An Englishman in New York
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,092
Reviews:
76
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,092
Reviews:
76
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Hang On to Yourself
A/N: You didn't REALLY think I'd separate those two, did you? ^_~
Hang On to Yourself
“We all have to die someday, don’t we?”
“Yeah, we all have to die someday.”
The mood had shifted – old tensions and sorrows becoming all but tangible in the relative silence of the dorm room. As he drew deeply on his cigarette, Spike decided that, as it was their last night together as roommates, there was no harm in asking a few questions he had always wanted answered.
“That day after psych, when I tried to carry your bag, you went wonky on me. Why?” he asked somberly, yet as gently as he could.
Her thoughts much the same as Spike’s, she answered without qualms. “When I was living in LA, I was seeing someone… someone older than me, and I had his picture in my backpack. I caught my dad going through it.”
“Oh.” Now more than ever, Spike regretted having searched through her things. Now more than ever, he understood the depths of her betrayal.
“He was so angry when he found out… Since then, I’ve never let anyone but my closest friends touch my stuff,” she finished. “Who… who’s Drusilla?”
“Dru was my girl,” he said cryptically. Unless he had a bottle of Jack Daniels, he wasn’t going to explain all that statement alluded to. Speaking of Dru was emotionally draining even had he wanted to share the burden of his suffering with her. “Who’s Angel?”
Since he refused to give an in depth answer about Drusilla, Buffy kept her own response quick. “He was, I thought, the love of my life. He’s the one Dad didn’t know about. Neither of my parents did, really. They thought he was my tutor.”
“Whatever happened between you two… You deserve better.”
Wondering where this sudden comfortingly supportive side of Spike had come from, Buffy nodded and patted his arm. “You, too. You deserve to be happy.”
With a smile that was more rueful than pleasant, Spike inclined his head and took another drag off his cigarette. “You’re all right, Slayer. You know, when you’re not callin’ me a pig and you do things like kill spiders,” he commented, his tone insincerely light and casual.
Buffy managed a small smile. “You’re not too bad, yourself.” It was ironic, she thought, that two weeks ago they had been at each other’s throats, and now they were opening up – or at least they had opened up to one another as much as they could given the circumstances.
“We should get some sleep.” Spike crushed out his half-smoked cigarette (something, Buffy noted, that he never did unless he was being avoidant), and drew off his boots.
Sliding off the bed and crossing the short distance to her own, Buffy grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms from her drawer and glanced at Spike questioningly. It was their last night as roommates, after all. There was no harm in changing in front of each other now.
Spike understood the unspoken question in her eyes and nodded, peeling his t-shirt off as Buffy slipped out of her blouse, leaving her in a thin white tank top that left very little to his already vivid imagination.
They locked eyes for a moment before she wriggled out of her pants, allowing him a glimpse of golden thighs and black bikini panties before she drew her pajama bottoms on. She glanced pointedly at his jeans.
A scarred eyebrow lifted in answer, and Spike teased, “Don’t think you’re quite ready for that, luv.”
“Oh! Right… Of course not… I mean, not that I wouldn’t, it’s just… yeah.” Buffy cursed inwardly when she felt her cheeks heat, and she slipped under the covers and flipped her light off. “Goodnight, Spike.”
His lips twitched in a smile, and as he climbed under the blanket in his own bed, he realized that, even though they would no longer be roommates, they would always be friends. “G’night, Slayer.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The mood was somber, gleeful, annoyed, and ecstatic all at once as Buffy and Spike pushed their way through the line to glimpse the new roommate assignments listed on the bulletin board. Scanning the list for their student ID numbers, Spike blinked in surprise.
“Did you find yours?” Buffy asked curiously.
“Yeah.”
“Did you find mine?” her tone was worried now.
“Kinda hard not to, seein’ as how it’s right next to mine,” he said with a wry smile, pointing out the pair of numbers to the petite blonde, who had to crane her neck to see the top of the list.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured, secretly thrilled by the sudden turn in events. “I thought you put in a request for a new roommate.”
“Me?! I thought you did!”
Laughing softly, Buffy shook her head. “Nope. I guess this means we’re supposed to be roommates,” she ventured as she turned back toward their room.
“Fuckin’ A,” he agreed. “No one else would be able to tolerate you with your incessant clothes-and-hair-panic-attacks and strange obsession with that stuffed pig.”
She grinned at the teasing note in his voice. “Or you with your smoking and drinking habits and Day-Glo hair.”
“Bint.” He taunted her as they returned to the dorm room.
“Asshole.”
“Bubble-head.”
“Bleached-blonde.”
“It’s good to be home.”
Hang On to Yourself
“We all have to die someday, don’t we?”
“Yeah, we all have to die someday.”
The mood had shifted – old tensions and sorrows becoming all but tangible in the relative silence of the dorm room. As he drew deeply on his cigarette, Spike decided that, as it was their last night together as roommates, there was no harm in asking a few questions he had always wanted answered.
“That day after psych, when I tried to carry your bag, you went wonky on me. Why?” he asked somberly, yet as gently as he could.
Her thoughts much the same as Spike’s, she answered without qualms. “When I was living in LA, I was seeing someone… someone older than me, and I had his picture in my backpack. I caught my dad going through it.”
“Oh.” Now more than ever, Spike regretted having searched through her things. Now more than ever, he understood the depths of her betrayal.
“He was so angry when he found out… Since then, I’ve never let anyone but my closest friends touch my stuff,” she finished. “Who… who’s Drusilla?”
“Dru was my girl,” he said cryptically. Unless he had a bottle of Jack Daniels, he wasn’t going to explain all that statement alluded to. Speaking of Dru was emotionally draining even had he wanted to share the burden of his suffering with her. “Who’s Angel?”
Since he refused to give an in depth answer about Drusilla, Buffy kept her own response quick. “He was, I thought, the love of my life. He’s the one Dad didn’t know about. Neither of my parents did, really. They thought he was my tutor.”
“Whatever happened between you two… You deserve better.”
Wondering where this sudden comfortingly supportive side of Spike had come from, Buffy nodded and patted his arm. “You, too. You deserve to be happy.”
With a smile that was more rueful than pleasant, Spike inclined his head and took another drag off his cigarette. “You’re all right, Slayer. You know, when you’re not callin’ me a pig and you do things like kill spiders,” he commented, his tone insincerely light and casual.
Buffy managed a small smile. “You’re not too bad, yourself.” It was ironic, she thought, that two weeks ago they had been at each other’s throats, and now they were opening up – or at least they had opened up to one another as much as they could given the circumstances.
“We should get some sleep.” Spike crushed out his half-smoked cigarette (something, Buffy noted, that he never did unless he was being avoidant), and drew off his boots.
Sliding off the bed and crossing the short distance to her own, Buffy grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms from her drawer and glanced at Spike questioningly. It was their last night as roommates, after all. There was no harm in changing in front of each other now.
Spike understood the unspoken question in her eyes and nodded, peeling his t-shirt off as Buffy slipped out of her blouse, leaving her in a thin white tank top that left very little to his already vivid imagination.
They locked eyes for a moment before she wriggled out of her pants, allowing him a glimpse of golden thighs and black bikini panties before she drew her pajama bottoms on. She glanced pointedly at his jeans.
A scarred eyebrow lifted in answer, and Spike teased, “Don’t think you’re quite ready for that, luv.”
“Oh! Right… Of course not… I mean, not that I wouldn’t, it’s just… yeah.” Buffy cursed inwardly when she felt her cheeks heat, and she slipped under the covers and flipped her light off. “Goodnight, Spike.”
His lips twitched in a smile, and as he climbed under the blanket in his own bed, he realized that, even though they would no longer be roommates, they would always be friends. “G’night, Slayer.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The mood was somber, gleeful, annoyed, and ecstatic all at once as Buffy and Spike pushed their way through the line to glimpse the new roommate assignments listed on the bulletin board. Scanning the list for their student ID numbers, Spike blinked in surprise.
“Did you find yours?” Buffy asked curiously.
“Yeah.”
“Did you find mine?” her tone was worried now.
“Kinda hard not to, seein’ as how it’s right next to mine,” he said with a wry smile, pointing out the pair of numbers to the petite blonde, who had to crane her neck to see the top of the list.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured, secretly thrilled by the sudden turn in events. “I thought you put in a request for a new roommate.”
“Me?! I thought you did!”
Laughing softly, Buffy shook her head. “Nope. I guess this means we’re supposed to be roommates,” she ventured as she turned back toward their room.
“Fuckin’ A,” he agreed. “No one else would be able to tolerate you with your incessant clothes-and-hair-panic-attacks and strange obsession with that stuffed pig.”
She grinned at the teasing note in his voice. “Or you with your smoking and drinking habits and Day-Glo hair.”
“Bint.” He taunted her as they returned to the dorm room.
“Asshole.”
“Bubble-head.”
“Bleached-blonde.”
“It’s good to be home.”