Chosen

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Chapter 2: Right Here
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The speed of his movement startles Buffy, even after all these years. Her hands freeze on the next button as she looks up into his dark blue eyes. His platinum hair catches the light, glowing in the dimness. Spike starts to place his hands over hers. He hesitates, pulling back slightly, before moving them forward again, covering her hands with his own, stilling them.

“Buffy. Are you sure?” His body reacts to touching her, an internal fire suddenly flaring to life, and Spike struggles to remain calm. His hands shake slightly.

“I’m sure. Don’t get shirty with me.” Buffy cracks a wide smile, instantly breaking the nervous tension.

“Give the Slayer a new word and she takes pleasure mangling the bloody English language. You’re not even using it right, luv.” Spike laughs.

“Don’t really care, Spike. Plus, now I think you actually are getting shirty.” She bites into her bottom lip, studying his face. The seriousness of what she came to the basement for is returning quickly, despite their brief bout of playfulness. Buffy moves her hands out from under Spike’s, turning one of his to reveal the medallion still clutched there. “Any ideas what this is going to do?” She knits her brow, looking up at him.

Thankful for a moment’s distraction from the urges of his body and heart, Spikrugsrugs. “None. So far, it’s just a shiny bauble. Can’t imagine it’s going to stay that way, though.” He strives to sound offhand, but his worry is palpable in the cool, dark room.

Buffy peels open Spike’s fingers to see the amulet better. She runs one fingertip over the jewel inside, watching it glint in the moonlight. When she looks back at Spike, her eyes are shiny, wet. She looks back down quickly and her voice is so quiet, he can barely hear her. “I’m...scared, Spike.”

Spike slips one finger under Buffy’s chin, tipping her face up to meet his gaze again. “Buffy, luv, you can do this. You’re...”

Buffy cuts him off. “No. Not for me. I’m not scared for me. Well, I am...but that’s not what I meant.” She darts her eyes down and back up, searching his serene blue look. “I’m scared...for you.” Taking a deep breath, Buffy closes her eyes slowly and then opens them, locking her eyes onto his once again, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t want to...I don’t want to lose you.”

Spike is struck dumb for a few seconds. He opens his mouth, but still can’t find words, so lets it close again. Buffy covers the pendant in his hand with her own. “I wish I could take this thing back...but I can’t. You are the one.” Her grip tightens, pressing the jewel between their hands. Spike is left further adrift than before. He has the surreal feeling of watching this conversation from a distance. How can Buffy be saying these words to him? He said those very words to her the other night. She is the one. He’s not the one. He’s Spike, the vampire. The hopeless, obsessed, stalker vampire. Right? Only he knows it’s not true anymore. He hasn’t been that vampire in a long time. He can’t hide in that disguise. Buffy has found him out. Dragged him into the light to be the man he can be. She believes in him. She believes in the man. She believes he is a Champion. And her belief is allowing him to believe it, too. The movement of Buffy’s hand on his snaps Spike back into the moment.

His voice is firm, confident. “No, Buffy. You’re right. You can’t take it back. It’s mine now. No matter the...cost.” His eyes well suddenly, as it hits him that taking this power on could him him, and that in dying, he would lose her right when he’s finally found her. There’s no way this bauble is just going to make him stronger. He knows full well how magic works. There are always consequences. Always. She knows it, he knows it.

Buffy’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as she continues to look at him. The feelings she cannot share are there for him to see. There for the world to see, if they want to look. Spike wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her so much the taste of her burns his throat. His whole body hums in desire. At the same time, she has come to him tonight. It is her move to make, the next step is hers.

He can see the decision made in her eyes. A light clicks on as her hand takes the amulet away from him. As Spike begins to protest, she places it on a small table. “Just keeping it safe.” They mutely decide to put the tears aside with it for the moment. Buffy’s hands light on the next button of her blouse, her eyes never leaving Spike’s. The tears there are burned away by a growing heat emanating from her body. Spike can feel the waves off her skin, warming him. The next button is open and Buffy’s shirt is held closed by just one lone pearl button. They both look at it, hard. Spinowsnows if she opens it, it won’t be long before their bare bodies are entangled. If she freezes, the whole thing is a train wreck. Even before her hand moves down the few inches to the button, he knows the answer. It is written across her face, oand and wanting. As her finger slips the button through the hole, she moves a step closer to him. The force of the heat is palpable and Spike instinctively takes a step back. She moves to him again and again, he matches her with a step backwards. It is not a retreat as much as a dance, a mirroring. Her shirt undone, Spike reaches out with one finger, slightly unsteady as he closes in on her skin. She moves to him again, closing the distance with one step, so that his finger collides with her breastbone. He flinches away, but then brings his fingertip back to the same spot. He trails down her skin, marveling again at how perfect she is, how buttery and golden and smooth. And warm. Warmth like the rising sun. Which, luckily, isn’t rising for quite a few more hours.

Buffy shudders, his light touch maddening in its erotic, but chaste way. Spike’s finger dips lower, circling her belly button before turning and sliding all the way back up the strip of bare skin exposed by her open shirt. As his finger continues up her neck, she lifts her chin, reacting to the path and pressure exerted by that one finger. Buffy’s heart is in her throat, her thoughts a jumble. Is this really happening? Has she come to Spike’s bed, such as it is, to make love? Not to fuck or assuage some lasting sorrow, but to love him? To let him love her? Her mind, dizzy with questions, snaps back into place as she feels Spike’sd cud cup her cheek.

“Come back to me, luv.” His voice is soft, smooth like marble. God, he knows her well. Can see her mind spiral away from the world. From the man in front of her. The eyes. It’s always been his eyes. Even glittering gold, she couldn’t help but stare into them. Windows on the soul, indeed. Even before, there was something to see. Didn’t need a soul. Now, though, the extent to which she can drown in those pools is unnerving. And comforting. weigweight of his love there nearly buckles her knees. “Don’t think about anything else, Buffy. Just be here. Wie.” e.” The last two words are almost a question and Buffy nearly flinches. She is the one that has made him this way. Questioning. Never getting too close. Never letting him...or anyone...all the way in. What a waste.

For theond ond time, she affirms, “I’m here.” Now to prove it. “I am right where I want to be.”

To demonstrate, Buffy takes Spikleftleft arm and slides it inside her shirt and around her waist. She does the same with his right arm, inhaling at the feel of smooth flesh sliding against her bare back before his hands meet in the small of her back. “Right where I want to be.” In his arms. Unspoken, but true. Spike cocks his head. He should be a Champion more often. She moves into him, her body pressing into his, curve against angle, molded and fit. Buffy holds that position for a few seconds, willing into memory the feel of his body matching hers. She has somehow known how this would feel since the first night they fought. Always a perfect fit, perfectly matched. It’s no surprise no one ever won those fights over the years. Not truly, not finally. She holds back the maudlin thoughts that this could be the last time she holds him like this. No evil has been too big or too bad yet, no apocalypse unstoppable. Only, she did die stopping the last one... Buffy mentally slaps away these thoughts and lifts her head from Spike’s black-clad chest. “Right here.”


The moonlight catches his blond as as he dips his head towards herBuffBuffy lifts her mouth, letting her eyes slide closed. They are both holding their breath and then...contact. Buffy’s entire body loosens in relief. She has waited too too long for this feeling. She leans into Spike as their mouths taste, re-learning each other. His lips are firm and warmer than she remembered. She opens her mouth a bit wider, touching his bottom lip with her tongue. He welcomes her in and their tongues slide and dance for moments on end, their mouths hungry for this connection. Slick and warm and searching. Finally, Buffy breaks the kiss, gasping. She doesn’t move back, but stays with her mouth an inch from Spike’s. Breathing hard, she lifts her eyes to his as her hands move up his back, untucking his t-shirt so she can reach under and touch his skin. That cool, alabaster skin of temptation.

Spike’s mind races, one thought tumbling after another in rapid succession. Buffy. Her mouth, her lips, her tongue. And now her hands. It is more than he remembered and more than he hoped. She is fervent in her desire, but also patient. This will not be rushed. Grabbing another quick kiss, Spike moves back a few inches so he can better see her. His hands come from behind her to run up from her waist, skimming her breasts under her shirt. Reaching her shoulders, he leans down to press his lips to the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. She likes that spot kissed. This he remembers. By the way she takes in a breath and digs her nails in to his back, this fact has not changed. His mouth kisses a trail outward along her shoulder, moving her shirt to expose her bronzed skin. His hands push the shirt further open, down her arms to her elbows. Then, missing her mouth already, Spike snatches up her bottom lip again, renewing their kiss. Buffy pulls her hands out of his shirt and lets her own blouse drop to the floor. Scrambling, blind from the ongoing kiss, she pulls his t-shirt up further, revealing his finely sculpted abs. Her hands slide further up under the shirt, pushing, insisting. Releasing her shoulders, Spike lifts his arms, letting her pull his shirt over his head. His hair is mussed in the process and Buffy smiles. Reaching up with one hand, she runs her fingers into his hair slowly, further scrambling it.

Her mouth nearly brushing his, she whispers, “I always liked it this way the best...” He chuckles, but is cut off by another heated kiss and the intense sensation of skin on skin. Naked from the waist up,feelfeels her breasts crush into him and he wants to pull her closer still. Wants to feel every inch of her against him, blanketing him in her humanity, her heat. The small part of him still doubting the reality of this moment is silenced when he feels her slender fingers tucking into his waistband, working the button loose. He grabs her hands in his own, squeezing. Not trying to stop her, only telling her he feels it, feels her. Welcomes her. Buffy steps back, keeping one hand on his waist. Spike sees her eyes run over him like a gentle caress.

Her voice is thin, trembling slightly. “Is it wrong to call you beautiful? You are.” She runs her free hand down his chest. “Here.” Her hand lifts and touches the side of his face. “Here.” Hesitantly, her touch light and then firmer, she rests her full hand flat over his still heart. And the place she imagines his soul burns. “And here. Most importantly, here.” Her smile is shaky, full of an emotion she cannot yet vocalize as she lifts her eyes back to his. Spike will not ask it. He will not ask more than she has given him tonight by simply coming down those stairs. Every second since then has been beyond asking, beyond telling. She has never spoken to him like this before and he only wants to hear it, let it wash over him like a cleansing. A welcome, soothing balm to the soul that is finally feeling like his own.