Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Challenge/Prompt: fffc 17.09: Garden and nekid_spike Harlot's Choice: Spike... Gets Dirty!, Nekid Colour: Green, and 30 in 30 Day 5: Clouds
Warning(s): Future Fic
Word Count: 1,096
Date Written: 6 May 2017
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
"Spike!" Buffy looks up as thunder clashes again and lightning illuminates the living room of the house in which they're currently staying. They've been here for a little while now, but she never makes the mistake of hoping they'll settle in one place. It never happens. It hasn't happened since Sunnydale was destroyed, and Buffy's finally come to accept that, as a Slayer, she'll always be on the move. "Where have you been?"
She hadn't thought anything much of his disappearance when she'd awakened earlier to find he'd slipped out of their room while she was asleep. She'd figured he'd gotten peckish, as he called it, and slipped off to have a bag of blood without her knowledge. She knows he tries to keep his blood sucking habits private these days, because he knows seeing him drinking human blood still bothers her and he's come to respect her wishes. But when she'd awakened again closer to sunset and he still hadn't returned, she had began to worry.
Now he stands before her drenched to the bone, tracking mud into their temporary home on his boots, and his skin and black clothes plastered with rain, dirt, and some other kind of grime. Her nose crinkles as a strong odor rafts to her. "And what," she demands, "have you been doing?"
"It was raining, pet. Perfect opportunity to get some stuff done in the day for a Vamp."
"Like what?" she asks, frowning.
He still doesn't answer her. Instead he reaches out with an open hand to her. "Come with me," he offers, "and I'll show you."
She makes a face. "It's raining."
He smirks. "Like that ever stopped you before, Slayer." His eyes sparkle with mischief, and she finds herself reaching out, taking his hand, entwining her fingers with his, and ultimately forgetting all about the odor wafting off of him.
"The things I let you get me into," she says with a laugh, but he's already pulling her out the door -- and splaying an umbrella open above her so that she doesn't feel one drop of rain.
She laughs again. "I'm not going to melt."
He winks. "You were the one concerned about a little water, luv."
She lets him do the gentlemanly thing for a change, holding the umbrella over her head and getting wet himself as he tries to block some of the driving rain off of her body with his own. It's just a short walk, but soon she's beginning to grow ever more curious and puzzled as he leads her into an unused area of the nearest cemetery. Despite the Vampire problem this place had until their arrival, or perhaps because of it and new land that was donated adjoining the cemetery, the city's most popular graveyard is one with plenty of room left for expansion.
Her frown reappears and begins to deepen as she notices the earth has been disturbed recently throughout the graveyard, particularly in the area left open for expansion. There's a shovel and hoe still sticking in the ground as well as other tools laying scattered about. "Spike, what . . . ?" she asks, looking up at him through the falling raindrops as her puzzled frown continues to deepen.
She has to keep herself from leaning up to lick the rain drops from his handsome face as he grins down at her. The drops have become lighter, almost sliding to a complete stop. The moon slips back out from behind the thick rain clouds. "Remember a few months back, pet, when we visited Wills in England?"
"What about it?" Buffy asks, looking around them again.
"She showed us the magic garden the coven was working on, and you said something about how you wish you had time to make something like that."
In the moonlight, Buffy can see bits of green sticking out at some angles of the dark, wet ground. "Yeah, so?"
She almost growls as he doesn't answer her again but instead steps away. She hates it when he spouts riddles he expects her to solve. But in just a moment's time, he's back by her side and holding up a blood red rose. He beams down at her, and Buffy melts all over again, her insides seeming to be as solid as the water droplets still sliding down both their bodies. "Welcome to your garden, luv," he speaks softly, almost humbly, holding out the rose to her.
Buffy looks around them again. "This . . . is all . . . for me?" It dawns on her that eventually the city and its dead will claim this part of the cemetery as well -- and that they'll probably be gone in a few more months any way, even though she might like to stay longer. But she also understands the work he's been putting into this holy ground every time he's slipped away from her in the last couple of months. She glances around them again, seeing other plants, flowers, and more roses beginning to bud, none of which she can name, but she's nonetheless awed when she glances back up at him. "Really?" she breathes uncertainly.
"Of course." He beams down at her and tucks the rose behind her ear. His palm hesitates on the soft, damp flesh of her cheek. "Always." She's the reason he has a new lease on life, the reason he worked so hard to regain his soul; all he does these nights, all the good he has done, and all he has yet to do will always be for her. "I love you, Buffy."
It's her turn to beam, her beautiful face filling with the love he makes her feel and the love he first started to give her when she still couldn't feel anything after being resurrected. This man is the reason she's still alive tonight. "I love you too," she says, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Their words stop, and their lips speak instead for them, declaring their eternal love and passion as they set about christening her new garden.
She does wish they could stay, but it doesn't matter that they'll have to move again one day. It doesn't matter that she'll lose the garden just as long as she always has him, and Spike reminds her again tonight that she'll always have him. As long as there's anything left of him, it will always be hers, and he proves that again with every touch, every press of their bodies, and every passionate kiss that leaves her gasping and always, always wanting more of him.