Chapter 33: Talk
awesome banner by midnite_holic
[ Read the whole story | Read the last installment | Chapter list ]
A/N: Dear reviewers: I LOVE YOU. That is all.
"Keep quiet."
That was easier said than done.
"Bring your knees to your chest."
She raised her knees.
"Let me in, nice and deep."
"Mmnh!" She bit her lip.
"Can't even help it, can you?" Spike gruffed, "You better pray he doesn't wake up."
Buffy raised the covers to peek at the partition wall. The noisy fan was still running in the living room, but was that enough to mask the sound?
"What would you do if he found us like this?"
She closed her eyes, dropped her head back.
"If he found me fucking you in your married bed?"
Bedsheets shrouding her quivering lips, she gasped.
"Would you stop me? Or would you let me finish?"
She huffed into her duvet.
His breath coming faster and stronger, he asked, "If I touched your spot while he's watching, slack-jawed, would you quiver in my arms and come?"
Oh, God... Probably. She whimpered.
"I think you would, baby."
Inhaling deep, she whispered, "Make me."
"Oh, I will," he promised through clenched teeth, "You know I will."
Buffy rolled her hips in circles, arched and bowed. "Kyah... Keep talking."
"...you as close as I am?"
"Closer."
"Prove it," he said in French. "Come on my cock while your idiot husband sleeps in the next room."
With a muffled cry, Buffy stiffened, convulsed, and finally went slack.
Remember when there were lines you wouldn't cross?, she pondered as she caught her breath. Now you'll do anything for a good toe-curl.
She wiped her slippery hand on her sheets, found the phone she'd lost in the commotion and put it to her ear to whisper, "Don't call him names."
Spike chuckled, also out of breath. "Sorry."
She burrowed further under the duvet, touching the sheet above her as if it was his skin. "Did you?"
"Did I ever." He exhaled. "Nice way to start my day."
She checked her phone display. 2:30am; seriously past her bedtime. "Is it still raining?"
"Cats and dogs."
"Wow." She was so thirsty. "I hope you brought a strong umbrella. Or a hard hat."
"Got a trampoline hat. Little buggers bounce right off."
A husky laugh escaped her throat. "That works, too."
Wistful, he said, "Wish you were here."
She imagined him showing her his childhood haunts and splashing through puddles in big, yellow galoshes. "Next time."
"Any time."
Sliding sweat-pasted tresses out of her face, she said, "I should sleep."
"I should wake up."
"'kay. G'night," she said, and amended, "Morning. G'mornight."
"Good mornight, minette. Call me later?"
"Mmhm," she said, nestling into her cozy pillow. "I..."
Tongue-tip frozen on the roof of her mouth, her eyes bugged. Whoa, sleepy brain. Where do you think you're going?
Gently, he prodded, "You...?"
"Will," she said, revising that rogue sentence of doom. "I will call you later."
Mercifully, he didn't press. "Sleep tight, pet."
She knew she should hang up, but then she'd be alone with her guilt... and that was always depressing. "Where's your meeting?"
"At my hotel, just across the river."
"Okay. Be careful of the bridge."
"Bridge?"
"London Bridge. I don't think it's very stable."
He humored her with a deadpan, "You do hear about it falling down."
"Yeah. A lot. So," she let her eyes close again, "careful of the bridge, and the animal cracker rain... and oh, Jack the Ripper. Don't go anywhere with him."
"I don't believe I'm his type, but I'll try to steer clear."
"No time machines, okay? No... phone booths... with the... fluffy elephants..."
"Baby," he said, matching her dreamy tone, "you're falling asleep."
"Mm." With a grin, she roused momentarily to say, "I love your voice. Tell me a story."
She didn't hear a reply, so she said, "Hello?"
He cleared his throat. "Once upon a time," he began, "there was a little boy named... Guillaume."
"Hmm."
"No similarities to any persons living or dead."
"Uh huh."
"There was only one thing Guillaume wanted in all the world..."
"A golden ticket?"
"A pencil."
"A pencil? Lame."
"Not just any pencil. A magic pencil," he said, "that could erase and rewrite all that ever was, all that is, and all there'll ever be."
Oh. Wow. "Wait. Tell me this when I'm awake."
"This is a bedtime story, love. I'll be very cross if you stay awake."
The fact that he couldn't see her coquettish smile didn't stop her from making one.
"'Only fifty-nine pence', said the advertisement in the comic book, 'and you can draw yourself a better life'." Spike sounded as if he was moving around, getting dressed as he spoke. "Guillaume wanted this very much, but he hadn't any money. So every night, he took one penny from his mother's purse, and hid it in an old sock inside a floorboard under his bed."
He'd paused, probably to check if she'd fallen asleep. "Not yet."
"He worried that she'd find it somehow," he continued, "but she never did. Seventy-one days on -- that's with shipping and handling -- he was able to send for it. Trouble was, he didn't read the fine print -- 'please allow six to eight weeks, et cetera' -- and he couldn't understand why, one month later, it still hadn't come. So, he gave up. He had to face life as it was: there was no magic destiny-changing pencil, it was all bollocks, and he'd risked his hide for nothing."
He was listening for her again. "But then it came?"
"And then it came. Only he wasn't expecting it, right, so his mum got to it first. She shouted at him, 'Guillaume, what did I tell you about buying this rubbish?' Then she opened it, took one look at the pencil, and snapped it in half."
Buffy pouted. "I hope there's magic glue in this story."
"Close," he said. "Magic tape."
"Yay."
"But the magic tape was at a shop, far across town... and Guillaume wasn't allowed out on his own."
Fighting sleep's undertow, she said, "It's got a happy ending, right?"
"Yes, Buffy," he assured her in soothing tones, "it's got a very happy ending."
"Mmmn..." Satisfied with that, she drifted off with the phone propped against her ear, his storytime voice lulling her to sleep.
What came from whose imagination, she wasn't sure, but that night she dreamt a fantastical tale in which young Spike erased his mother, drew himself a horse-and-buggy, rode a dolphin's back across the English channel, jumped on pencil-drawn trampolines to sign his name on buildings all the way from Paris to Hong Kong, sketched a tightrope over the Pacific Ocean and unicycled across it until he crash-landed in Avalon Harbor... where he was found by Mermaid Buffy and revived with a single kiss.
* * *
Buffy shut Lindsey's office door and tried not to look the way she felt; like a kid in trouble with the principal. "What's with all the secrecy?"
"I have a favor to ask you." Lindsey sat her in one chair and pulled up another, facing her. "Doug and Elsa want to take us out to dinner tonight."
The big bosses? "Us? What for?"
"I think I might be getting a promotion."
"Oh. Wow. I didn't know there was an opening."
"There's not. I kinda leveraged the Wolfram & Hart offer, which, granted, makes me feel a little douchey, but..." He sat back. "There's a lot more I could be doing here, you know? I want bigger cases. I mean, my work on Alvarez proved I can handle them..."
More work, longer hours? All Buffy got from that was More Spike. She nudged his knee with hers. "Look at you, go-getter."
Humbly, he shrugged. "So, y'know, they want to get to know us better, see us outside of work..."
Her sleep-deprived brain finally caught up. This was a stability check.
"Will you come?"
Would she play Happy Couple for a night so he could get his promotion? "Duh. Of course I will."
* * *
Lindsey drove down another block in search of a parking space. "Thanks for coming out with me tonight."
"Will you stop saying that?" Buffy said with a good-natured smile. "This isn't a chore for me. I want to support you."
"I guess I'm nervous." He squeezed the steering wheel. "I feel real good about this, though."
"You should! You're finally seeing your value and taking a stand for yourself. I mean honestly? If it took Wolfram & Hart to make you see that, then I finally see the value in them."
"Oh, don't thank Wolfram & Hart. Thank my shrink."
"Your shrink?" His shrink? "Does she moonlight as a lifecoach?"
He chuckled. "No, she writes books. There's one in my gym bag back there."
She reached into the duffel in the back seat and fished out a hardcover. Shadow Children: The Psychological Impact of the Silver Spoon, by Dr. Eve Ainsworth-Thompson. Wow. Buffy hated her already.
"It's kinda changed my life," he said.
The back cover photo wasn't helping. "She's young." Also pretty. And smart, and accomplished...
"She's thirty-six."
And photoshopped, apparently. "Is she married?"
Lindsey took his eyes off the road to flash her a look.
"She's got two names, that's all," Buffy said, and pointed at the passing sidewalk. "Spot!"
He hit the brakes and backed into the parking space, saying, "It's one of those old-money British hyphenates, I think."
"Oh, she's British."
"Her Dad is. She was born here."
"Wow. You just keep having things in common."
"Buffy," he said, and turned off the car. "I'm seeing a therapist, like you wanted me to. I'm trying to get better for you, so you'll take me back. If you think I'd screw that up by messing around with her, you're... Well, you're just looking for something to hate me for."
When did he become so perceptive? Was it the therapist? "I... didn't think you were messing around. And I wouldn't hate you even if you were."
"I'm not." He reached out for her hand, but she quickly withdrew to unclasp her seatbelt. He sighed. "Look. I want to give you all the space you need so we can get past this, but you gotta trust that I won't be dicking you over in the meantime. Can you give me that?"
Mouth tight, Buffy thumbed her wedding ring. "Yeah. I can give you that."
* * *
Drunk on Pinot, they giggled all the way home, up the elevator and down the hallway, poking fun at Doug's lisp.
"Thith ith a very theriouth thuppothition." Lindsey tried that again. "Thuppothithon?"
"Eltha, thtop thplitting hairth!"
Sagging into one another in hysterics outside of their apartment door, Buffy remembered when they were like this all the time. It was nice.
"I found the keyth," he said, raising them up as if they were Excalibur.
"Thucctheth," she said, wiping the laugh-tears from her eyes.
He opened the door. "I have a new client roster! Holy shit."
"I'm so proud of you, Lind," she said, and then they were inside, and there was a warm hug, and she was buzzed and giddy...
"Thank you," he said meaningfully, looking into her eyes. "You're an amazing woman."
Before she could make sense of anything, their lips met. Then their tongues... then his hands... one of which was nearing her spine...
Suddenly, she let out a strange sound -- alarm? fright? -- halted his arms, and turned her head to the side.
It wasn't even voluntary. Her body wouldn't let her do this.
As the rejection sank in, Lindsey frowned at the floor, nodded, and stepped back.
"Sorry," she whispered, unable to meet his gaze.
"Don't be," he said, and cracked his knuckles. "I get it. I'm just gonna... go jerk off in the shower again."
He walked away, and Buffy leaned against the coats, feeling like a traitor.
* * *
"Morning, gorgeous."
"Shouldn't answer the phone like that," she sing-songed, out of habit.
"Oi, who is this hideous troll waking me at the crack of dawn?"
"I take it back," she said snidely. "I like 'morning gorgeous' better. Even if it is only midnight here--" A loud truck drove by.
"Where are you? Are you outside?"
"I needed to get out," she said, adding defensively, "I'm with the dog."
"At midnight? Buffy--"
"Skid Row. I know. Believe it or not, Huey terrifies most grown men."
He sighed. "Right then. What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I can't call to say hi? Or, you know, 'cheerio'?"
"You said you 'needed to get out'."
Did she? She was no good at this. "Yeah. As in, I needed to clear my head. Work-type stuff." She changed the subject. "How was your meeting?"
"Pointless. Are you sure you're all right?"
God, even from six thousand miles away, he could read her like a book. It was maddening. "I'm fine. It's nothing, really, I just..." His signature shone down at her from the Pratt Hotel tower. "I miss you."
There was a pause. "Yeah?"
She smiled. "I guess."
He tutted. "You guess. I'll be back by lunchtime. Spend an hour with me?"
Yes. Wait. Crap. "I can't."
"You can't?"
"I promised..." Lindsey was her husband. Why couldn't she say his name? Or kiss him?
"Fine. Dinner, then."
"I..." Doug and Elsa had suggested that because she handled most of the major cases, she should help Lindsey prep for his promotion.
"You promised him the whole day?"
"Kinda. But it's not, it's just--" Oh, god what was wrong with her?
"Promise me the next day, then."
"I'll try."
"You'll try? Promise me."
"I want to, but, I don't--" She'd called him to calm her anxiety, not make it worse. "We'll talk. I have to go."
* * *
"That's you," Lindsey said. "Line three."
She bent across his desk to answer her forwarded call. "Buffy Summers."
"Is he near you?"
Her skin prickling at the sound of Spike's voice, she froze in place.
"Say something, love," he said curtly, "or he'll get suspicious."
Buffy glanced sidelong at Lindsey and said, matter-of-factly, "Yes."
In French, he asked her, "Do you still miss me, minette?"
She stood straight and tried to breathe normally. "Yes."
"I've been thinking of what I'll do to you when I see you next."
She gulped.
"I think I'd like to put you on display."
Nervously, she picked up a pen. "Right."
"I think I'll bugger you up against the window, so if someone were to look up, they might see what a nasty little whore you are."
Okay, that was uncalled for. Yet hot. "I'm sorry, what?"
Measuredly, he said, "You will press your tits against the glass while I fuck your tight, molten asshole, and you will love every second of it. Say 'yes, sir'."
Her clit throbbed. She blinked. Lindsey was deep in his reading. "Yes, sir."
"When I've had enough, you'll get on your knees, and you'll suck my cock. For all the world to see."
Lindsey glanced at her, so she scratched her neck, turned away from him and said as naturally as she could, "Right. Okay."
"You're mine, Buffy." He breathed in. "Say 'yes, sir'."
"I'll let you know," she said, and quickly hung up.
* * *
"Are you scared?"
"Yes."
"What are you scared of?"
"Unh... That someone... might see..."
"Someone like...?"
Buffy shut her eyes, pressed her forehead to the windowpane and whispered, "Lindsey."
"Louder."
She grit her teeth. "Lindsey."
He shook her. "Louder!"
"Lindsey!"
"Ohhh..." Breath tremulous, Spike rubbed his head against hers, deepened his thrusts. Bit her ear. "He'll never know you like I do."
Buffy swooned and keened and quivered. Felt so good.
"He will never know you like this. Say it."
"He'll... hunh!... He'll never know me like this!"
They hadn't discussed it. She'd let him wonder. Assuring him that her marriage remained non-physical would only lead to more demands, and Buffy wanted this to stay exactly as it was.
When she'd arrived at the suite, he'd ordered her to the wall of windows. Made her undress right beneath the Pratt logo, had her wait there, naked, pressed against the glass, dripping in anticipation, until he was ready.
"You're mine," he said, for all the world to see.
Read on... >>
A/N: *presses you against the glass* If you enjoyed this, you will leave a comment! Say 'yes, sir!' *giggles girlishly*
*is not very good at dominating*
A NOTE ABOUT PLAGIARISM: Don't do it. Call me crazy, but I don't like finding my hard work pasted into other people's stories. If I find out you've plagiarized me or any other author, I will make sure everyone knows it. If you're not clear on what 'plagiarism' means, the definition is here.