Carpe Diem by SpikesDeb

Buffy kicked at the flat tyre and growled low in her throat. “I'm going to KILL Dawn. I told her to get the spare mended. But no, why bother when she can just have another one of her drooling boyfriends come pick her up. Doesn't matter if her sister gets stranded in the middle of nowhere.” She grabbed her cell phone from off the passenger seat and keyed in Dawn's number...then cursed up a storm when the battery warning flashed, then the phone died. “Gah! I don't believe this! Where am I?”

Buffy walked away from her two-seater sports car and up the road a little. It wasn't lit, and there was no pavement, and no road-sign that she could see. There was scrubland off to both sides and although she could hear the distant sound of traffic, she couldn't see it, not even a flash of headlights. With a squeal of realisation, she teetered back to the car and slid into the bucket seat, tapping at the satellite navigation system. It only worked when the engine was on. The engine wouldn't come on. She kept revving the engine, getting a droning sound, a sputter then nothing. Almost sobbing, she realised that she'd left the lights and the radio on and drained the battery. Could things get any worse?

“Calm down, Buffy. You're the Slayer! A flat tyre and a flat battery are nothing to you. Think!” She got back out of the car and paced, worrying at her manicured nails and click-clacking along the tarmac in her ridiculously high and impractical heels. She shivered. It was the first week in January and the weather in England was not exactly tropical. But as she hadn't figured on breaking down she hadn't brought anything warmer than a lace shawl to wrap around her bare shoulders, leaving almost everything else bare. The black dress she wore was cut down low at the back and front, and high on her thighs with a split that left little to the imagination. Giles had almost choked when she sashayed down the stairs in the large Victorian house she shared with him, her sister, and a number of other slayers. He'd muttered about inappropriate apparel and obscenity laws, while cleaning his glasses furiously, but Buffy had flipped him off earning a further disapproving glare, and announced that she intended to party, party, party and not to bother waiting up because she was finally going to see what all the fuss was about English men of the non-dead variety.

She'd left a blushing watcher trying to deflect all the curious questions thrown at him by the young slayers about her final comment. Of course, her smile had faded as she drove along the road away from London and into the countryside towards the private party she'd been invited to. Could she really ever move on from him? It had been four years now since he'd died. Well, since he'd ceased to exist. Again. And truly, she'd been so angry with him that he'd been back and not bothered to even send her a message that she'd tried desperately to convince herself that she didn't care, never had.

Hadn't worked.

Too late she had realised that he'd become the centre of her world, just in time to have her world ripped away from her. She'd almost turned the car around as the tears pricked at her eyelids. But she'd gritted her teeth and driven on, swallowing down the sobs and turning up the radio. And now she was lost and had no way of getting help.

Buffy sagged against the bright red paintwork and let the tears fall. Didn't matter any more that her make-up would be ruined. Part of her – a very large part if she was honest – was relieved that she had a completely valid excuse to miss the party. At least now she could stop fooling herself that any other man's touch would ever be enough. Sniffling, she wiped her nose on the back of her hand and opened the passenger side door, sagging into the seat and shivering. She couldn't even turn on the heat, or the radio. She popped open the glovebox and rummaged around, not sure what she was looking for. She found an assortment of cds, a demister pad, and a half-finished packet of mints. At least she wouldn't starve, thanks to Andrew and his sweet tooth. Pity he hadn't left one of his ridiculous overcoats on the back shelf. Whipping her head round, hopefully searching for the garish tweed, her heart raced—but no, there was just a nodding dog. Another Andrew addition to the car the Summers family, and their add-ons, shared.

At least she found a stake in the door pocket. After all, she was in the middle of nowhere on some kind of windswept moor, the moon peeping out from between the clouds and outlining the stark cliffs of... actually, there were no cliffs. She was getting carried away. She guessed she was barely off the main road really, but with no sense of direction and heels that would have Harmony breaking an ankle, she didn't really want to wander aimlessly across unfamiliar ground.

“Gah! This sucks!” she screamed, hitting the dashboard with a hollow thud. “I'm the bloody Slayer!” Her words caught in her throat as she realised she'd used one of Spike's quaint curses, and tears flowed again, part frustration, part sorrow. She rested her head on her arms and closed her eyes, trying to just be numb. Concentrating on the silence and the dark, she tried to achieve that zen-like trance she'd read about and envied for so long; but all she got was cramp in her right calf and an itch on her back that she couldn't reach to scratch. She was cursing up a blue storm when she noticed the approaching light; it was flickering as it approached and she couldn't tell at first whether it was a motorbike or a car with one lamp out, but the throaty rumble as it got nearer soon answered that question.

Bike.

Were the gods playing with her? Another reminder of her fallen vampire.

And one that would be passing her by if she didn't do something to attract the rider's attention. In a scramble of chilled limbs, Buffy levered herself out of the car and started to jump up and down, waving her arms. The bike rumbled on and she feared she'd end up so much roadkill, mowed down by the heedless rider, but eventually the engine sound changed and the roar became less, and she realised that she may well have attracted the attention of a knight in shining armour - albeit, not one on a white charger. Right now, she'd be happy with a ravening demon, because at least then she could kick it in the shins and steal its ride.

The bike slowed to a halt, the dark visor and helmet of the rider reflecting the moon's light in a glint that temporarily blinded the grateful Slayer. He – or she; it was difficult to tell in the darkness – was wrapped in black leather from head to foot, and the boots were clunky with metallic buckles that rattled as the kickstand was lowered. As the rider swung the leather-clad leg over and off the bike, Buffy's stomach fluttered; that movement was so reminiscent of...she steeled herself to stop seeing him everywhere and concentrate on fluttering her eyelashes enough to get help.

“Oh, thank you! You're my saviour,” Buffy simpered as she sashayed over to the bike. “I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't happened by.” She thought she heard a familiar throaty chuckle, but shook it off again as being her deranged imaginings and wishful thinking. She tried to work out if the rider was male or female, and having swept her eyes along the upper torso and down, she answered her question. Male, definitely. Her mouth dried up and she swallowed and licked her lips before continuing her attempt at helpless female in need of strong, masculine – very masculine – assistance. “If you could just drop me off at a gas station, I could make a call – or if you've got a phone that would be great.” Her heart thudded hard in her chest as her silent rescuer swaggered towards her, unbuckling the helmet strap. Dammit! She had to stop seeing Spike in every man she encountered.

She collapsed back against her car when the face of her white knight was revealed.

Spike.

SPIKE!

Buffy was shaking so hard it rattled the door of the car and she was breathing in short, shallow breaths fighting against the loss of consciousness that was fast overtaking her. She felt sick, her hands were clammy and her fingers curled into tight fists as she fought to stay upright. She let out a sob as she heard his familiar voice.

“Hello, love.”

Hello, love. Here he was, the man she loved and had lost – twice, although she hadn't known he was back before he'd gone the second time – and all he could say was 'hello, love'? Buffy inhaled and held her breath, struggling to gain control and trying to calm her racing brain enough to speak.

“Been a while,” Spike murmured, his eyes fixed on her anxiously. “Was just comin' to see you...” Lame. He felt lame, knew she'd think so. Why was it so hard to speak to her? It wasn't as if he hadn't imagined them meeting countless times while he healed. It had been all that had kept him going for most of the long and painful process, thinking about her hair, her skin, the way she crinkled up her nose when she laughed, imagining the way he would just ignore anything that had come between them before the apocalypse that took him the first time and would grab her and crush her to him and never let her go. Easy, at least in theory. In practice, not so much.

Because here they were: Buffy the vampire slayer, the Chosen One and William the Bloody, vampire and hopeless romantic. She was inches away from him, her warmth already washing over him, the scent of her skin invading his system and the sight of her parted lips making him ache to kiss her. And instead, he was standing there and toeing the ground, swinging the helmet in one hand and running his fingers through his newly bleached hair with the other.

He tried again, took another step towards her. “Buffy, I...”

She exploded into action. “You bastard!” she spat at him as she pushed herself off the car. “You were just coming to see me? Like nothing's happened, just coming to see me. Have you any idea what my life's been like since you...oooh you make me so angry!” She threw up her arms and started pacing, opening and closing her mouth as she tried to frame the right words. Spike watched her, chewing on his bottom lip nervously and berating himself for being a right sorry wanker with no balls when he let her haul forth at him with a string of abusive insults. “Are you just going to stand there?” she yelled when she'd done calling him all the foul names she could think of. “Well, are you?”

Spike raised his bowed head and was startled when he noticed that far from looking angry, Buffy looked invigorated. Her eyes were sparkling, cheeks high with colour, chest heaving with frequent tiny breaths. She looked glorious.

And it was suddenly all so simple.

It took two steps before he could reach an arm around her and pull her hard against him, another one to force her back against the car and allow him to rest the helmet on the roof, a heartbeat before his lips descended and crushed hers. It was an agonising instant before Buffy's arms closed around him and she responded, pulling him closer and closer until there wasn't a single atom that could get between them. She was clawing at him, chewing at his lips and sucking on his tongue as she tried to get closer, one leg coming up to wrap around his hip and pull his groin tight against her.

Spike moaned into the kiss as she moved against him, and despite his intentions to make their reunion a meaningful and 'Gone With the Wind' epic, it was rapidly becoming obvious that it was more likely to be a scene from a skin flick, probably followed by a serious kicking of his arse.

He couldn't wait.

While he'd been distracted by her lips, Buffy had been busy unzipping his leather jacket and easing it off his shoulders, and he reluctantly let go of her as he shrugged it off to the floor. She moved away from his lips for a second or two while she struggled with the button of his tight, leather trousers, cursing under her breath until the sound of his zipper being lowered punctuated the almost silent night. Spike mumbled a stream of “fuck, fuck, fuck” as she closed her hand around his cock and fisted her free hand in his hair to pull him back in for more kisses.

They were so bloody good at this! He'd forgotten, and it had been so long since he'd dared to hope she'd ever touch him again. But his body remembered.

Spike's hands were roaming over Buffy's exposed skin, dipping beneath the skimpy dress and pulling on the straps until one gave and snapped. He palmed her bare breast, bucking against her hand and struggling to keep control as her nipple hardened beneath his fingers. He wanted to taste her, tease the tender bud between his teeth, but his lips had other ideas and were still happily reacquainting themselves with Buffy's as she continued to kiss him senseless. And the way she was stroking him, it wouldn't be long before he fell to the floor in a tangle of satiated limbs.

In urgent need of something – of her – he grabbed her hand to still her, knocking it out of the way as he swept his fingers up her bare thigh and beneath the hem of her frankly scandalously short dress. Her panties were barely there anyway, and were really not there a second later as he tugged so hard that the string side gave way. He could feel her heart pounding in her chest, felt her whimper against his lips as he ghosted a finger across her cleft and her clit, not able to wait before he buried one then two digits inside her. She dug her nails into the back of his skull, her other hand grabbing at his t-shirt and balling it up to reach beneath to get to his bare flesh. The sound of his fingers pumping in and out of her wet channel was too much for Spike to bear for long, Buffy whimpering “yes, yes, now” as he tugged his trousers down further and grabbed her other leg to wrap around him. She lay back against the car roof, her breast bare to the night air as he pounded into her, any finesse forgotten in his urgent need to make her his again. Buffy seemed to agree, urging him on with her screams and grabbing hands until she stilled and let out a howl to the night, culminating in Spike's name.

He let go, the release when it came hard and fast and bloody marvellous.

Legs shaking, Spike moved to allow Buffy to slide down the bodywork, but didn't relinquish his grip on her. He wouldn't ever let her go, not again.

She was shivering; Spike bent down to retrieve his jacket and slipped it around her shoulders, searching her face for a clue as to what would happen next. Because he honestly didn't know whether her next act would be to stake him.

When the silence had stretched too long for his sanity, he spoke softly, avoiding her eyes. “So, is this the bit where you kick me in the head and run off, virtue flutterin'?” He hoped she'd remember him speaking those words before, maybe it would break the ice a little.

Buffy smiled, a little twitch at the corners of her mouth, as she recalled an earlier time. Had she really been that stupid? And an evil thought entered her head that she should tease him a little – but she didn't have it in her.

If she'd learned one thing since the hellmouth had imploded, it was that time was precious. She'd once told Willow to seize the day and it seemed even more pertinent now that she'd somehow regained the love she thought she'd lost forever. It would take some time to make things right, to learn how to live with each other; she was no fool, she knew that. And she was definitely going to need a full explanation of his whereabouts and decision not to come see her when he was in LA. That still hurt; old Buffy would have pouted about that for days, made a big issue of it and essentially denied herself the one thing she'd craved for so long.

New Buffy was having none of that. She turned to face him fully, almost speechless as she took a good look at his familiar features, those bright blue eyes and sculpted cheekbones, those soft and well-kissed lips. Hers. He would always be hers, no point trying to think otherwise. He would be hers even if she didn't want him, he'd proved that. But she wanted him so badly she could hardly breathe.

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrow, and she was completely and utterly lost. And loving it.

“Vampire, you owe me a big explanation. But splainy later, kisses now. Please?”

Spike let out a breath he hadn't even realised he'd been holding and obliged her happily, softer now, tender, pouring all of his feelings and love for her into his kiss. And he finally felt it back from her. He'd no idea what he'd done, how she'd changed. Maybe it was simply the old adage of absence making the heart grow fonder. Whatever it was, he wasn't going to fight it.

When Buffy shivered again, he recalled her lack of clothing – and he'd be asking her about the reason for that later – and rummaged about in his pillion bag. Buffy sighed happily when he settled the soft leather of his duster around her, gripping the lapels and inhaling his scent. He was really here.

She threw herself against him and babbled words that he barely caught in between the kisses she peppered his lips with. But he did hear 'I love you' and 'never leave me', and this time he believed her.

“Can we go home now?” she murmured happily, sighing as Spike lifted her to sit behind him on the bike. “Dawn's going to freak when she sees you. And the others.”

Ah. The others. Well, maybe this time it would be different. And to be honest, he didn't really care. As long as Buffy wrapped her arms around him just like she was doing now, and as long as she looked at him with love in her eyes and not loathing, he could handle the Scoobies.

The bike roared as he throttled it back and kicked up the stand, dust settling behind on the abandoned car and the helmet still resting on the roof. After all, he was still the Big Bad, the law be damned.

THE END

Submit a Review!

Name:

Email (req. but not shown):

Comments: