— У меня правильнописание хромает. Оно хорошее, но почему-то хромает...(с) Винни-Пух.
Chapter 42, Part 2: The Answer
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sourstroodle [ Read the whole story | Read the last installment | Chapter list ]
While Spike tackled his checklist, Buffy cleaned off her plate.
First things first, she quit her job, rented a furnished sublet in Los Feliz, and, in a mutual accord with Lindsey, set an annulment in motion. She told him to keep the loft, the car, and Huey P. Newton -- he was a sweet dog, but Lindsey was undoubtedly his best friend. Buffy had only one major item to claim, and that was Sunflower IV, which she promptly leased to a local museum.
It was a necessary step in the plate-cleaning process: until she'd rebuilt her life and had a home she could truly call her own; until she felt equal to the man who gave it to her, that painting would have to travel the world, for all to see.
She, on the other hand, had to stay put for a while. The gossip rags were casting her as a scheming, gold-digging temptress -- it didn't matter that Spike was technically the homewrecker in the equation. She was hounded day and night for two weeks straight.
Fortunately, when it became clear that no one involved was willing to fuel the fire -- though she suspected Cordelia Chase of an info leak (Revealed: Their Secret Tryst in Hollywood Hot Spot! 'She had him wrapped around her diamond-ring-wearing finger,' says a source) -- the media attention faded and turned to a new celebrity scandal.
The minute she could step outside without being hassled, Buffy went back to work. She signed with a temp agency, joined a gym, and even started taking art classes. No one at any of her new haunts bothered her -- the plus side to living and working in Hollywood, where the famous co-exist with the unimpressed.
As per her terms and conditions, she didn't see Spike. She only spoke to him on the phone every single night. Sometimes twice.
Initially, he was well-behaved, and limited the discussion to the day's events. He had a lot of healing to do -- in his body, his career, and, of course, with Lindsey.
She was proud of him. He knew Lindsey would never completely forgive him, but he opened up to him anyway. All Lindsey had ever wanted was honesty, and the knowledge that Spike truly cared. He got both, and Spike didn't ask for anything in return.
He was finally understanding what it meant to be a father.
The day after his hospital release, he brought Lindsey to Darla, who remained a secret to everyone but them. To Spike's astonishment, she recognized her son immediately. Lindsey wasn't frightened or repelled, he knew what to expect; he just wanted to help her. On the phone that night, Spike broke down, sobbing, lamenting what a fool he'd been. It was Buffy's one and only breach: she jumped in her rental car and drove to his house. But, the hugs quickly led to kisses, and she had to leave.
Not surprisingly, with each passing week, he got friskier. Bolder. He'd ask her what she was wearing, or fantasize about their date, or all-out beg to see her, insisting that he was back in tip-top shape, even the doctor said he was fine now, he'd surpassed all expectations, blah blah blah. Every time he did this she would gather up all of her conviction and say, "Learn to wait."
Incoming call from: Spike
Speak of the impatient devil.
Smiling, she closed her lip gloss wand and picked up the phone. "You're early."
"Don't make me come up there."
"Ah ah ah, you're not allowed." Because Buffy knew that if she saw him anywhere near a bed, she would bring him to it. "This is only our first date."
"A man can knock on a door on the first date, you know. In fact, it's quite common--"
"Sit. Wait. I'll be right down."
He purred, low and sexy, "Whatever you say, ma petite tyrant."
Her eyelids fluttered, and that was just at the sound of his voice.
This was going to be a challenge.
* * *
Spike idled outside of her apartment complex in a classic black and white Austin-Healey convertible, top down, music blaring. Beaming, she scanned the street for paparazzi, and closed her door.
Upon noticing her, he turned off the stereo and got out of the car to wait by the passenger side.
Her knees nearly buckled. He looked better than ever. Healthy, strong, handsome... Radiant, come to think of it. His outfit was simple, a black t-shirt, jeans and boots in accordance with her terms -- Nothing fancy, the opposite of fancy -- but Spike rocked that look So. Hard.
Sparky eyes eating her up, he leaned back to reach into the car, and when she approached him, he held out a single long-stemmed sunflower.
Taking it with a sly grin, she said, "Very nice touch."
"Very naughty dress," he said, brow arched.
"What? It's not pink." That was his only term: Whatever you do, don't wear pink. It wasn't a va-va-voom dress either, it was a totally appropriate first-date halter dress. That showed off a lot of leg.
An area that he was currently tilting his head to gaze at, longingly.
She wasn't faring much better: she'd caught a whiff of his cologne, and needed a moment before she could speak like a normal person. "Aren't you gonna let me in?"
He reached out to touch the dress, stopped himself, exhaled a growl, and cracked his neck. "Right." He opened the passenger door. "Get in, you little... Get in."
Suppressing a giggle, she got in.
Talk about electricity. The night had just begun, and already their sexual tension could power a small country. His proximity caused an immediate physical reaction: her heart thumped, her nipples tightened, her pussy swelled and opened against the fabric of her sheer underwear... This was so not the plan. They were supposed to take it slow.
Buffy crossed her legs and uncrossed them, smoothed her dress over her thighs, and brought the sunflower to her nose. If she didn't want this date to end with an NC-17 rating, she had to start thinking PG thoughts. Flower soft. Smells planty.
Sitting behind the wheel, he teased her with an impish smirk, "Anything wrong, minette? You look a bit ...nervous."
"You, driving," she covered up with a shrug. "Should I be afraid?"
"Only of my raw masculinity." He winked at her and joggled the gear shift. "Gonna let me in on where we're going?"
"Straight, right at the light. Do you even have a license?"
He considered the night sky for a moment. "Probably not."
She laughed, then yelped as he gunned the engine and pealed out.
* * *
"And, I run a multi-billion dollar corporation."
"That's what you do for fun?"
"Nothing's more fun than conquest."
A few months ago, she would have been offended by that remark. Tonight? Aroused was more like it.
Spike, who was always keenly aware of her reactions to him, went about adjusting his rearview mirror. "Also, I own an island and I'm very good in bed."
"Subtle," she said.
"Thanks," he deadpanned. "I've been practicing my small talk."
The smile he flashed at her was contagious. She looked down at her knees.
The traffic light turned green. He pressed forward. "Your turn."
"Well," she said, taming her hair as it whipped in the wind. They passed a cluster of restaurants, Thai, Ecuadorian, Vietnamese... "I like to travel."
"What a coincidence. I have a plane."
"Again with the subtlety."
"Just thought you should know."
"Mm-hm." She pressed her lips together.
"Traveling? Is that all you like?"
"No. I also like ice skating... French pop music -- pre-1970, that is... Seeing classic films in revival theaters..."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You seem surprised."
"I just... didn't know that about you." He looked at her thighs, and back at the road. "I like it."
"See?" She crossed her legs. "Small talk can be informative."
He remained skeptical. "Tell me more."
"Okay, uhm... I'm taking kickboxing now, and that's fun." She smiled. "Recently, I discovered that I really like sailing..."
He gave her a sidelong glance that made her throb.
"I'm also way into modern..." his bicep flexed, and she swallowed, "art."
"Art, you say? Well, what do you know. I happen to have an art foundation."
"Just lying around."
"Yeah."
"A whole foundation," she teased him. "You must know a lot about art."
Another knowing glance. "Not a thing. But I'd like to. I think what I need is someone to teach me how to see it right. Know what I mean?"
He was so cute. She rested a hand on his red leather seatback. "Well, I guess I could. Teach you."
"Could you," he said with a smirk.
She fought an urge to fondle the nape of his neck. "I could try."
"Stop that."
Did he read her mind? She withdrew her hand. "Stop what?"
He pointed at her face. "Looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm made of ice cream."
"Oh, like you're not looking at me the same way?"
"This was your rule, remember? I've gotta get through an entire evening with you without..." he gestured at her legs and made a fist, "bunching up that filmy little gift-wrap box of a dress you're wearing, which you had to know would drive me crazy--"
"I'm not allowed to look nice for our date?"
"--It's not fair, you tempting me like this. I almost died, you know. I deserve a little--"
"Left here."
"Hm?"
"Left turn!"
"Oh." He made the turn. "Where the devil are you taking me? Why's it such a secret?"
"No secret. It's just up ahead, on the right."
When he saw the sign, he let out a guffaw. "I should've guessed."
"Don't knock it 'til you try it," Buffy said, and he pulled into the drive-thru at In-N-Out Burger.
* * *
"Dead good," he decreed after his second bite.
"You're lying just to appease me, aren't you?"
"It's our first date," he said, shaking the burger at her and sucking ketchup off his pinky. "You can't possibly know when I'm lying."
"You always knew when I was."
"Mm. I love hearing you admit you're a filthy fibber."
She focused on the straw in her soda, breaking up the ice. "Not... filthy. I just didn't know how I really felt."
"Tell me about it." He set his dinner down in the cardboard tray, wiped his hands. "Thinkin' you were better off leaving me to find yourself."
"I did think I was better off," she explained. "I thought staying with you would mean I needed a man to feel whole. You know? Someone to take care of me. And I didn't want that, I wanted to take care of myself, and figure it out on my own. But then I realized--" Wait. Should she be telling him this? The answer, now?
Playfully, he prompted, "Go on..."
"It's a little heavy for a first date."
He ducked his head to catch her eye. "Tell me. Please?"
"I realized that together, we could be so..." Gaze locked in with his, the word came easily: "Powerful."
Eyes glazing over, his nostrils flared, his mouth opened and he huffed out an awestruck breath.
She knew what he would say if he could: that she was perfect for him, that she understood him better than any woman ever had, that she'd made all of his dreams come true with that single, deceptively simple statement.
Or, he would say that he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck her into next week. It was all the same to him, when it came to her.
Buffy had hoped to avoid public displays -- the rumors were painful enough for Lindsey, actual photographic evidence would twist the knife. But, she didn't see any cameras in the In-N-Out lot, and Spike closed the top when they'd pulled in, so they had some privacy...
"Kiss me now," she said, and his hand was on her spot before she breathed the last word.
God, six weeks without all of this -- his hands, his mouth, his white-hot passion -- How could she possibly wait another second?
Tongue touching his, she tried to climb into his lap, but there was no room. It was her fault -- she'd told him it had to be the smallest car he had, so they couldn't do this.
"Bloody fucking hell," he said, bunching up her dress. "Come home with me."
She shook her head, pressed her lips against his ear and said, "Come home with me."
He inhaled sharply. "You sure?"
"I stocked up on fresh fruit." She nibbled on his earlobe. "Just in case."
"Right. Off we go."
They shared one more heady kiss, and she fell back into her seat.
"Strap in, kitten." He revved the engine. "Daddy's gonna break some rules."
More to come...
A/N: Up next: sexytimes! So much for a PG rating! (And don't get mad at me for stopping it there. Sometimes smut deserves its own chapter!)
A/N #2: The creative process -- or mine, anyway -- thrives on feedback. It's not about how much I get -- I'm not sitting here counting up all my praise like gold doubloons -- it's just that when I know people are reading (thanks, LJToys stats) but they don't say anything, I assume that the story has disappointed them somehow. Which is fine! -- I don't expect everyone to love where I've gone with this! -- but it's a little frustrating for me when I don't know the consensus. Wow, that was a lot of dashes! All I'm trying to say is, please tell me what you think.
Thank you!P.S. To be notified via email of updates to this story, click on 'track this' below and choose the 'crave' tag.
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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.
@темы: Сперто. Без суда и следствия., spuffy, Spike, Buffy&Angel, Art, Crave, NautiBitz, Buffy, fanfiction