Epilogue
He had maybe a minute to spare when he came through the front door. Slammed it behind him and leaned against it, his chest hitching with remembered breaths. The thought flitted across his mind to simply open it wide, let the sun take him, burn away all that hidden, ugly longing. The only reason he could think of to keep from it was her. Dru. If he died, who would take care of her? Oh, god. Dru. What the hell was he thinking? He put himself in danger – put Dru in danger, for what? A bit of teenage skirt? That's all she was, no matter how her scent called to him, no matter how warm and soft....Fuck. Dru mustn't know. Ever. He – he'd just avoid her till Dru was better; that was easy enough to do. And then they'd get the hell out of this town, and never look back.
He stripped, throwing his clothes in the corner, and crawled in next to Dru. Guilt and sorrow and something new, something he couldn't quite name, twisted inside him. He laid his head on her soft breasts, clutched her desperately to him, and slept.
***
She's lying on her side, wrapped in his arms. They're both naked, she can feel his skin slip against hers, but there's no awkwardness or embarrassment. It's not sexual, this comfortable nakedness, though he's pressing kisses to her neck and shoulders. It just feels snug, and protected, and loving. She can hear his ongoing litany spoken against her skin, into her hair, breathed into her ears. "Oh, Buffy, love, so beautiful, I love you, my darling, my queen, so sweet, all for you, everything for you.." She twines her fingers with his, the chipped black polish standing in stark contrast to his pale, pale skin, and leans her head back for a gentle kiss....
She wakes, surprised that there's no hand in her own.
Buffy lingered in bed for a few moments, smiling. She definitely felt well-rested. Use of the word 'chipper' would not be too far a stretch. Energized, happy, and ready-to-greet-the-school-day. There'd been no dreams the night before....at least, none that she really recalled. Only the sensation of strong, encircling arms around her carried over into her waking. Angel's arms. Yep. It was going to be a great day.
***
He buries his face against her skin, so warm and soft, golden and smooth, breathes in her fragrance. He runs his fingers over her darkened nipples, down the swell of her belly, through her curls, feels her flush with pleasure. He can hear her heartbeat below him, soothing and sure. He murmurs praises against her, worships her with lips and tongue, sweet and slow. She reaches down and draws him to her, frames his face in her hands. "I want you," she breathes into his mouth, and he moans with ecstasy and joy....
Drusilla sat very still, hovering over Spike, watching him with sharp, bright eyes while he slept. Something was happening, and she couldn't see it. It made her very anxious. Something was wrong. She wasn't stupid. He'd been going out, staying out, all night long, called that other girl's name in his sleep. It meant bad things, meant he was going to leave her, just like her Angel did. It made her very anxious indeed.
Now he moaned, softly, and she watched, till he was still and silent once more. "Miss Edith," she whispered. "Can you see my Spike? Can you tell me where he is?"
But Miss Edith only watched with sightless eyes, and if she knew, she didn't answer.
***
The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where
Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent
And soft-shed kisses, and soft sleep shall snare?
Lo! As that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went
Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent,
And 'round his heart, one strangling golden hair.
– Dante Gabriel Rossetti