wise up

Notes: Buffy has a one-night stand with Spike, whom she meets in a graduate school seminar. He's keeping her at arm's length out of a desire to protect her from an uncomfortable secret. Based on the Aimee Mann song.

This story was written specifically for Spuffy Archives, and is dedicated to Silver. I post it here now only after it made its world-premiere on her beautiful site.

Chapter 1

She slumped against the back of the elevator as it went down. Only two floors, but Buffy was dizzy and didn't feel like trying to negotiate the stairs tonight. She had a brief flash of tumbling headfirst down them and cracking her skull open at the bottom. Better to be lazy than risk injury.

As she passed the first floor entrance of the building, she stopped, considering going outside to look at the sunset, but then...

There he was.

Clearly visible through the glass, standing outside, hair all bright under the gentle glow of the lights mounted beneath the small square of roof that hung over the steps, the small haven shelter of smokers. His back was to her, but of course it was him, unmistakeable figure, long leather duster, messanger bag tossed carelessly at his feet, a small cloud of wispy white circling him.

Safely out of his line of sight, she could afford to pause, consider, weigh her options. If only he were alone, she might consider going outside to join him, to pretend not to be weighed down by care or worry... chat, flirt, tempt him back upstairs to her office where she could lock the door behind them and pull him to the floor. But he wasn't alone, he was talking with Dr. Giles, one of his professors, and she had neither a good enough excuse to go outside nor did she wish --

She choked back a sob, and walked a few paces past the doors, rounded the corner, and stopped again to take a long swallow from the drinking fountain. Buffy could only imagine the conversation out there.

"Been a real pain in my arse this term, she's been," Spike might be saying to Giles. "Met her in my Poe seminar, seemed a cute enough little thing." Giles would be nodding, and Spike would be taking a drag from his cigarette. "But then she had to go and get all stuck on me, you know, after."

Giles would probably feign ignorance at what his pupil meant by "after," raise his eyebrows, polish his glasses. "Eh, hmm?"

Spike would roll his eyes. "You know. I gave the bird a smashing roll late one after class." He might proudly flick his spent fag artfully into the ashcan, make a rude punching gesture. "Did 'er up right good, too. And she couldn't get enough. Left me a bleedin' mess."

Giles would blush and look at the floor. "Oh, my," he'd whisper.

Spike would shrug. "Don't mean I wanna repeat the performance, though. Chew 'em up an' spit 'em out, that's my motto."

"Yes, well... it's... good to have, er, goals."

This all ran through Buffy's sorrow-filled, paranoid head. She continued walking, painfully, painfully slowly, out the north end of the building, out to her car.

Once inside, she cried freely all the way home.

"This term's just run a stake through my heart," Spike told Giles as they stood outside before class. "I'm takin' twice as many classes as I should, workin' all the bloody time, and my friends're left feelin' all ignored-like." He sighed.

"Well, welcome to graduate school," Giles said with a laugh. "You get no social life whatsoever for the next two years."

"That's more of a drag than you can imagine," Spike replied sadly.

After class, he slid into his ancient DeSoto and scanned the radio for something decent. Something loud and angry to take his mind off stress. Instead, he found himself settling on the campus station which was playing a mournful Aimee Mann song.

"You can hardly stand it though, by now you know it's not going to stop..."

Yeah, I gotta wise up, then, don't I? Spike thought bitterly. Sod it, I'm no good to anyone.

His flat was dark when he got home, but a small red light blinked on his phone indicating voice mail. He listened to his messages as he pulled off his coat, wandered into the bedroom and began to unlace his boots.

"Spikey, why do you never call?" his ex-girlfriend, Harmony, whined in his ear. He erased the message before it was finished. The next was from his irritatingly responsible brother Angel. "William, you need to let Cordelia and I know if you're coming for Thanksgiving or not," he reminded him. Bloody hell, Thanksgiving day was going to be used to finish the four huge essays he still needed to write. No time for strained family gatherings. A few more messages from neglected friends, and then...

Finally... a tiny, breathy voice. "I - I, um, hi, this is... Buffy," it began tentatively. "I just wanted to say... hi." The message clicked off, but Spike played it back again and thought he made out a little sigh before she'd hung up.

Oh, god, Spike thought... I wish I had more time for you, little one. He saved the message, then looked to the clock. Nearly midnight. Spike imagined Buffy cozily snuggled up in her bed, curled up amongst silky pillows, shoulders and hair shimmery in pale moonlight streaming from between the slats in the blinds. Can't disturb her at this hour, he decided, peeling off the rest of his clothes and sliding beneath his rumpled sheets.

Across town, Buffy sat finishing a paper of her own, not caring about its quality anymore, just trying to get it finished. She glanced occasionally at the phone which had sat silent all night. The paper finally completed, she printed it out while playing a few hands of solitaire. At one a.m., she punched a staple through the drivel, shut her computer off, and went to lie restless and awake in bed for the night.

It had been a week since she'd brazenly sidled up to him after class, whispering in his ear that he should follow her back to her place. He'd shivered at the feel of her breath, her lips close to his neck. All he'd been able to do was nodd dumbly.

They didn't speak when they entered the apartment. Once the door was shut behind them, she'd immediately pulled him in for a kiss. That's all they'd done to that point, made out like teenagers in a few parking lots during stolen moments. He could tell a lot simply by the way she kissed him, sweetly but full of passion, and he responded to her with his entire body every time, trying to mold her closer to him, clutching at her little bird-like shoulders, sucking at her full lower lip, tonguing her earlobe, and gently biting her neck. That night, they both felt the other's need more acutely, and as they stood locked together, Spike subtly pressing himself tight against her, Buffy felt him harden, and she sighed with the want of him.

They clumsily made their way to her bedroom, shedding coats and shirts and shoes along the way, leaving a trail of cloth and leather. He pushed her roughly onto the bed, and she, surprised but pleased at his slight aggression, gazed at him admiringly, taking in his taut form for an instant before he leapt on her, pinning her arms above her head as he explored her with his mouth. When he moved his hands from hers to unhook her bra, she grasped his shoulders, trailed her hands down his back, and finally unbuttoned his jeans as he pushed her skirt up and began to free her from her panties.

He teased her for a long time, sliding fingers in and out of her, she emitted small gasps at every touch. She stroked his shaft with long, dreamy touches, enjoying the feel of the smooth veins that throbbed beneath its surface.

She arched her back, held on tightly to him, and with surprising strength, rolled him onto his back. His blue eyes gleamed up at her pleadingly, his teeth biting his lip in hungry expectation. Buffy wanted this, wanted this so much, but she shivered with slight nervousness, and couldn't help but wonder if it was the right time.

"Do you..." she breathlessly began, "do you want this?"

His eyes shut briefly. "Oh, god, yes," he whispered. "You're so beautiful..."

She kissed him hard, they planted tiny bites and scratches on each other, and finally he was above her again. When he entered her at last, she felt an immediate sense of awe, as though something missing was now complete. The mere sensation of him inside her was enough to make her explode. He thrust gently at first, holding himself above her, but she had to feel him closer. She snaked arms around his neck and forced him to fall, his entire weight crushing her, ribcage against ribcage. She drew her knees up higher. Spike began to pump furiously, and Buffy arched up to meet him, grinding, fingernails hard on the small of his back to push him deeper and deeper. Their sweat mingled to sweet slick musk, her neck bloomed with bruises from his mouth, and her rode in her perfect circles, adding his finger to urge her clitoris to harden and rise to a more tender ache. His breathing heavier, both of them letting go gasps that turned to moans that turned to wordless cries of ecstasy.

She felt it swelling and rising in her, so deep, as if every part of her was on fire. Now, it would be now... and at the instant she realized it in herself, his own movements abruptly stopped. As he arched a little up from her, she looked up at him. They found themselves staring deeply into one another as they came together.

Never, ever before had Buffy truly looked at someone at this precise moment while making love. She couldn't believe the power of the moment, it was overwhelming, magnificent... perfect.

They collapsed together, skin drenched, gasping for breath. When the rising and falling of his chest at last resumed normal rhythm, he leaned down briefly to fish a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his discarded jeans. Buffy watched the flash of the flame from his lighter, the smoke as it swirled to her ceiling. They still had no need of speech in those few minutes, she with her head on his chest, he with his arm around her, wirey muscles against her spine.

She'd started to drift into a contented slumber when she felt him rise from the bed, the quiet sounds of clothing being put back on... a moment later, she heard an engine rev to life outside.

And she hadn't heard from him since.