Lessons in Comfort

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Desinations of the Heart Series: Story 3/5

Summary: The missing 'Door' scene & other lessons in comfort.

AUTHOR: Ariane
EMAIL: ariane_five@yahoo.com
RATING: R
PAIRING: Buffy/Spike
SETTING: Post 'Potential' S7
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Principal Wood appears suddenly next to Buffy’s open cube. “Seen any good horror films lately?”

She jerks her head up with a start. Wood is staring down at the picture she’s doodling on a large yellow notepad. It’s a picture of a vampire with fangs, which might possibly bear some resemblance to Spike, if she could actually draw. However, it appears she’s tried her best to compensate. The vampire is shirtless and has ‘Spike’ written across his chest. Standing right next to the vampire is a stick figure of a girl holding what looks like… A pencil? A stake? A barbecue fork? The girl has a large oval head which rests against the vampire’s shoulder. Her facial features are drawn in abstract…two dots and a huge half-circle smile. Around the couple, Buffy’s drawn a big heart.

“That’s a happy little scene,” Wood comments.

Realizing that he’s staring at her drawing, Buffy rips the page out of the notebook and tosses it into the waste paper basket.

“Just taking notes…” she says, searching desperately for a name.  “You know, from the last student I saw. Uh….Amanda!”

“Ah yes, Amanda. She has a little problem with the boys. She likes them bad. Fights with them. And you, Miss Summers? How about you? Do you have a problem with the bad boys?”

“Bad boys? No! No bad boys. Not anymore,” she says in a rush. She looks up at him, and he’s smiling. Okay, maybe that’s not what he meant. She gets flustered. She tries again. “Yes! I mean, no. I’m open.  I have an open door… um… cube policy. I’ll talk to anyone. Send ‘em in. Bad boy’s R Us. Not a problem. Not at all. Not me."

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t bringing any issues from home into the workplace. I expect you to be professional. Keep your personal and work life separate. It just makes things easier all around.”

“No issues!” she says in a forced, bubbly voice. Wood doesn’t look like he’s convinced.

“You sure?” He gives her a curious look.

“Absolutely 100% issue free,” she replies, avoiding his eyes. She’s thinking about the homicidal, evil worshiping comic book fanatic, the depressed, trying to recover from almost destroying the world witch, the boatload of hormonally challenged, non-visa holding, teenaged Potentials who are getting snuffed on a daily basis, and one strangely shy, but sexily remorseful and recently rescued, soulful vampire chained up in her basement.

Yeah, she has some issues at home.

But at least Spike isn’t an issue now. He is the man she loves. Hadn’t she admitted it to him a few days ago? He is the man she loves. Loves. But he’s not her lover. Her…what? Is that an issue? She starts wondering about what will come next.

She gets a dreamy look on her face.

He’d been an issue. More like a global issue. But it’s not her fault he was roaming around totally insane for God knows how long in the school basement and elsewhere.  But he’s not an issue now. He’s with her. She believes in him. No more issues now that she is living with him. Living with him. She smiles to herself. Dancing with him. Kissing him. Sleeping with him. Well, she hasn’t been sleeping with him, technically. In the sexy kind of way. But she must be near him at night. To guard him. Just in case he decides to start biting again, or something else, she tells herself.

Something else. Will he be gentle? Will she?

So why is she here at this stupid job when the world is falling apart, and he’s all alone down in the basement chained to her wall? He'd better be alone. Stupid Potentials. He might be hurting. Lonely. Did he miss her? She remembers what he looked like naked and sprawled across the beautiful Persian rugs he used to have in his crypt. His crypt. Him and her all alone. She’s missing that crypt right now. So comfy and private.

Wood interrupts her little Spike reverie.

“Miss Summers! Did you hear what I just said?”

“No issues!” She replies.

“You really must pay more attention to your surroundings. Someday you’ll get yourself into hot water.”

She’s staring Wood straight in the eye, but now she’s thinking about hot water. Hot water. Mmmmm. Not enough of that lately. She’d really wanted to give Spike a bath after she’d rescued him from the cave. Nice, warm, bubbly bath. Just to comfort him. Stupid Potentials. The bathroom is now a war zone. Of course, he’d need help in the bath. She could scrub his back. How could anyone have such a beautiful back? It was criminal. He needs a long, hot soak to heal up those scars and bruised muscles she saw a few nights ago down in the basement when they were doing laundry. And his beautiful muscles. He has such sexy arms and shoulders. She might have to get in the tub with him. Just to help.

I wonder if he’s ticklish?

“Buffy?!”

Okay, she’s on the brink of getting fired here, she thinks. What the hell. If she gets fired, she could spend more time with Spike. Helping. Soothing. Comforting. But the Double Meat Experience pops into her mind, and she realizes that, for some unfathomable reason, this guy shouting at her gave her a real job, and she’s got tons of people to feed. And except for Xander, who’s now spending most of his time repairing her front window, she’s the only one working.

Must make good impression on angry boss who probably has a normal life and no issues.

She sees Amanda walking outside in the corridor and frantically waves to her. She gives Wood a little frown. “I’m so sorry, Principal Wood. But I’m kinda worried about Amanda,” she lies. Amanda slouches in and stands behind Wood, tapping her foot impatiently.

“Hi, Amanda! I was expecting you to come back,” Buffy jumps up from her desk and drags Amanda over to the visitor chair.

Amanda gives Buffy a look that plainly asks, “Are you crazy?”

Buffy smiles quickly back at Wood. “Gotta work now. Worker bee. Busy with business.”

“We’ll talk later,” Wood says and goes back into his office.


* * * * *


“Now, Spike, you come at me,” Buffy commands. She turns her back to him. It’s around 11 p.m., and she and Spike are in a graveyard giving the Potentials a little training lesson in slaying.

Spike jumps her. She flips him over onto his back and straddles him. She holds the stake to his chest and turns her head to give the Potentials a smug look. “That’s how it’s done. You gotta be creative when you’re fighting vamps. Keep all your options open.”

Spike groans beneath her, and she looks down at him with concern. “Are you alright?” she asks.

“Uh…” He shifts beneath her. He’s in pain. “It’s just a couple of ribs, is all. Not quite 100% yet.”

“Let me feel,” she says and slips her hand under his shirt. His eyes open wide at her touch.

“What’ya doing?” He grabs her hand which is moving slowly over his stomach. As she leans forward to examine him, her crotch presses down on a particularly sensitive area.

“Oh please,” he moans. She clings to his hand.

“Does this hurt?” she asks worriedly. She’s dropped the stake and now is using her free hand to feel his chest muscles. Her fingers brush across his nipple. “How about here?” she asks a bit hoarsely. “Or here?” Her hand slips up under his arm, and she massages his triceps.

“My ribs are bit lower down, Slayer,” he grimaces and starts to squirm. She’s radiating heat down there like a bleeding furnace. 

She feels something stiffen beneath her. And my, it’s so hard. Definitely nothing’s wrong with his…

“Now that’s hot. Definitely an option I’d like to keep open,” comments one of the Potentials, licking her lips.

Suddenly reminded that she has an audience, Buffy scrambles off Spike and helps him up. “Okay, now who wants to try next?”

All the Potentials raise their hands.


* * * * *


“Wow, a real crypt! This is so creepy, and…” One of the potentials sneezes. “Dusty. I’ve got allergies, you know. I’m sure I’m not meant to be a slayer,” she complains.

“Don’t worry, girls. You have it in you. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been viciously, ruthlessly hunted down by the evil, eyeless…” Spike touches her arm. She looks up at him, and he’s shaking his head. Yeah, right, go ahead and shake your head at me, she thinks. This is my lesson. They need to be scared. If they’re not scared enough, they might end up dead.

She gives Spike a dirty look and continues her speech. “This is a vampire nest. They don’t care about dust and stuff. They’re really just animals.” 

Spike looks insulted.

One of the Potentials interrupts her. “Did you live in a crypt like this, Spike?”

“Why yes, I did. But actually, it was much more posh…”

“And comfy!” Buffy interjects.

“Comfy?” All the Potentials speak at once. They look at her expectantly, hopeful that she’ll elaborate.

She stammers, “Uh…in a nasty, vampire-ish sort of way…but…nasty’s the wrong word, what I meant was…”

Spike. All naked and nasty on his rug. On his bed. On his chair. On her.

She glances over at Spike, and he tilts his head to the side and gives her a little smile.

Now this is getting out of hand, she thinks. Time to take back control. She looks around the crypt desperate for a distraction, and with a sigh of relief, she sees that the vampires who live in the crypt have discarded the remains of their lunch. The lunch is starting to move. 

“I think you’re ready for the next lesson. Remember what I said about keeping your options open?”

She grabs Spike by the arm and pulls him back towards the door of the crypt. She catches his eye and nods toward the corner where the newly risen vampire is crawling to his feet.

“Watch your backs, girls!” she shouts. “Make me proud. We’ll be right outside.”

She drags Spike across the threshold of the crypt, and he reaches around her to swing the door shut. Well, almost shut. She doesn’t mean to leave those poor girls alone in there with that thing, does she? He leaves the door open just a crack, holds onto the doorknob, just in case he has to move fast to rescue them. What could she be thinking?

Buffy’s standing a few inches in front of him.  He feels her hand slide across the top of his own. She gives a hard push, and the door creaks then slams shut. She doesn’t remove her hand. She takes a tiny step back and leans against him, her head resting against his shoulder. Full body contact. So warm and so very inappropriate given the circumstances.

He can hear her heart beat. He can smell the delicious fragrance of her blood and, oh God, what’s that scent? He lowers his head and presses his lips against her temple. He nuzzles his face against her skin, catches the tip of her earlobe between his teeth, then trails the tip of his tongue inside the soft curves of her ear. She grabs his free hand, pulls it around her waist, and holds it against her stomach. She rocks back against him and trembles. 

“Comfy?” he whispers.

“What? You don’t like ‘comfy’?” she murmurs.

“Love comfy.”

She moves his hand beneath her shirt.

“What’s she doing?” he wonders, but then gets lost in the feel of her skin beneath his hand. “Ah… her skin. Her skin is silken.”

“A little problem with your ribs, Slayer?” he teases.

And then she guides his hand up to her breast. He gasps. Does the girl never wear a bra? As he gently cups and kneads the offered breast, his finger traces the contour of her nipple, and it stiffens beneath his caress. If it wasn’t for the fact that there were four girls and a vampire in a fight to the death on the other side of the door, he’d have her pants down and be buried deep inside her in a flash. The thought of how deep, how wet and how hot she must be right now, makes his knees weak.

He forgets the vamp, forgets the girls, and forgets the lessons in violence and death.

He’s thinking of Buffy. Her awkward gestures. Her touch. Hot, cold, hot. Love, hate. More love.

He thinks they both need some lessons in comfort. Slow, gentle, warm.

Gotta have her. Now. I’ll show her comfy.

He rubs himself against the soft swell of her buttocks. “Oh mercy. Please, just let me in,” he cries.

He’s desperately trying to figure out how he can free at least one of his hands so he can get his zipper down.

But she holds his hands with an iron grip. She really doesn’t like the way some of the Potentials have been looking at him. He’s all hers now.

Mine. My vampire. My man. My mate.

“What are you doing to me?” he groans.

She twists slightly and bares her neck to him. Her artery is pumping blissfully away a few inches from his lips.

“Just getting the next lesson ready,” she says. “For later.”

“Later?” he asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” she says. “After your bath.”

A hideous roar sounds from inside the crypt, followed by clapping and cries of joy. Buffy and Spike open the door together, hand upon hand. The Potentials tumble out the door, laughing and shouting.

“We did it!” they say in unison. There’s an awkward pause as they realize that Spike and Buffy are holding hands.

“So what’ve you guys been doing out here while we got the job done?" one of them asks.

They’re all staring down at the Slayer’s and the Vampire’s entwined fingers.

“Just taking care of business,” Buffy says nonchalantly. “Busy as bees. Any more questions?”

No one speaks.

She slowly lets go of Spike’s hand and leads the way home.

When they reach the front door, Spike tells the Potentials what a great job they’ve all done, and that it’s been his great pleasure to introduce them to the subtleties of Vampire fighting, feeding and living arrangements. And he’s very sorry if he’s hurt anyone in the process. And that he has lots of interesting moves to show them and …

Buffy interrupts, “Nice speech.” She doesn’t exactly look pleased. “Oh, by the way,” she says, as she lets the girls into the house. “The bathroom’s mine for the next few hours. Got that?”


* * * * *


“Don’t you think it’s strange?” she says, “That no one seems to notice or care about your soul? Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Not in the least. Didn’t get it for them. Got it for you.”

“Yeah, for me,” she sighs.

She’s lying on her back in the tub with him cradled in her arms, his head pillowed upon her breast. It’s a tight fit, but they don’t mind. They don’t mind the cold water, either.

They’ve been in there for hours. Used up all the hot water. The bubbles have dissolved, and they’re turning all wrinkly, but they don’t want to move because something’s happening between them. In the closeness of their embrace, their bodies are speaking. Not about sex. Not about breathless, panting passion. Not about battles of good or evil or who’s right or wrong. There’s no tension or remorse, guilt or fear, teasing or desperation in their touch.

They're holding each other close. Just for comfort.