Eight - Near-Misses

Buffy gasped quietly into Spike's mouth as his lips played over hers. She felt him sway from side to side a bit on his weakened legs and guided him slowly backwards, her lips never leaving his. Within a short moment, they lay on his bed, hands and mouths exploring, stoking the embers of want in both of them.

Buffy sat up, straddling Spike as she grasped the hem of her white chemise and pulled it over her head. Her breasts bobbed slightly with the motion. One of his hands wrapped around the back of her neck and pulled her head down to hers once more while the other snaked between them to roll a hard nipple between nimble fingers.

"Spike," she moaned as his mouth trailed fiery-hot kisses down her throat and across her collarbone. "I want you..."

"Mmm," he agreed, nibbling on the crook of her neck. "Want you too."

Seconds later he groaned loudly as her small, warm hand wrapped around his hard cock. He panted aloud, his eyes rolling back from the feel of her skin against him, and bit his lip to regain control of himself. His left hand dipped beneath the fabric of her cotton pants, cupping her ass firmly, then curled around her hip and dipped downward between her legs.

She was dripping.

He removed his hand from her pants, tugging on the waistband. "Off," he demanded.

Her eyes locked on his as she stood up next to the bed and untied the drawstring, then pushed the pants down over her hips. They fell silently to the floor. His gaze travelled hotly over her, and hers over him, as they openly admired each other.

Heartbeats raced as she approached him, climbing back onto the bed. She straddled him again, her fingers lacing through his and pinning his arms to the bed. A Cheshire-cat grin spread on her face as she shifted her hips subtly, her slippery-wet folds coming in contact with the head of his cock.

"See," Buffy said, her teeth and tongue nipping up and down his throat, "if I hadn't left you three years ago, we wouldn't be doing this now." Her lips searched for his own, but he turned his head, her words dousing his arousal like a bucket of ice water.

He turned back to her slowly. His eyes, which had moments ago been smoldering with arousal, were cold and filled with pain. "I don't think we should do this," he said hoarsely. His cock began to soften.

She pulled back. "What are you talking about?"

"If we do this now, you'll be halfway back to New York by mornin'." He took a deep breath. "An' I don't want that."

Buffy scrambled backwards off him. "Oh... God..." she mumbled. A surge of fresh guilt tore through her. She reached desperately for her cotton pants, pulling them on and yanking her chemise over her head. One hand came up, her fingertips resting on kiss-swollen lips. "I'm sorry," she whispered, dashing from the room.

He lay in bed for a long time, in the same position he'd been in when she'd left the room. Then he grabbed a pillow, placed it firmly over his face, and screamed.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike sat at the table when Buffy shuffled into the kitchen, stretching and yawning. "Mornin', luv," he greeted, his eyes on the newspaper.

"Good morning," she replied. She headed straight for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, adding plenty of sugar. "Sleep well?"

He glanced up. "I'd be lyin' if I said I did."

Buffy took a deep swallow of her coffee, relishing the caffeine as it rushed down her throat. "Me too." She took another sip. "Listen, about last night..."

"It's in the past, luv," he said, the paper rustling as he turned the page. "Don't worry 'bout it."

"Okay." They sat in slightly uncomfortable silence, he reading his paper, she drinking her coffee. "I'm going to start you on crutches today," Buffy said quietly.

"That's good," he replied. "Is every conversation of ours gonna be this borin' and guarded from now on?"

"Probably for awhile," she guessed. "Fresh tension here."

He rolled his eyes. "Pet, we were steeped in tension before. What makes this any different?"

"Because I feel guilty. And you were right."

"About what?"

"I probably would've been halfway back to New York this morning," she said. "Remember how I told you about Angel?"

Spike nodded.

"I left out a part." She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. "A few days after, I ran into him again. We got to talking, and he casually mentioned that I was the worst lay he'd ever had."

His jaw dropped, but he didn't say anything.

"That, of course, made me completely depressed. But that wasn't the end of my bad history with guys. My freshman year of college, I met Parker. He seemed nice enough, and we hung out a few times, and then one night we slept together. That's where a pattern began to emerge. He was gone the next morning too. I found myself a nice, normal guy to date, only problem was he bored me out of my mind. So when he left to go do some top-secret military stuff, I was prepared for it. That brings us to the night three years ago." She took a deep breath. "I decided that I wasn't going to let another man leave. So I left instead."

"Cor, luv, I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"Not your fault," she replied. "And there's nothing I can do about it now, so I don't let it bother me anymore." She took another sip of her cooling coffee. "Man, does it feel good to finally say all of that to someone."

He offered a small smile, his attention once again falling on the newspaper.

~*~*~*~*~

Forearm crutches and Spike didn't get along.

Here he was, lying on his carpet for the fifth or sixth time since he'd gripped the rubber handles and attempted to step forward. He was breathing hard, gritting his teeth and attempting to get back on his feet.

He was slightly irritated.

So when Buffy reached down and offered to help him stand, he snapped at her. "Bugger off," he growled. "I can do this m'self, God dammit."

She stepped back immediately, hands in the air. "Okay, okay," she said soothingly. "Go for it. I'll just..." she glanced around the room, her eyes lighting on an easy chair, "... sit."

She kept a wary eye trained on Spike as he reached up and grabbed one of his bedposts in a sweaty hand, his palm sliding around on the highly-polished wood a bit as he pulled himself to his feet slowly. He looked down and glared at the crutches, wishing he had enough mobility to put on his steel-toed Doc Martens and stomp all over the offensive things.

One hand remained on the bedpost as he leaned down and picked up the crutches, setting them against the foot of his bed. He sagged onto his mattress, wiping his palms on his shorts. "I'm goin' to wait," he said, "for five minutes. An' if I can't do it then, those crutches are leavin' this house. I'll learn to walk on the bars."

"Those crutches will offer you a lot more mobility than the bars could," Buffy reminded him.

He turned an angry glare on her. "I will install railings through my entire house," he ground out, "if that's what I have to do."

"Have it your way," she said, shrugging.

His jaw tightened. "I will, thanks." His eyes lit on the crutches again. "Sod it, I'm gonna give it another go now."

Moments later he lay on the floor again. "Graaaah!"

~*~*~*~*~

"Alright, Spike, you can do this..." he mumbled to himself as he stood slowly. He clutched the bedpost for a moment, his eyes on his destination. One step. Two. His hand was still on the bedpost, but he let it go, dropping it to his side. Concentrated. Funny, walking hadn't seemed this hard the first time he learned. Thigh muscles contracted as his leg lifted and he shifted his weight forward slightly on his still-planted foot. The other foot landed solidly several inches away.

Another step. This one was a bit shaky, and he wondered when his right leg had become so much weaker than his left. His brow began to dampen slightly as he pressed forward, coming ever closer to his goal. Strong step. Weaker step. Strong step. The weaker steps became more confident and powerful, the further he walked. Faster now - pacing across the room. Almost there.

He reached out with his left hand and wrapped his fingers around the cool metal of the doorknob. Success.

"Maybe just a little bit further..." he said confidently, wiping sweat from his face with his free hand as he leaned against the door. He took a little breather, then turned his wrist and opened the door. Stepped out into the hallway.

It looked like it would be about twenty paces to the elevator. I can make it, he thought.

If anyone had seen him shuffling down the hallway, they would've had an immediate flashback to the little engine struggling up the mountain in Dumbo, as he whispered "I think I can, I think I can," over and over to himself. He was getting close now.

He found himself standing before the elevator. Triumphantly, he pressed the button. The doors opened, he stepped inside and rode down, breathing hard.

He could hear the powerful french-horn based theme from Gladiator playing in the lounge. Sharp left turn out of the elevator and into the lounge.

"Yeah!" Buffy exclaimed. "Get him! Ouch..." she winced in sympathy.

"Enjoyin' the movie?" he asked, leaning in the doorway.

She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice. "Jeez, Spike! I didn't hear you come in. Did you put WD-40 on your wheel - " she turned around, her eyes widening. " - chair...? What the hell?"

"You're the therapist," he said smugly. "What's it look like?"

She stood up. "It looks like you used the crutches and hid them somewhere," she said. She slipped by him, looking around in the hallway. "Okay, where'd you put them?" she demanded when she'd re-entered the room and reclaimed her seat on the couch.

"Where I left them when they didn't agree with me," he replied.

She quirked an eyebrow. "You're telling me you walked by yourself all the way down here?"

"With the 'elp of the elevator," he said. He hadn't changed his position since he'd first spoken.

"I don't believe you."

He rolled his eyes, pushing off the doorframe with his shoulder. Stretched his arms a bit, then started out toward her. He walked right in front of her and plopped down on the couch. "Oh, just in time for the good part," he commented as he watched Russell Crowe battle the undefeated gladiator whose showy fighting included three chained tigers. "Gotta love some gratuitous violence."

She gaped at him.

Glancing over at her, he smirked. "What?" he asked, his attention immediately re-focussed on the fight scene.

"You..." she said.

"I... what?" he prodded. "I... 'ave some food stuck between m'teeth? I... look dead sexy in this tee-shirt?" He ran a hand seductively over the medium-blue fabric at his second statement. "I... can walk?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but was struck speechless once again and her jaw snapped shut.

He chuckled, continuing to watch the climactic end sequences of the movie.

"So I guess you won't be needing much therapy anymore then," she said.

He detected a hint of sadness in her tone, but couldn't be sure whether it was directed toward him or the characters onscreen. "M'right leg is still a bit weak," he admitted quietly. "I was hopin' you could 'elp me with that."

She took awhile to respond. "Yeah," she said. "Sure."

"Good."

Am I not merciful?!

Buffy shuddered. "God, he creeps me out. He's all with the sallow, and the... intense..." she shuddered again.

"Met 'im once," Spike offered. "When I was with..." he tilted his head. "Nevermind." He stole a bit of the popcorn that she'd put onto the couch next to her when she'd stood up. "Nothin' like stale popcorn," he said as he watched the rightful emperor and the man who'd stolen his place battle in the Colosseum fight to the death.

They sat in silence for a minute, as the film ended. He was a soldier of Rome... honor him.

A few moments later, the end credits rolled. "Nothing like a guy movie with a powerful ending," Buffy said.

"How is that a guy movie?" Spike asked.

"Spike, there are two major battles, and five other fight scenes. It's a guy movie."

"So what you're sayin' is - "

"I only watched it because Russell Crowe is hot."

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Noticing her reach for a cushion, he warned, "Don't try anythin'. I may not be able to sprint the 100 yet, but I can fight back now."

"Oh yeah?" she asked mischievously, her grip tightening around the corner of the cushion.

"Yeah," he said, deflecting her blow as she attempted to thwack him in the head. He grabbed his own cushion and soon they were both laughing raucously, pillows flying through the air.

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