The One

"What?" Willow asks innocently, her mouth suspiciously full. She swallows and wipes at the bit of sauce on the corner of her mouth with her hand.

Andrew sighs deeply and folds his arms over hhesthest, just underneath the bow of his cape,

"I had that box clearly marked this time!" he whines. "I – I wrote my name on it in blue Sharpie…"

She shrugs and slightly hangs her head.WoulWould Future Willow feel this guilty about eating the last Hot Pocket? "I – I didn’t see anything," Willow stutters, looking at her bare feet.

Slowly she glances up at Andrew. His face is scrunched all disapproving like and he’s tapping his foot. The sound of his shoe hitting the linoleum pounds in her ear and Willow can feel herself begin to break into a sweat,

This is bad, so very, very bad. "What?" she shrugs nervously. "I really didn’t."

Spike smiles at her, arms folded, attempting to be casual, but she can see the uncertainty behind his eyes,

"I take it Faith’s still occupying your room," he says as hens ans away from her and heads towards his bed.

And it annoys her to no end.

Sure, what they have wasn’t exactly built on sturdy, solid relationship foundations like trust or God, even silly things like hugs and flowers and stolen kisses outside of a window with mom mom just down the hall, but she came to accept it long ago. Accept the fact that whatever it is between them, will never be normal. They’ve been through too much, seen much more of each other’s darkest, ugliest side than they both would’ve liked – but it’s past.

This whole year’s been nothing but baby steps. With Spike playing ‘Caution-Man’ and she too readily going along with the game. Everything now is done with uncertainty, hesitation…

She misses looking in his eyes and seeing nothing but complete confidence. Buffy takes a deep breath and puts on a smile as she pushes away the idea that the very thing she misses the most about him, she’s responsible for getting rid of.

"Oh yeah. Last I checked, she was all tucked in."

Spike gives her an affectionate smile over his shoulder, and pulls out the pack of cigarettes from underneath his pillow. "Make yourself comfortable, luv," He slips oneweenween his lips and quickly lights up. "Doubt you’ll get any sleep, though. Who the hell could?"

"If you listen close enough, you can hear Anya snoring," she says wryly.

Buffy shifts uncomfortably on her feet as Spike takes a seat on the end of the bed, casually smoking. She listlessly pulls at imaginary lint on her shirt, desperately wracking her brain for words to fill in the growing silence.

She sighs heavily, words failing her for now –

"We’re in serious need of crickets," she mumbles and takes a step towards him.

Spike exhales the smoke, looking at her questioningly. "Hmm? What was that, luv?"

When she came down the stairs, she had this whole speech prepared. Words so perfectly strewn together that got everything out in the open; and somewhere in between her foot hitting that last step and his eyes locking on hers, she forgot it all –

Every last word.

Buffy sighs audibly and inches closer to Spike. She’s done enough speechifying this month alone to last ten lifetimes. She opens her mouth to speak and secretly hopes that, whatever comes out makes some kind enseense:

"I had this whole baked-good analogy," she begins, tng ong on her bottom lip with her teeth. "I was cake batter – or muffins – or something…"

Spike stares at her blankly. "Cake batter?"

"Cookies!" she says triumphantly throwing her hands in the air. "I told Angel I was cookie dough."

He stamps out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and quirks a brow. "You didn’t by any chance happen to get into those mushrooms growing out in the woods near the vineyard, did ya, Slayer?"

"No," Buffy rolls her eyes and takes a seat next to on ton the bed. "See, I told Angel that I was like cookie dough. Raw and unshaped, not quite cookies yet. That I wasn’t completely ready in the past for a real relationship, because I was still baking…"

He patronizingly nods his head, giving her a ‘h the the mental patient’ type of look.

"It all made perfect sense at the time," she grins, sighing a bit. "The point is, I am still baking – I’m not quite ‘Cookie-Buffy’ yet. It’ll probably be a long time before I am, but these last few months that we’ve gotten closer, you know in the non-sweaty sexual way, Ifeltfelt…"

Her voice trails off as she looks at him. Spike’s eyes are earnest and filled with so much hope, but underneath, she can see the uncertainty. Buffy sighs again and gives a tiny shrug of her shoulders,

"I dunno," she mutters. "I’ve felt – almost done. Like, the bottom half of ‘Cookie-me’ is browned and maybe some of the sides, but the part in the middle is still kinda gooey," she pauses, wringing her hands nervously. "I waited forever to say this, mostly because I was afraid. Afraid that I might lose myself in you, in that not-so healthy way again – but I’m different now – we’re different and I know that won’t happen again."

"Buffy…" he begins. She quietly brings a finger to his lips, shushing him for the time being, and lets it linger there for a moment:

"Whatever happens tomorrow, if we don’t make it," her voice drops almost to a whi, ", "I just want us to have tonight."

Spike’s eyes widen in pure disbelief and Buffy lets out a self-deprecating laugh,

"Boy, wasn’t that just the cheesy-est thing you’ve ever heard?"

He blinks a couple of times. Not really sure if he heard her correctly and completely not sure what to say to her if he had. She’s looking at him expectantly, waiting for some sort of word or hell even a syllable to come out of his mouth.

Spike draws in an unnecessary breath, his face twisting into that look of caution,

"Buffy are sur sure about this?"

She smiles and says nothing. She’s tired of words for now; she answers him instead with a kiss.

He’s caught of guard, stunned, but not stupid; he kisses her back.

Buffy tries to remember if they’ve always kissed like this. Hard and fast: he pulls her against him, his tongue roughly probing her mouth. Suddenly, as if a light bulb clicked in her mind, she pulls away,

They have always kissed like this.

Pantinearnearly breathless, she gently lays a hand on his cheek.

"No – this isn’t…" she begins, a ghost of a smile forms on her lips. "This isn’t like that," Buffy presses a chaste kiss to his swollen lips, "I want us to go slow, take our time…" She hangs her head as if embarrassed, a blush sweeps across her cheeks. "I want to feel you."

Spike smiles at her and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. He ignores the sound of the hot water heater clanging and the stale smell of cigarettes and Tide in the air and kisses her softly, letting his lips graze hers. Letting both of them feel.

Special’s what you make it.

Fingers struggle with stubborn fabric, buttons and zippers. The, pair, seem like teenagers doing this for the first time: the only time when this matters, most of all. Awkwardly, they move further onto the bed, and she rolls him over, and straddles his waist.

Spike looks up at her, hands firmly gripping her bare sides, a cheeky grin on his lips,

"I don’t think so, luv," he says playfully before flipping her over.

Buffy lets out a tiny gasp as her back hits the mattress and narrows her eyes.

"Hey!" Her lips reluctantly curlo a o a smile when he moves between her denim-clad legs.

"We’re doing this right, remember?"

Spike’s voice is barely above a whisper and her body shudders underneath him the moment his lips teasingly graze her neck. Eyes shut, the nails of strong, graceful fingers lightly raking over the smooth expanse of his back; Buffy becomes at cot completely lost to the feel of open-mouth kisses, and the painful slow tracing of her jugular his tongue was now engrossed in.

"You’re so beautiful." She hears him whisper as he gently nuzzles her hair.

The flurry of soft kisses continue back down the path previously traced: sweeping across her collarbone, dipping downwards above the valley between her breasts. He pulls back, bringing up a hand to quickly undo the front clasp of her bra. She sits up, allowing him to slip the offending object off her shoulders and he wastes no time tossing it aside.

A moan catches in the back of her throat the moment his teeth tug on her nipple: never one to be selfish, he massages the other with his hand. Her back arches slightly as he alternates between her two mounds, kneading one while nipping and sucking on the other. Buffy groans in disappointment at the loss of contact when Spike once more pulls back on his knees.

Nimble fingers deftly undo the buttons of her jeans before working down the zipper. She raises her hips, allowing him to remove the pants. Spike moves further down on the bed as he pulls them off of her legs, then expertly sends them sailing over the edge to join the rest of the mini pile of clothing.

Placing his cool hands on the warm skin of her hips again, he hooks his thumbs into the sides of her panties and slowly works them down and off.

Buffy swallows the hard lump that’s formed in her throat. The way he’s looking at her, seemingly drinking all of her in sends a small twinge of insecurity racing through her body. It’s like he’s gazing upon some virgin goddess, some impossible standard of perfection and purity battle-worn, self-conscious, emotionally unavailable Buffy couldn’t ever live up to—

She props herself up slightly, frowning,

"I’m not the Madonna, you know!" Buffy finds herself snapping at him.

"I know," Spike calmly states, lightly tracing a finger over her hip. "You’ve got a scar righerehere." He drags the finger upward towards her navel. "And a freckle right above your belly-button. You don’t have to tell me that you’re not perfect I know, that better than anyone," he smiles softly. "Wouldn’t love you if you didn’t have a few scars."

Her features soften and she tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth as he crawls back up her naked form. His head dips and he pulls her into a brief kiss before laying her back down on the bed. Spike descends once more, leaving a trail of wet kisses across the taut flesh of her stomach, stopping at the junction of her thighs, and opening them up wider for him.

He takes in an unnecessary breath, further filling up his nose with her sweet musky scent. His cool tongue traces along her outer lips, grabbing just a taste before plunging in. It sweeps upward, finding her most sensitive spot, and coaxes it out to play. She arches up as he teases her clit, burying his face further in her sex.

A growl of pure satisfaction escapes his lips at the array of mewls emitting from her. He adds a finger to the mix, using the digit to stroke her inner walls while his mouth nips and sucks until he feels her spasm around him.

Body limp and breathing hard sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead; Buffy lifts up for a brief moment and watches Spike kick off his jeans. Her eyes never leave his as he settles between her, positioning himself at her opening and she holds a breath, willing herself not to cry out when he penetrates her.

Small hands grip well-rounded shoulders as Spike buries himself in her, inch by inch. Her legs draw up, her feet now rest at his hips and he begins a rhythm that is all at once consuming and earth shattering—

Buffy can’t remember if all of their other times together were anything like this.

Her lips descend on his and her feet lock at the small of his back. Both moan into the kiss, pouring everything into the fiery duel. The fear of the battle ahead, the uncertainty of what tonight means if they survive tomorrow, the feeling of being with one another for all of the right reasons…

Buffy breaks the kiss and pulls tightighter. Spike buries his head in the crook of her neck and she cries out as he grinds down on her clit with each joining.

Fingernails leave rows of red welts when she grips the flesh on his back as she comes and Buffy lies there completely sated while he continues to pound into her. Moments later, he finally finds his own climax and the weight of his body presses down into hers as it goes limp.

***

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

Spike raises an eyebrow looking truly amused as Buffy closely inspects his body. Her eyes roam every inch of his skin and he jumps a little when the tip of her nose grazes his flesh.

"That tickles!" he chuckles. "And I feel right unmanly by saying that."

Buffy smiles at him, looking up from her ‘work’,

"It’s not fair that you know every scar and freckle on me and the base of what I know about your body is ‘mmm abs’."

He grins. "So, you’re gonna find every mark on me there is, tonight?"

"Yep," Buffy says shortly a coy look forming on her features. "At least the ones I didn’t leave anyway."

Spike grabs her and pulls her down beside him.

"There’ll be plenty of time to find everything. You don’t have to do it all now." He kisses the top of her forehead reassuringly.

The look on her face becomes serious and her eyes cast downward. "You don’t know that," Buffy says softly.

"Yes I do. Neither one of us is going anywhere."

Silence builds between the two and Buffy snuggles up to him. Her head rests on his chest as her finger draws lazy circles on his stomach.

"How do you feel about white-picket-fences?" she asks suddenly.

 The camera mounted perfectly straight ahead, Andrew moves into the shot, taking a seat on the barstool and quickly fixes his hair,

"Okay, so this is it, the uh – big night before um the First kills us all," he laughs humorlessly. "As you can see, all’s pretty quiet in command central. Only your faul hul host and a few others remain awake now."

Andrew sighs and folds his hands in his lap. "I just wanted to take this time to immortalize the moment. However the world turns out for you gentle viewers, I want you to know that the heroes fought hard. They gave everything, including their lives. So, I leave you with ththisthis night frozen in time and the hope that the Force is strong with you in the future."

He gazes solemnly into the camera lens for a moment before slowly raising the remote and shutting it off.

The End