2. Well, Do You?
Stunned by her question as well as her actions,
Spike opened his mouth to respond – but was suddenly unsure of what he
should say.
He had told Buffy vehemently the day before that he *did* trust her –
had made quite the bloody issue of it, too, actually – and he wanted to
prove it to her, once and for all. He somehow felt that if he could
force her to admit that his feelings for her went deeper than the mere
lust and desire that she constantly insisted were all he was capable of
feeling for her – then maybe, just *maybe*, it might be easier for her
to face up to her own feelings
Unfortunately, those feelings had been buried under the weight of her
depression and repressed by her inexplicable desire to live up to the
unfair expectations of her friends.
But they were *there*, just the same – no matter how strongly she tried
to deny it.
He could see it, in brief, fleeting moments during their clandestine
encounters – just before she would desperately rush to draw the mask
back into place. He knew in his heart that she *did* love him – she
just had yet to face the truth of that fact herself.
She tried so hard to disprove it, constantly, telling them both over
and over how much she hated him, despised him, hated herself for even
lowering herself to touch him. And yet he was certain, deep down, that
every cruel word or random blow she sent his way was nothing more than
a desperate attempt to escape the truth of her own feelings.
He was sure – most of the time.
In the time between their secret meetings, when she was struggling to
go about her everyday façade of normalcy with her sister and her
friends, and he had nothing but time in which to analyze everything and
then analyze it again – he had his doubts. He wondered what sort of a
bloody fool he had to be to put up with the appalling way that he
allowed her to treat him.
And he wondered, in those moments of insecurity and doubt, if every
single insult and declaration of her disgust and hatred were actually
the truth, and he was simply building lies to shield his heart from the
pain of the truth.
But when she was with him – there were moments, rare but beautiful, in
which he *knew* beyond all doubt – she *had* to love him – or such
moments would not have even been possible.
He could hear it in her voice when she cried out his name in the
heights of her passion – could feel it in the tenderness of the rare
kisses she bestowed on him in her moments of weakness, when she was too
tired, or too worried, or simply too needy for the affection and
reassurance that her friends no longer offered her, to resist her
impulse to reach out – even if it *was* to him.
She rarely kissed him – on the mouth, anyway.
It was one of her unspoken rules, a laughably useless means of keeping
him from getting "too close".
He had to admit one point – somehow, kissing *did* seem so much more
intimate than so many of the things they did. She could easily claim
that she was using his body simply for her own physical pleasure, and
that could be accepted as truth. But what physical pleasure did the
slow, sensuous kisses he craved give her, besides the sweet closeness
and intimacy that she claimed she did not want – not with him?
Her refusal seemed bitterly ironic to him, considering that she had
initiated their relationship with a kiss – but she clung to that
useless piece of control, refusing most times to allow it. He rarely
tried to kiss her anymore, having tired of the agony of her rejection
of his attempts.
On the few occasions when he did dare, she would usually turn her head
away, lowering her mouth to kiss his throat, or his chest – burying her
hurt and fears in his body, while denying him what it was that he
really sought – to see her face...to know her in all her flaws and
insecurities, as well as in her glorious and terrible power.
But every now and then, the craving for the closeness and connection –
the connection that she found had somehow been removed from her life
when it was so abruptly returned to her – would come upon her with a
vengeance, overtaking her and driving her to let down the walls – if
only for a few moments.
Spike treasured every moment of those rare occasions, when she was slow
and tender, and yet touched him with an intensity that sent a consuming
heat through him so powerful that he sometimes feared he would dust
simply from the overwhelming power of it.
And then – she *would* kiss him.
And he would clutch desperately at the opportunity to show her with his
kiss how deeply he felt for her. He would hold her close, gently but
deeply kissing her until she was breathless and yearning when she
finally drew away...
And that was when he would see it.
In her eyes, in the bare moment or two before she managed to hide her
feelings again with a cold emotionless mask, he would see the truth.
Through the haze of her pleasure and desire, she would stare at him
with a sort of soft shock of affection in her wide green eyes – an
almost awed expression that seemed to say that she could scarcely
believe or comprehend what she had just felt – could hardly dare to put
a name to it.
But Spike could – and he did, every time. He took these moments and hid
them away, reminding himself, calling to mind the image of that look of
awe and adoration in his most insecure moments, when he was hurting
over some cruel thing she had said, some calloused dismissal of him and
his feelings.
He always opened his eyes, the instant that he felt her drawing out of
a kiss they had shared.
He never missed that stunning, breathtaking look.
Well -- except this time.
He hesitated, trying to decide what would be the wisest response to her
question. He wanted to take this chance she was offering to prove his
point – he *did* trust her. Yet at the same time, he knew that she
wanted to prove *her* point just as badly – to prove that he didn't
trust her.
She was the one running this "test"; she would certainly be doing
everything in her power to be sure that he failed it.
And *that* thought was bloody scary.
But – not if he really *did* trust her – right? If he really did trust
her, than why should the thought of surrendering control to her be
frightening? If he really trusted her, then he could be sure that she
would not do anything to break that trust...
The confusing circle of his thoughts was softly interrupted as the
Slayer whispered near his ear, so close that he could feel her lips
curve upward into a smile of triumph at his hesitation.
"Well? Do you?" she pressed him, and he could not mistake the subtle
note of amusement and satisfaction in her voice. It was clear that she
thought she knew what he was going to say – she thought she had won
already.
Not bloody likely.
He reached a hand up quickly to grasp the back of her neck with
unerring aim and pull her down, surprising her with another kiss,
sudden and intense. He felt her tense against his hand as if about to
pull away – an instant before she surrendered to the kiss, returning it
with equal intensity.
A consolation prize, to the vampire that she believed she had already
bested?
When she drew back to catch her breath, he released her, returning the
smirk he knew had to be on her face about now, as he finally answered
her question sweetly, "Why of course I trust you, love!" Slowly and
deliberately, he removed his hands from her back and raised them,
crossing his wrists over his head in a provocative way that made it
very clear what his decision was, as he added in a low, suggestive
voice,
"I'm all yours, pet..."
He could only imagine the smirk of satisfaction on her face giving way
to a wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of shock at his actions – but as he
moved his hips just slightly under her, throwing her slightly off
balance and bringing her into closer contact with the proof of just how
*very* willing he was to take this particular little test – the heavy
scent of her arousal reached his nostrils, and his smile widened.
Whatever the expression on her face that was kept from his eyes – he
knew his words and actions had had their desired effect.
To her credit, the Slayer recovered quickly, rising up on her knees
over him. "Okay," she said in a lightly warning tone, "if you're sure
about this..." As she spoke, she leaned forward, one hand behind his head
gently pushing him to sit up a bit.
He complied, raising up on his elbows and leaning his head slightly
forward to give her better access as she tied the soft scarf firmly but
not too tightly around his eyes, pulling at it slightly to be sure it
was secure.
"I can pass any test you can come up with, pet," Spike assured her, his
tone infuriatingly confident. "You forget, Slayer – I'd been playing
these games for nearly a century when you were born!"
"Yeah," she said, her voice soft, amused – but a bit distracted as she
countered, "But you haven't ever played them with *me*!" Frowning
slightly, not sure if the fabric was thick enough, Buffy drew back a
fist and plunged it forward, stopping a bare half an inch from his
face.
The vampire did not flinch, did not move at all, apparently completely
oblivious to the blow that had not quite fallen.
With a satisfied nod, Buffy stood up, moving from over him, unknowingly
carrying another powerful waft of her intoxicating scent to his
sensitive nose, and deepening his arousal.
It made him feel more than a little vulnerable, not being able to see
how obvious her effect on him was, if she had noticed the ever-rising
erection she had caused – unable to see her reaction to it, if she
*had* noticed it. He hesitated for a moment, trying to focus his other
senses to read exactly where she was, unsure of whether or not to get
up yet.
She was completely silent, not giving him the slightest clue for a long
moment.
Then, he felt her soft, warm hand in his – trembling a bit, was she? so
the Slayer wasn't all as confident as she was trying to seem, then –
gently pulling on his hand to help him to his feet. He knew he had to
trust her, at least a little, to feel as reassured as he did by the
steady support of her hand in his.
He stumbled a bit as he stood, uncertain of his footing, and his free
hand automatically rose to the blindfold, in an instinctive reaction,
not really thinking about it, but simply instinct telling him he needed
to see.
A second strong, small hand caught his wrist before he could reach it,
and with one quick movement, he was spun around, both of his hands
clasped in Buffy's, as he felt her press in close behind him, her chest
against his back as she held his offending hand in hers, gently but
firmly keeping it down at his side.
"Just like any time you take a test," she said, her voice soft and even
just behind him, her warm breath lightly tickling his throat. "there
are rules, if you want to pass. First rule: the blindfold comes off
when I take it off. I mean, *of course* you can take it off any time
you want to..."
He could almost see her shrug her shoulders carelessly as she paused a
moment before adding quietly with a slightly smug smile, "...but then you
fail. You've gotta trust me."
He could feel her breasts, firmer and heaving slightly against his
back, as she waited a bit breathlessly for his response. *So the little
chit's getting turned on by the dominant act, is she?* he thought with
amusement – and arousal. *This little test could turn out to be a bit
of fun.*
He felt his erection swell slightly at her firm touch and commanding
words.
She was not the only one turned on by her little game. Again he
wondered if she was noticing the effect she had on him, both unnerved
and excited by the fact that attempting to conceal it, judging her
reaction by her expression, her body language, were all things that
were withheld from him at the moment.
The answer to his first question came quickly, as one of her hands
released his and surprised him by sliding around his hip to cup gently
over his begging member.
"Well," she said with a gently mocking note to her voice. "*Somebody's*
ready to get started!"
He let out a low moan as she squeezed just slightly, before releasing
him and moving around to face him. He did not know exactly where she
was, as he could not see her, and felt a bit silly trying to face her,
not sure if he was actually facing the headstone a couple of yards to
her left, or her.
He was surprised by the consideration when she placed a gentle hand on
his arm and turned him slightly, increasing his sense of security at
knowing where he was in relation to her. Again, he felt reassured at
the idea of trusting her.
Her tone was soft, and a bit uncertain herself, when she finally spoke
again. "You're *really sure* you want to do this." It sounded like a
statement, but it was really a question, an opportunity to back out now
if he was not sure.
And give her the satisfaction of winning this little battle of wills so
easily?
*Not a soddin' chance.*
"I'm sure," he replied firmly. "I told you I trust you, and I do,
Buffy."
He knew her so well, although she would have denied in a heartbeat that
he knew her at all. He could picture her, standing in front of him, her
smooth, pretty brow creased in a thoughtful frown, studying his face in
an attempt to determine whether or not he did.
He did. Oh, he *really* did!
"Okay," she finally conceded, reaching out to take his hand – and he
thought with a smug smile that he quickly suppressed, that she was
awfully tentative for a wanna-be dominatrix. "First question on this
test...you've gotta trust me not to walk you into the nearest headstone
or something." She paused before adding teasingly, "And that's a harder
question than it might seem like – because you have no idea how
tempting that is!"
He laughed, congratulating himself that his nervousness did not show in
his voice. He *did* trust her, really – he was sure that she would not
do anything to *actually* hurt him – but it was definitely a
disconcerting thought, placing complete control in the Slayer's hands.
Everything in his nature rose up screaming in protest at the idea.
Everything except his love for Buffy, and his determination to prove it
– once and for all.
"I trust you, love," he repeated, slowly and deliberately in a tone
resembling one that a person might use with a retarded child. "I said
it and I meant it. I. Trust. You." He took a deep breath before
stepping forward in the direction her hand was lightly tugging him.
"By all means, pet – lead on."