Love is...

Title: Love Is Honest
Series: Love Is…
Author's Name: Scarlet
Author's Email and Uscarscarletsfiction@yahoo.com www.geocities.com/karenmnick
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I play with the characters but then I return them to their rightful owner because stealing is wrong.
Distribution: Of course you may place my baby somewhere nice. Just let me know so I can visit.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Andrew/Spike
Feedback: Yes!
Dedication: Mucho thanks to Kaz, Katie, and Nikta.
Author's Notes: Takes place around Touched. I’ve skewed the chronology of events a tiny bit but just go with it. Buffy helps Spike and Andrew come trm wrm with their feelings just days before the final battle.
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“I really have to urinate,” Andrew says, finishing his ridiculous, asinine, whirlwind introduction.

“He's a breath of fresh air, isn't he? Thank God I don't breathe.”

I’m bitter. I know that. Bitter and angry and disappointed beyond thinkin’. He storms past me toward the bathroom, shoving me a bit. That little bit of contact smy smy skin on fire. He’s angry, too. Probably thinks I took advantage and maybe I did. Did I hurt him? Did our deception hurt him? Did I cross a line I didn’t see? Must have. Must have hurt him. Again. Mark one more thing in the “owe” column of the Powers That Be’s damnedable ledger.

I begin debriefing Buffy and the wannabes, but in my head I roll the events around a hundred times. What did I do wrong? Did I force him? Was I too forward? Then again, maybe it’s not all my fault. I mean, he didn’t have to get so bloody involved in it! I only kissed him. Didn’t ask him to put his hands on me, to wrap me in his arms, his warmth, his heart, until I thought I’d bloody well cry from the pleasure of it all. Buffy always said he shouldn't be trusted. I should have known. But his mouth on my mouth, his hands—no. Don’t want to think about it….

See here’s the thing. It’s not like I have feelings for the whelp. Not a bit. He whines. He talks incessantly-though that’s eased a bit. He-he has a way of taking any huge and horrible thing and reducing it down to its bare parts. Small thing like a comic or a movie become huge in his eyes. Large things like, say, an apocalypse, don’t seem to phase him. Does he ever think about that? Does he thing about me?

How can one human be so bloody blind? I’ve been asking myself that for days. I watch him. I see his resilience and his spirit and I’m in awe. Then I see him with the potentials and watch his care and I’m jealous. Jealous of little girls-my god, how low I’ve sunk. How little I’m worth, even with a soul, if he can see everyone else but not see me. How can he remember that Amanda likes the crusts cut off her bread without asking her but not know how badly I want to just bend him over the counter and—no. Don’t want to think about it…

Problem is, I’m soft is all. Too much time surrounded by women. That’s it. And I know this is not the time. I can feel the shift that’s occurred in the days and nights we’ve been gone. Shift in our favor or theirs, I don’t know. All I do know is that I have to put the boy out of my mind. I might have done something about this, about him, before. But not now. Don’t trust myself to moderate my actions anymore. Not since that night. Not since Buffy. And I’m not sure a soul’s enough to make that decision. Not when the wanting is so bad.

So I won’t think about it.

***

I take a deep drag and watch as the smoke curls upward. I can hear the pitter-patter of hyped-up potentials scurrying across the ceiling. I used to think that Andrew was hyper. I know now I just had little basis for comparison. A squeak on the landing just above staistairs alerts me. Feet descend, moving closer to where I sit on the edge of the cot, waiting. Waiting for what, I don’t know. The end? The beginning? Been sitting here for hours. Can sit here for hours more ‘til it’s time.

There is no impatient shuffle. No fake cough to alert me of another presence. This person does not stoop to acts of deception to gain attention. Just waits until I’m ready.

“Good afternoon, Buffy,” I drawl.

“Hi, Spike.” I grind out my cigarette and turn to my slayer, my leader. “Can I talk to you?”

“Thought we already were.” I remove another cigarette and ask, “So, what’s new?” as if the entire bloody world doesn’t hang on the brink of obliteration.

She smiles, searching for something upbeat to share. “Well,…we sort of had coup while you were gone.”

“Ah, Willow told me. How’d that turn out for you?”

“Brief and painful.” Like our relationship, I want to add but d.
.

“Heard you talked to Angel. Paid a little visit, did he?”

“Yeah. He and I talked. He helped uncoup the coup. You know…” She is quiet now.

“Good. It’s good that he-that he could help.”

“It was. It is. He stayed for a while, helped me fight Caleb-oh! Side note, he’s history. That’s good to know, right?” she says brightly.

“Definitely.”

“A lot happened while you were gone.” Buffy is close to me now where she can read my face.

“Yeah, I can tell, what with the teenage carnage you’ve got goin’ on upstairs and all. And Giles showed me that magical ditty you King Arthured yourself. Very nice.”

“I wasn’t talking about me.” Her eyes are steady, her smile genuine.

“Don’t, Buffy—“

“You have to talk to him, Spike.”

“No.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened but I’ve never seen either of you like you are now. I need you to be with me in this fight, not preoccupied with whatever it is that’s going on with Andrew. If you weren’t being so defensive—”

“Oh, yeah. And you’re the great bloody expert on love are you?” I snort.

“Do you love him?” She can barely hide her surprise. I turn my attention to the completely fascinating cigarette in my hand.

“There’s a lot of things you’d best be worrying about right now instead of me,” I finally say. She nods and, thankfully, doesn’t bring up the fact that I didn’t answer the question.

“Angel brought me something.” She reaches into her jacket, businesslike now. “We don’t know what it is, but it’s important. He said only a true champion can wear it.” I laugh quietly to myself. Angel always was a vain sort. “That’s why I want you to have it.”

“What?” I’m confused. Many things I am, but a defender isn’t one. I remember Andrew’s broken face when we finally pulled up in Buffy’s driveway and even Buffy’s own face on *that* nigNo. No. Not for me. I’m no champion.”

“You are. And I want you there by my side.” She seems so sure, so confident in me. How can I let her live with that deception? She doesn’t see the monster anymore, just the man. But I know them both and they’re both me. I wanted Andrew. I most likely took advantage of him. Don’t know for sure if that Cupid demon had her sights aligned toward us or not, but what I told Andrew was true enough. They’re as scary as demons come, but that was no excuse. No excuse…we could have run, could have taken our chances…might have worked and then he wouldn’t be crying quiet tears in the bathroom right now like he has been since he returned from the hospital with Anya. Yeah, I’m a real hero.

“Talk to me,” she insists. “I know you’re thinking about him. Just say it out loud and I can help.” he’s pleading and I laugh at the irony. How many times this week have I asked Andrew that same thing? For a minute I want to sit her down and tell her everything. Want to tell her how the wisdom and naiveté in that one young boy ties me up like no man ever has. I want to tell her that the gift of one of his smiles is enough to keep a fellow wanting for days. That his eyes look so worshipfully at me that I almost wonder if he doesn’t…”

“I’m fine,” I say instead. She smiles sadly and hands me the bauble Angel brought. “Looks like a Cracker Jacks prize if you ask me.”

“All I know is that it’s supposed to be important.” Before I know she’s done it, she’s left a small kiss on my forehead. “I know it’s supposed to be yours.” Then she leaves. I sit on the cot for what feels like hours. I hold the amulet and I wait and I don’t think about Andrew for whole minutes at a time until I fall asleep.

***

Later, I sit and I smoke again. It’s night. My chest is bare, my feet are bare, my heart is bare and aching. I’m not surprised when I hear the basement door open. That changes when I hear the soft padding of feet on the steps and I smell him. He’s afraid, and now I’m back to being not surprised.

“Wil-Willow wanted me to bring you something she bought for you. I can leave it here on the step…” He bends to put it down but I cross the room quickly and take the small brown bag from him.

“Willow told you to bring it to me?” I ask. Since when has Red brought me gifts?

“Yeah, only I wouldn’t have done it because I know you don’t want to be bothered, but then Buffy said I *had* to and that I wouldn’t get any of the Ham and Cheese Hot Pockets if I didn’t and…” He turns awkwardly to leave. I have him here with me and suddenly the thought of being without him again makes me hurt.

“Andrew.” He stops. I reach into the bag and pull out Willow’s gift. A tube of lube. Never subtle, that witch. I shove the tube back in and toss the bag onto my cot. “I think we need to talk.” Bloody hell! When did I begin sounding like a bleedin’ soap opera? Before I can continue, he takes the lead. As he speaks, he begins pacing the basement and all I can do is watch and follow with my eyes.

“You’re right. The end is coming. I can feel it and I don’t think it’s right if I die and I haven’t made things right with everyone. So here it goes. First, I’m sorry I used your toothbrush to get Attack of the Clones out of the VCR. I should have asked and that wasn’t right.”

“That was you?”

“Yeah, I’m not done, though.” I sigh. His list can’t possibly be that long. I think I’ve triggered a great bleedin’ guilt-bomb and now I guess I have to wait while it goes off. “I’m sorry I told Dawn that you were the one that burned her Backstreet Boys CD and I’m sorry my friends and I used the surveillance equipment and watched things we shouldn’t have. And,” his voice cracks, “I’m sorry it was so horrible the other night that you got mad. I don’t have that much experience with kissing and I know I did everything wrong but you were really great and just trying to save our lives and, and….” He has to stop, what with me laughing hysterically and all. “You’re laughing at me?” He looks like he’s going to cry and that makes me l lou louder. It’s crazy laughter, completely inappropriate, but I can’t help it. ‘Did everything wrong’? The reason he’s been so upset is he thought *I* was angry? He thought *I* was disappointed? The boy really is daft. I try to stop before my laughter turns to sobs.

“You thought I didn’t like it?” I say, composing myself.

“You got mad. You wouldn’t talk to me—”

“You pushed me away!” I nearly yell. “You told me to stop! You were the one who didn’t want…didn’t want to…” He’s looking at me strangely now. “I didn’t think it was horrible,” I finally admit.

“You didn’t?” He’s shuffling his bare feet on the cold basement floor. The realization comes to him slowly. “You didn’t think it was horrible. thouthought it was…”

“Probably the best kiss I’ve ever had,” I say simply. “And believe it or not I’ve really not had a lot so you’d best not laugh at me now. I was with one person for over a century and loyalty’s important to me and—“

“But I wouldn’t laugh,” he says earnestly and I know that’s true. He wouldn’t laugh. Wouldn’t cruelly poke fun at anyone, least of all me, which is why I’m so bloody taken with him. “I just…I thought you…” We’re inches apart now and I can feel his breath on my cheek. He inhales, starting again. “I-I thought you…” I turn to meet those clear blue eyes and he loses his train of thought once more. Before he can try again, I kiss him.

His lips are trembling more than they were the last time we kissed. When he’s certain I’m not kidding, not going to take back those precious words, he relaxes and begins to kiss back. It’s every bit as passionate as before, yet better because I know he wants to be here. He wants to be kissing me, stroking my arms, my back, my chest. I take his face in my hands and caress the smooth skin reverently.

In my arms, there’s no trace of the bumbling youth the others see. He’s no wallflower here, no silly child, but a young man full of need and wanting. He says he’s inexperienced and his tentative touches tell me such, but he has the instincts of a natural lover and I know that for however long the fates will grant us time, there will be pleasure. His hands stroke my chest and I gasp when he runs his fingertips over my nipples, making them hard. Smiling under his lips, I pull at his shirt and slip it off, tossing it to the floor. He presses his slim, bare body to mine and wraps his arms tight around me so that I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against me. He’s panting heavily, devouring my lips, and I’m happy.

I’m happy. The world hangs on the edge of annihilation and I’m happy. I should feel guilty for that, I suppose, but I’ve no time. Long fingers are working hesitantly at my jeans and I must help. I undress, dropping my clothes on his discarded t-shirt and stand naked under his roving lips and tender touch. He trembles harder and I press him to me as we kiss, waiting for him to relax. Eventually, I leave his lips to remove his pants. He doesn’t move, just lets me slip them from his body, running my hand along narrow hips and lean thighs. He kicks them to our growing pile and then we’re both naked.

The young man standing before me smiles shyly. He’sbablbably a little cold and maybe more than a little nervous, but he meets my gaze with a confidence born of arousal and hunger. He steps to me and before I can anticipate what he’s going to do, he grasps my hips and is grinding his erection into mine while kissing my shoulders. I gasp and chuckle at his eagerness.

Andrew pulls back quickly, looking for mockery in my face. I hope all he sees is my own desire because I’m too aroused now to do more than smile and reclaim his mouth. Our kisses grow fiercer; desperation and weeks of wanting have left us with nothing to do but franticly grope each other. In one smooth move, I lift him onto my hips and he wraps his legs around my waist. I stagger backward toward the cot and drop him unceremoniously onto the blanket. He crawls backward, legs splayed and chest heaving, and it’s all I can do not to cum right here.

I dive between Andrew’s outstretched legs and kiss his chest, licking at his nipples and leaving a wet trail of kisses down his belly. He groans and grasps my hair, pulling and kneading it as my mouth moves lower. His dick is proudly erect, swollen and weeping. I don’t hesitate, but take the head into my mouth, sucking until he groans in pleasure. His hands tighten painfully in my hair but I don’t mind. I’m working my mouth over his cock and his soft cries are music to my ears. I alatelately suck his dick and nuzzle his thighs, bringing him to the brink of orgasm, but never allowing him that ultimate pleasure. There are genuine tears now but the smile on his glorious mouth tells me they aren’t the tears to worry about, just happy tokens of deep pleasure. Finally, he comes and I continue to milk him as he shakes. His body is slick with sweat and I slide against it, drinking in his smell and taste.

I tuck my head against his throat and nestle into his body. He wraps his arms loosely about me and gives a weak hug, too exhausted to do much more. When he finally raises his head to look at me, his eyes are wide and glassy. I think I’ve found the one thing that will shut the whelp up because he says nothing, just kisses me tenderly and I fight back tears of my own. I’ve lived so long. I’ve seen so much. But I’ve never seen such devotion and it humbles me.

He kisses me more deeply now, his hunger returning. His legs wrap around me and his hand slides down my arm, guiding my fingers. He leads them over his hip, down the smooth curve of his ass and he rocks insistently into me.

“Please…” He begs. He slides my fingers to his entraand and if it is possible, I’m more aroused. “Please…” he begs again and I nod against him, not trusting my own voice. I dig beneath us. Somewhere Red’s lube is still there. My hand finds the brown bag and I scramble for the tube inside. I send a small prayer of thanks to Red as Andrew rolls to his stomach while I slick myself. I do so lightly and quickly because my dick has been waiting for so bloody long and I know that I can't wait much longer.

He arches his back, dra him himself up on his knees and the sight is so fucking delicious that for a moment I have to look away or risk cumming right here. I take shallow breaths, trying to relax the thrumming desire in my body. Dispensing more lube, I smearing a generous portion against his waiting entrance. I hear a slight gasp and then allow one finger to gently enter him. His body tenses against my intrusion.

“Relax, Andrew. I’m not gonna hurt you.” And it’s true. I’m not gonna hurt him. Would never hurt him if it were in my power to decide. He relaxes slightly and I move my finger freely, stroking him until I know I’ve done it right. When I hit his prostate, his cries are loud and bloody beautiful. I’m sure they can hear us upstairs if they were inclined to listen, but I don’t care and I doubt Andrew has much control over his volume at this point. I add another finger and he’s writhing under my hand, thrusting up to take them deeper and suddenly I can’t wait to be inside him. I want to bury my cock far inside his beautiful body and listen to him scream for me.

I slide my fingers out and he leans back toward me as if chasing them. I smile inwardly and shift forward, bringing my waiting member to his opening.

“Relax, love,” I tell him and those appear to be the magic words because he does just that. I press into him and meet little resistance. He’s so willing that for a moment I’m once again overwhelmed at his devotion. Then I’m sliding in all the way and all I can feel is the burning furnace of his human body. He shudders and moans under me and his hands grasp uselessly at the blankets. I wrap my arms around him and wait until he seems ready.

“Spike,” he gasps and I know that’s my signal. I draw myself nearly out of the boy, leaving only the head of my dick inside him. Then, I plunge forward and his wails of pleasure sound out through the basement. I move quickly, driving into him over and over. He thrusts into me and we set up an intense pace. We’re move franticly; afraid maybe that the end of the world will come while we’re fucking and we won’t get to finish. In our fervor, I suddenly realize that Andrew is once again hard and his dick is bobbing below me.

In the grand scheme of things I know it’s a small act, but this is all I can offer in atonement for the many wrongs I’ve done the boy since he’s been here. I stop moving, and he thrusts back against me, urging me to continue. Instead, I kneel back on my heels and pull the boy onto my lap, still speared on my aching cock. He sits, legs spread, with his body throbbing all around me. I wrap my arms around him and take his dick in one lube-slicked hand and begin to stroke him. My other hand kneads his balls while I nuzzle his back and he begins to whimper. I look up to watch his head roll back and I see his eyes are dil wid wide, staring but not seeing, lost in pleasure. He twitches on me over and over and I know I’m forgiven my past sins, from him at least. Eventually he tenses, his head snaps forward, and I hear him cry my name as he spills his seed over my slick hand.

I press him forward gently and he holds himself upright long enough for me to finish fucking him. I come with a howl and we collapse together. We’re too exhausted for words, too exhausted for kisses, just happy and satiated. I roll him to my arms and on my chest, he sleeps.

***

“When I rub your nipples, you purr like a cat. Did you know that?” he asks me and I smile.

“Don’t believe I did.”

“Not all the time, just sometimes. It’s nice.” We’re lyin’ face to face, buried deep under the blankets on the cot. It’s a tight fit, but I don’t mind.

“What about you?” I ask. “What special place do I have to pet to make you purr? Hummm?” I stroke his forehead, pushing strands of hair out of his face to watch them flop back again.

“Mmm…I don’t know.”

“I guess I’ll just have to try and try to figure it out,” I smile wickedly. Instead of smiling with me, he just lets out a quick, sow bow breath. “What’s that for?”

“Nothing. We just…we don’t have much time. Not anymore.” I kiss him quickly, trying to reassure him, but I know it’s pointless.

“Well then,” I say firmly, “I guess we’ll just have to make sure that we use every single moment of the time we have left.” He smiles sadly and I curl my arms around him.

When did I get so lucky? Would I have considered this strange, thin boy a treasure a year ago? Or is it only now that William, that odd, alien me that holds my heart, is present that I see my good fortune? I don’t care. The smooth, warm skin beneath my hands is all mine for however long the Powers That Be see fit to let me have it and for that I must be grateful. I stroke Andrew’s chest and his throat and I stare for long minutes, trying to memorize his face.

I hear the basement door open.

“Spike?” Willow calls.

“Yeah?” I call back. Sunlight streams behind her and I realize that it’s morning now.

“Buffy wants to talk to us. All of us. The potentials are waiting in the living room. She’s been on the phone with Angel all night and…”

“And what?” I ask, looking for my clothes.

“And we have a plan. A real plan. I think…” she trails off, nervously. “I think we might win,” she says at last.

But not without casualties, my heart cr Not Not wit los losing the one thing I’ve just found.

“We’ll be right up.”