What Comes of Truth
Title: What Comes of Truth
Era/season/setting: S6 - Once More, With Feeling and Smashed, S7 - Touched
They pressed close in the chair, ignoring Giles’ miserable moans as they focused on each other’s desire. Gentle, nipping kisses? Those made Buffy gasp and arch so that Spike’s eyes were drawn immediately to her breasts. Deep, long kisses? Those made Spike shudder in delight and his hands pulled Buffy even closer. Nuzzling her ears made Buffy purr, while merely interlacing their fingers made Spike melt into bonelessness.
His hands encircled her small waist, hers hooked into his belt loops. Shirt hems eased up, and hot hands skimmed cool abdomen, cool hands caressed flushed back. With their audience blinded and passion rising, they went farther than they might have, flicking nipples to taut peaks, dipping into shadowed valleys.
But the lie was ended and they went back to the only passion they were allowed, fighting and blood flowing.
(Alone in the dark, they touched themselves in ways they hadn’t known they wanted until today. Their dreams provided a fantasy they’d never admit - blond hair and slim bodies, taking and giving pleasure equally. They woke shrouded in shame, and pretended the only thing they shared was violence.)
They fled the finale as soon as they could, passion rising between them despite all her attempts to keep it at bay. They caught each other’s eyes and were lost, violence and shame transformed into yearning.
It had been years since their lips had last touched. They’d hated and hurt in the interim, been enemies, been ensorcelled, been altered, been dead… but stayed in each other’s orbit. Despite the magical foundations of their previous attachment, neither had forgotten.
Nipping kisses still made Buffy gasp.
Deep kisses still made Spike shudder.
It didn’t last; it couldn’t last. It was Seven Minutes in Heaven; but Buffy’d been pulled out of heaven. As much as it soothed her, eased her pain, filled a hole she’d been drowning in, she wouldn’t let this continue.
This wasn’t a dare she could take, not a fun game to play. This was dark, and wrong, and dangerous.
And she wanted it so much.
(Alone behind locked doors, they each relived the moment. Buffy’s fingers twitched as she remembered their drawing together, desperate to hold onto something solid. Spike ran his hands through his hair, remembering the feel of her even as he resigned himself to abandonment. They’d taken the leap; they were just waiting for the fall.)
“You came back wrong.”
She felt his accusation to the core. Here was the explanation she’d needed, the reason for her misery, her pain, her inability to connect with those she’d once loved. Here was the reason she was drawn to Spike, why violence was the foundation of her existence.
She was wrong.
For all that it echoed in her head, a heartbeat of understanding, she blustered. She battered. She refused to admit it aloud.
Violence had always been their thing, and they lashed out at each other with feet and fists. No fangs though. Afterwards, she wondered about that.
Neither of them minded the violence. Spike laughed as he taunted her, her blows ineffectual against his ego now that he had words to weaponize against her. Eventually she found her voice as well, reminding him of all his failures, her words hitting as hard as his. Their tenuous grasp on reality crumbled under the onslaught, much as the house around them.
They couldn’t hurt each other. Not really. Not enough to last.
Not until she crashed her lips to his, one more time. Not until she gave in to the last honest urge in her body. Not until he let her lead.
Not until they bound lust and violence together in a shattered building, risking it all for a moment of heat, of fire. It was what she needed in that moment, what he’d seen she needed for weeks.
(Alone in their thoughts, they both dwelled on what they’d done, how they’d felt whole for all too brief a moment. Their joining was violence and passion, destruction and preservation in equal measures. She’d made a choice, hoped for healing, knowing it was a risk. He’d acquiesced, hoped for acceptance, knowing it was a risk. But they’d both misjudged - and the fall was much farther than they realized.
“A hundred plus years, and there’s only one thing I’ve ever been sure of. You.”
His arms enfolded her, just as his words had done. And with that, she was home. Revello Drive was filled with people who didn’t want her, didn’t trust her, didn’t understand why she made the choices she made. But here, in this room, Spike told her more about herself than she’d ever known before. He’d shown her more of his soul than she’d believed existed. And now, when she needed to rest, needed to gather her resources for the next terrible, horrible violent thing - he was here. Here to protect, to guard, to warm. Here to love. She knew it was the truth - he loved her and had loved her for more time than she realized.
She relaxed against him, her tears drying on her cheeks. And with that, he was home. He didn’t need anyone else but her, though cannon fodder was always helpful. He’d bared his soul and she had listened. She’d let him talk, she’d heard and responded. They’d had a conversation. It had been a painful conversation, but pain and love and Buffy had always been intertwined in his blood. He’d be beside her to the end. Beside her to protect, to guard, to defend. Beside her to die. He knew it was the truth - after a hundred years, he’d found a love worth dying for.