene wants nothing to do with me. And obviously I can’t be trusted with a twelve year old.” She laughed bitterly and swept her gaze around the bleak room. “Where the hell would I even put a twelve year old? This is no place for a little girl.”
“This is no place for you, pet,” he commented before he could stop himself.
Buffy turned her snapping eyes on him. “I don’t need your pity!” Tension poured off her in palpable waves. William edged away from her slightly.
“You don’t have it,” he said calmly. “I don’t have to feel sorry for you to know that you deserve so much better than this.”
Her mood changed in an instant. Her eyes darkened and she swung herself across his lap, pressing her hips down as her fingers deftly opened the first three buttons on his shirt. “Tell me what it is I deserve, then, Mr. Pratt,” she demanded.
William was spooked. He grasped her upper arms gently and held her away from him. “Uh, Buffy, what are you doing?”
She bent forward and kissed him very softly. Her hips ratcheted downwards; at his gasp, her tongue slipped into his mouth. His grip on her arms relaxed as her lips trailed across his jaw to latch onto his ear. “I want to not feel so sad right now, William,” she whispered. “I want you to make me feel better.” She sat back on his lap. He eyed her warily. “Please,” she added in a husky voice. She balanced above him, her loose curls cascading around her face and shoulders.
William let a few strands slip like liquid silk through his fingers. “How she let her long hair down over her shoulders, making a love cave around her face,” he quoted softly.
“What’s that?” Buffy stilled above him, her eyes wide. He felt a flush rise in his cheeks.
“It’s from a poem,” he admitted sheepishly.
“You’re reciting poetry to me?” Buffy asked. He nodded, abashed, and she pressed her slight weight against him so that they fell together to the mattress. “Yes, please,” she laughed in his ear.
It took nothing more than him declaiming the poem with his mouth against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, for her to come, hard, screaming his name.
***
William stared blankly at the ceiling, tracing idle circles on Buffy’s shoulder. His thoughts were in a jumble. The one thought coming through clearly was this: he very much doubted that just now having sex with the endearingly persuasive girl lying in his arms had been a good idea. A sigh escaped him. Buffy’s head lifted off his chest; she rested the sharp point of her chin on his sternum.
“What are you thinking right now, Will?” she asked earnestly. Her clever hands made one long swoop down his sides, from his armpits to the crest of his hipbone.
William rolled them so they were lying face to face on their sides. “Do you feel better? Happier?” he inquired.
Buffy bit her bottom lip. “Happier,” she said finally, contemplatively, as if it were an alien concept. Her eyes were very green. “Well, yes, I am. It’s all relative, isn’t it?”
“Is that… is that what we’ve been about? Helping you feel better when you’re sad?” He tried not to sound accusing. It was difficult.
Buffy rose to her knees and faced him. “Is that what you think? Of us? Of me?”
William opened his mouth but she covered it with a hand before he could speak.
“The first time… yes, William, I was using you to forget about my mother and the fact that I was losing my sister, too. But you’ve already figured that out.” He nodded silently. She twisted her hands together on her naked thighs. Then her hands were grasping his face between them and he was mesmerized. “I cannot tell you how thankful I am every. single. day. that it was you I chose. Do you honestly think someone else would have treated me the way you did? I know how I was acting that night.”
William nodded again. His chest hurt. He circled her delicate wrists with his thumbs and forefingers. “Jesus, Buffy,” he exhaled.
“What did I say to you right before we left the bar?”
William looked down at her hand and then slowly back at her laughing eyes. He felt a grin crack his face. It began to sink through his drunken haze that this girl was seriously coming on to him.
"You’re a bloody miracle worker, kitten. How can I ever thank you?”
She leaned over with the sweetest smile, pressed her lips to his ear, and gave him a stirring suggestion for exactly how he could best express his gratitude.
“I want to ride you at a gallop until your knees buckle. I’ve got muscles you’ve never even dreamed of; I want to squeeze you till you pop like warm champagne, and hear you beg me to hurt you just a little bit more. Think that’ll make us even?”
He swallowed hard, closed both their tabs - hers was impressively large for such a little chit - and they were gone.
Buffy laughed delightedly when he repeated her words verbatim.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “What? ‘S not the sort of thing a man forgets.”
“I learned that from my cousin. She guaranteed it would be memorable. Guess she was right.” Buffy leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I don’t think she intended me to use it on a perfect stranger, of course. I really am lucky it was you. Don’t think I don’t know that. But yeah, I was using you. I’m sorry about that, because you deserve better than that. Since then, Will… since then, it’s always been about us. Not about you making me feel better. The fact that you make all my bad feelings go away? That’s just a Buffy Summers bonus.”
William scooted back in the bed, resting his back against the cool plaster wall. He pulled Buffy into his arms, and she relaxed against his chest, tugging his arms tightly around her middle. She held his hand in both of hers. “Can’t imagine anyone wantin’ to hurt you, pet,” he muttered. He buried his face in the curve of her neck.
Buffy took a deep breath and sidled out of his arms to perch on the edge of the bed. William took in her profile, waiting for her to speak, move, anything to indicate that he hadn’t just said the completely wrong thing.
“Something you wanna talk about, Goldilocks?” he said finally.
Buffy smiled wanly as she nodded. “Yes. Just, can you not look at me when I tell you?”
William was in front of Buffy in a flash, his hands on hers where they clutched her knees, his eyes fixed on hers. "You listen to me," he said with passion, "you say anything to me that you need to. ‘S not gonna make me change my mind about you. I know it’s only been a few weeks, I know we barely know each other, but I don't need to know what’s your favorite color or who your childhood hero was. I don’t need to know any more about you than I do right now. I know you, Buffy. You’re a good, sweet girl with a kind heart. So don't you think there's anything you can tell me that's gonna make me think otherwise." He released her hands and took a seat next to her on the bed, looking pointedly straight ahead.
“Pink,” she said quietly. He shot her a questioning glance and she smiled. “My favorite color.” She was quiet then for a long time. Her voice, when she began talking, was steady and calm. “I promised my mom, just before her surgery, that I would take care of Dawn. Hell, I made that promise the day my parents brought her home from the hospital. It was my job to make sure she was safe. But I can’t do it anymore.”
William gripped the edge of the mattress firmly in his hands and resisted the temptation to pull her into his arms. He dared a glance in her direction. She was staring at the floor, her long locks hiding her face.
“Don’t look, please, Will,” she said.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“He would leave her alone when I was around. I… I made sure he noticed me, not her. But it stopped working.” She took a shuddering breath. “So I sent her away.”
A silence fell between them. After a minute, William finally felt free to speak. “Who’s,” his voice caught, “who’s ‘he’, Buffy?”
“Ted.” Her voice was full of venom. “My stepfather.”
William couldn’t feel his feet, or he would have stood up. It took him a moment to form more words. “The bruises,” he said finally. “They were because of him.” He felt stupid even saying it aloud, but he needed to hear it from her.
“Yes.” She touched his hand lightly, briefly. “They got married when I was eleven. He was… he was nice. He was there for us the way our dad should have been. He bought me and Dawn bikes for Christmas. He helped with our homework, he came to all our school plays, he got Dawnie a kitten for her seventh birthday...” Buffy stopped again. She stifled a sob.
William closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He trembled with a powerless rage.
“I heard Dawn crying in the middle of the night, and found him in her room. It wasn’t even a week after Mom’s funeral.” Buffy stood and paced back and forth between the bed and the sink. “I tried to hit him, and he just laughed at me. Said he could do whatever he wanted and no little girl was going to stop him.”
She came to a halt in front of him. He met her eyes and read the trepidation there. He reached for her hand and pulled it blindly to his lips. Buffy pulled away slowly and sat down next to him once more. When he turned to look at her, she merely shook her head. He looked at his feet side-by-side with hers.
“I told him I would do anything he wanted, as long as he never, ever touched Dawn again. He agreed. That lasted until almost two months ago. I couldn’t keep her safe any longer. So now Dawn’s gone and I’m here.” She sighed heavily.
William shook his head. “I… I don’t know quite what to say, pet,” he said honestly. He felt her stiffen and turned to her. “Buffy, couldn’t you have turned him in? Gotten help from someone, anyone?”
Buffy shrugged. “I still wouldn’t have my sister,” she said. Her voice was flat. “She’d be in foster care, or with our aunt, or god forbid, with one of his sisters. That’s part of it. I didn’t know where Dawn would end up. He’d adopted her. She was so little when they got married, and he asked if he could be her new daddy, and she said yes.” For the first time, Buffy started crying, big silent tears that streaked unnoticed down her face. “I promised I would take care of her. I tried. I tried. But I’m so tired of it, Will. And I’m glad she’s gone,” she added fiercely, sitting up very straight. “I’m happy every day that she’s not here, because it means I’m free.” A great, wracking sob tore through her.
William felt something give in his chest. He put an arm around his girl and pulled her onto his lap. She trembled like a windblown leaf in his arms. He stroked his hands soothingly up and down her back and whispered nonsense into her tangled hair. Buffy murmured something into his chest.
“What was that?”
She pulled away from him slightly and took one of his hands in both of hers, turning it over and tracing the lines on his palm. She wouldn’t look at him. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me anymore,” she repeated. “Just, please, stay tonight. I can’t… The thing I hate the most is being alone.” Her big eyes wavered up to his.
William crashed his lips against hers, snugged her against him so tightly he felt the breath squeeze out of her. “Told ya, kitten,” he whispered. “Not gonna make me change my mind about you.” He scooted back on the bed, Buffy still in his arms, and lay down with her on top of him. He tugged the comforter over their naked bodies. They were asleep in minutes.
***
William woke before her and eased out of bed slowly. A quick peek through her cupboards and fridge turned up nothing he considered edible. His next stop was the bathroom, where he was unsurprised to find a salon-worthy collection of creams, lotions, and soaps. With a grin, he snapped on the shower and crept back into the other room to wake Buffy.
“C’mon, pet,” he murmured in her ear. She batted him away. He changed tactics and leaned in closer. She was being stubborn. He recited “may i feel said he” in its entirety before Buffy was out of bed and in the shower with him.
He came into her slowly, enjoying the little gasps and moans she emitted as she enveloped him in her warmth. He pressed her back up against the tile wall. She arched away from the cool surface, much to his delight; her breast was now conveniently located for him to teasingly flick one pert nipple with his tongue. He moved inside her once, twice, three times. He braced his forearms on the wall on either side of her head and pressed against her firmly. Then he stilled within her.
“D’you feel me, Buffy?” he demanded hoarsely. Her head was thrown back and she gave no answer. He licked a hot path down her extended throat. “I asked,” he said as he bit at her pulsating jugular, “d’you feel me?”
She nodded. She managed to open her eyes and stare at him with something very close to awe. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders; her legs cinched around his waist in an effort to make him move.
“D’you feel like you’re alone, Buffy? Is this what alone feels like? Or d’you feel me here with you?” He took her ear in his teeth and moved his hips in a slow, maddening circle.
“Oh, god, you’re here, Will,” Buffy sobbed. “You’re here, stay here with me, oh my god, Will.” Her legs spasmed around him and she reached one hand down between them, searching for her release.
“Naughty, Buffy,” William scolded, stopping her errant hand. But he took pity on her and began thrusting rhythmically into her. She came, screaming and clutching his hair, in no time.
When she could breathe evenly again, the water was cold and they had both begun to shiver. William let her slide down his body, keeping one arm wrapped around her waist as her knees wobbled, and turned off the spray.
It was while he was toweling her dry that she finally spoke. “I lied before,” she said. William’s hands stopped and he sought her eyes. She was grinning at him. “The blue of your eyes, William, that’s my favorite color.”
Continued in Chapter 9: Dreams
“Here we are,” she said. “Home sweet home.”
The apartment was one not-very-large room. A mini fridge and a hotplate on a rickety table standing next to a minute pantry and sink, plumbing exposed, comprised the kitchen area. A full-size bed dominated the wall opposite the kitchen. The dingy walls were, for the most part, bare. The only decoration, the only thing that made William believe this was Buffy’s home, was a large framed photograph of Buffy with an attractive blond woman and a younger, dark-haired girl. They sat beneath a cedar tree in dappled sunshine; they all had the same bright smile.
“Your mum?” He gestured to the picture.
Buffy nodded.
“Who’s the Little Bit?”
“That’s, um, that’s my sister.” Buffy turned to close the door, effectively hiding her reaction from William.
“And where is li’l sis?” He didn’t move or look away from his perusal of the family portrait. He thought Buffy’s smile was blinding now? It was nothing to the smile on the carefree girl in the picture.
Buffy sat down on the bed. “Iowa. Our aunt Darlene volunteered to take Dawnie. She left a few weeks ago. She really didn’t want to leave.” She paused. Her voice, when she spoke again, was very quiet. “I didn’t want to let her go.”
“And why aren’t you with your family?” William glanced at her.
Her shoulders dropped. “Wasn’t invited. I’m too much trouble.”
William was suddenly at her side. “Now I don’t believe that for a minute, kitten,” he murmured in her ear as he pulled her snug against him.
She shrugged his arm off her shoulders. “Well, believe it,” she snapped. “As if getting expelled wasn’t enough, I got busted for underage drinking. Darlene wants nothing to do with me. And obviously I can’t be trusted with a twelve year old.” She laughed bitterly and swept her gaze around the bleak room. “Where the hell would I even put a twelve year old? This is no place for a little girl.”
“This is no place for you, pet,” he commented before he could stop himself.
Buffy turned her snapping eyes on him. “I don’t need your pity!” Tension poured off her in palpable waves. William edged away from her slightly.
“You don’t have it,” he said calmly. “I don’t have to feel sorry for you to know that you deserve so much better than this.”
Her mood changed in an instant. Her eyes darkened and she swung herself across his lap, pressing her hips down as her fingers deftly opened the first three buttons on his shirt. “Tell me what it is I deserve, then, Mr. Pratt,” she demanded.
William was spooked. He grasped her upper arms gently and held her away from him. “Uh, Buffy, what are you doing?”
She bent forward and kissed him very softly. Her hips ratcheted downwards; at his gasp, her tongue slipped into his mouth. His grip on her arms relaxed as her lips trailed across his jaw to latch onto his ear. “I want to not feel so sad right now, William,” she whispered. “I want you to make me feel better.” She sat back on his lap. He eyed her warily. “Please,” she added in a husky voice. She balanced above him, her loose curls cascading around her face and shoulders.
William let a few strands slip like liquid silk through his fingers. “How she let her long hair down over her shoulders, making a love cave around her face,” he quoted softly.
“What’s that?” Buffy stilled above him, her eyes wide. He felt a flush rise in his cheeks.
“It’s from a poem,” he admitted sheepishly.
“You’re reciting poetry to me?” Buffy asked. He nodded, abashed, and she pressed her slight weight against him so that they fell together to the mattress. “Yes, please,” she laughed in his ear.
It took nothing more than him declaiming the poem with his mouth against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, for her to come, hard, screaming his name.
***
William stared blankly at the ceiling, tracing idle circles on Buffy’s shoulder. His thoughts were in a jumble. The one thought coming through clearly was this: he very much doubted that just now having sex with the endearingly persuasive girl lying in his arms had been a good idea. A sigh escaped him. Buffy’s head lifted off his chest; she rested the sharp point of her chin on his sternum.
“What are you thinking right now, Will?” she asked earnestly. Her clever hands made one long swoop down his sides, from his armpits to the crest of his hipbone.
William rolled them so they were lying face to face on their sides. “Do you feel better? Happier?” he inquired.
Buffy bit her bottom lip. “Happier,” she said finally, contemplatively, as if it were an alien concept. Her eyes were very green. “Well, yes, I am. It’s all relative, isn’t it?”
“Is that… is that what we’ve been about? Helping you feel better when you’re sad?” He tried not to sound accusing. It was difficult.
Buffy rose to her knees and faced him. “Is that what you think? Of us? Of me?”
William opened his mouth but she covered it with a hand before he could speak.
“The first time… yes, William, I was using you to forget about my mother and the fact that I was losing my sister, too. But you’ve already figured that out.” He nodded silently. She twisted her hands together on her naked thighs. Then her hands were grasping his face between them and he was mesmerized. “I cannot tell you how thankful I am every. single. day. that it was you I chose. Do you honestly think someone else would have treated me the way you did? I know how I was acting that night.”
William nodded again. His chest hurt. He circled her delicate wrists with his thumbs and forefingers. “Jesus, Buffy,” he exhaled.
“What did I say to you right before we left the bar?”
William looked down at her hand and then slowly back at her laughing eyes. He felt a grin crack his face. It began to sink through his drunken haze that this girl was seriously coming on to him.
"You’re a bloody miracle worker, kitten. How can I ever thank you?”
She leaned over with the sweetest smile, pressed her lips to his ear, and gave him a stirring suggestion for exactly how he could best express his gratitude.
“I want to ride you at a gallop until your knees buckle. I’ve got muscles you’ve never even dreamed of; I want to squeeze you till you pop like warm champagne, and hear you beg me to hurt you just a little bit more. Think that’ll make us even?”
He swallowed hard, closed both their tabs - hers was impressively large for such a little chit - and they were gone.
Buffy laughed delightedly when he repeated her words verbatim.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “What? ‘S not the sort of thing a man forgets.”
“I learned that from my cousin. She guaranteed it would be memorable. Guess she was right.” Buffy leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I don’t think she intended me to use it on a perfect stranger, of course. I really am lucky it was you. Don’t think I don’t know that. But yeah, I was using you. I’m sorry about that, because you deserve better than that. Since then, Will… since then, it’s always been about us. Not about you making me feel better. The fact that you make all my bad feelings go away? That’s just a Buffy Summers bonus.”
William scooted back in the bed, resting his back against the cool plaster wall. He pulled Buffy into his arms, and she relaxed against his chest, tugging his arms tightly around her middle. She held his hand in both of hers. “Can’t imagine anyone wantin’ to hurt you, pet,” he muttered. He buried his face in the curve of her neck.
Buffy took a deep breath and sidled out of his arms to perch on the edge of the bed. William took in her profile, waiting for her to speak, move, anything to indicate that he hadn’t just said the completely wrong thing.
“Something you wanna talk about, Goldilocks?” he said finally.
Buffy smiled wanly as she nodded. “Yes. Just, can you not look at me when I tell you?”
William was in front of Buffy in a flash, his hands on hers where they clutched her knees, his eyes fixed on hers. "You listen to me," he said with passion, "you say anything to me that you need to. ‘S not gonna make me change my mind about you. I know it’s only been a few weeks, I know we barely know each other, but I don't need to know what’s your favorite color or who your childhood hero was. I don’t need to know any more about you than I do right now. I know you, Buffy. You’re a good, sweet girl with a kind heart. So don't you think there's anything you can tell me that's gonna make me think otherwise." He released her hands and took a seat next to her on the bed, looking pointedly straight ahead.
“Pink,” she said quietly. He shot her a questioning glance and she smiled. “My favorite color.” She was quiet then for a long time. Her voice, when she began talking, was steady and calm. “I promised my mom, just before her surgery, that I would take care of Dawn. Hell, I made that promise the day my parents brought her home from the hospital. It was my job to make sure she was safe. But I can’t do it anymore.”
William gripped the edge of the mattress firmly in his hands and resisted the temptation to pull her into his arms. He dared a glance in her direction. She was staring at the floor, her long locks hiding her face.
“Don’t look, please, Will,” she said.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
“He would leave her alone when I was around. I… I made sure he noticed me, not her. But it stopped working.” She took a shuddering breath. “So I sent her away.”
A silence fell between them. After a minute, William finally felt free to speak. “Who’s,” his voice caught, “who’s ‘he’, Buffy?”
“Ted.” Her voice was full of venom. “My stepfather.”
William couldn’t feel his feet, or he would have stood up. It took him a moment to form more words. “The bruises,” he said finally. “They were because of him.” He felt stupid even saying it aloud, but he needed to hear it from her.
“Yes.” She touched his hand lightly, briefly. “They got married when I was eleven. He was… he was nice. He was there for us the way our dad should have been. He bought me and Dawn bikes for Christmas. He helped with our homework, he came to all our school plays, he got Dawnie a kitten for her seventh birthday...” Buffy stopped again. She stifled a sob.
William closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He trembled with a powerless rage.
“I heard Dawn crying in the middle of the night, and found him in her room. It wasn’t even a week after Mom’s funeral.” Buffy stood and paced back and forth between the bed and the sink. “I tried to hit him, and he just laughed at me. Said he could do whatever he wanted and no little girl was going to stop him.”
She came to a halt in front of him. He met her eyes and read the trepidation there. He reached for her hand and pulled it blindly to his lips. Buffy pulled away slowly and sat down next to him once more. When he turned to look at her, she merely shook her head. He looked at his feet side-by-side with hers.
“I told him I would do anything he wanted, as long as he never, ever touched Dawn again. He agreed. That lasted until almost two months ago. I couldn’t keep her safe any longer. So now Dawn’s gone and I’m here.” She sighed heavily.
William shook his head. “I… I don’t know quite what to say, pet,” he said honestly. He felt her stiffen and turned to her. “Buffy, couldn’t you have turned him in? Gotten help from someone, anyone?”
Buffy shrugged. “I still wouldn’t have my sister,” she said. Her voice was flat. “She’d be in foster care, or with our aunt, or god forbid, with one of his sisters. That’s part of it. I didn’t know where Dawn would end up. He’d adopted her. She was so little when they got married, and he asked if he could be her new daddy, and she said yes.” For the first time, Buffy started crying, big silent tears that streaked unnoticed down her face. “I promised I would take care of her. I tried. I tried. But I’m so tired of it, Will. And I’m glad she’s gone,” she added fiercely, sitting up very straight. “I’m happy every day that she’s not here, because it means I’m free.” A great, wracking sob tore through her.
William felt something give in his chest. He put an arm around his girl and pulled her onto his lap. She trembled like a windblown leaf in his arms. He stroked his hands soothingly up and down her back and whispered nonsense into her tangled hair. Buffy murmured something into his chest.
“What was that?”
She pulled away from him slightly and took one of his hands in both of hers, turning it over and tracing the lines on his palm. She wouldn’t look at him. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me anymore,” she repeated. “Just, please, stay tonight. I can’t… The thing I hate the most is being alone.” Her big eyes wavered up to his.
William crashed his lips against hers, snugged her against him so tightly he felt the breath squeeze out of her. “Told ya, kitten,” he whispered. “Not gonna make me change my mind about you.” He scooted back on the bed, Buffy still in his arms, and lay down with her on top of him. He tugged the comforter over their naked bodies. They were asleep in minutes.
***
William woke before her and eased out of bed slowly. A quick peek through her cupboards and fridge turned up nothing he considered edible. His next stop was the bathroom, where he was unsurprised to find a salon-worthy collection of creams, lotions, and soaps. With a grin, he snapped on the shower and crept back into the other room to wake Buffy.
“C’mon, pet,” he murmured in her ear. She batted him away. He changed tactics and leaned in closer. She was being stubborn. He recited “may i feel said he” in its entirety before Buffy was out of bed and in the shower with him.
He came into her slowly, enjoying the little gasps and moans she emitted as she enveloped him in her warmth. He pressed her back up against the tile wall. She arched away from the cool surface, much to his delight; her breast was now conveniently located for him to teasingly flick one pert nipple with his tongue. He moved inside her once, twice, three times. He braced his forearms on the wall on either side of her head and pressed against her firmly. Then he stilled within her.
“D’you feel me, Buffy?” he demanded hoarsely. Her head was thrown back and she gave no answer. He licked a hot path down her extended throat. “I asked,” he said as he bit at her pulsating jugular, “d’you feel me?”
She nodded. She managed to open her eyes and stare at him with something very close to awe. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders; her legs cinched around his waist in an effort to make him move.
“D’you feel like you’re alone, Buffy? Is this what alone feels like? Or d’you feel me here with you?” He took her ear in his teeth and moved his hips in a slow, maddening circle.
“Oh, god, you’re here, Will,” Buffy sobbed. “You’re here, stay here with me, oh my god, Will.” Her legs spasmed around him and she reached one hand down between them, searching for her release.
“Naughty, Buffy,” William scolded, stopping her errant hand. But he took pity on her and began thrusting rhythmically into her. She came, screaming and clutching his hair, in no time.
When she could breathe evenly again, the water was cold and they had both begun to shiver. William let her slide down his body, keeping one arm wrapped around her waist as her knees wobbled, and turned off the spray.
It was while he was toweling her dry that she finally spoke. “I lied before,” she said. William’s hands stopped and he sought her eyes. She was grinning at him. “The blue of your eyes, William, that’s my favorite color.”
Continued in Chapter 9: Dreams