TITLE: Sneak STATUS: Completed 24 November 2001 AUTHOR: n. bjelica EMAIL: n_bjelica@hotmail.com FEEDBACK: Yes, please. Email to n_bjelica@hotmail.com. CLASSIFICATION: B/S RST (kinda), angst. RATING: NC-17 (language, sexual situations) SPOILERS: Season Six up through and including Tabula Rasa. SUMMARY: Buffy's unacknowledged attraction for Spike makes itself felt. DISTRIBUTION: Available at http://www.angelfire.com/weird/bjelica/ and FanFiction.Net. Please email me if you're interested in archiving my fic elsewhere, I'll be stunned speechless. DISCLAIMERS: All characters, locations, and such contained herein are the property of Joss Whedon and his band of merry men. Not for to sue the nice fanfic author! AUTHOR'S NOTE: First attempt writing, well, sex. Hope I didn't screw it up too badly. Buffy Summers lay asleep in her bed, snuggled deep under the bedspread. Outside, the regular nighttime business of Sunnydale went on as normal, demon kitty poker and all, but inside her head, the Slayer was too deeply embroiled in her own personal problems to care. * In her dream, she opens the door to the darkened crypt slightly, letting in a drift of cool night air. After a second, she opens the door wide enough to admit her, then sticks her head in and examines the surroundings before slipping in and shutting the door with a tiny snick. She casts another look around before slipping off her boots and walking across the cold floor in her sock feet. Something in her head whispers "crazy," but she ignores it. She approaches the hole in the floor, and descends the ladder to the cellar below as silently as she could manage. Once she reaches the bottom, she walks deliberately to the bed, where she sees Spike sleeping, sprawled out in characteristic arrogance across almost the entire surface. She slips the comforter aside and slides under the blanket, not yet daring to touch the sleeping vampire. She lies there for several minutes, breathing carefully and looking at the ceiling, studiously ignoring her surroundings, the nervous drumming of her heart, and that whispering voice in her head. And she is taken by surprise when Spike abruptly twists around in a half-circle, thrusts one arm under her shoulders, and flips her so that she is lying across him. She draws in her breath and watches his facial expressions change as he stares at her and sets and unsets his jaw stubbornly, and wonders if he could see through her so easily, if he can tell what she feels and wants. Rather than speaking, she leans down and tentatively touches her lips to his left cheekbone, then over his cheek, finally settling her lips down on his. She kisses him openly and he returns the kiss with some enthusiasm, and for a minute she thinks it is going to work. Then he twists his legs and used the momentum to reverse their positions, so that he is lying astride her and she is pinned beneath. "You shouldn’t tease, Buffy. It’s not nice." He props himself up on his elbows, using his right hand to caress her hair in a gentle manner juxtaposed against his angry tone of voice. She refuses to meet his eyes and studies his collarbone instead, even as she moves her head into the caress. "Right, then." He lifts a finger to lift her chin, and when she finally looks up, he sees the uncertainty in her gaze and something clicks. He leans in and touches his lips to hers very gently. She wraps her arms around him, one on his back and one on the back of his head, and tries to express with her actions what she cannot admit in words. Meanwhile, the naysayer in her head has given way to some other voice that sends exultant thrumming through her body, igniting the pit of her belly. Her breath comes in little bursts, accompanied by a racing heartbeat, and her face flushes with heat. He works one hand behind her head to loosen her ponytail, pulling her hair around to pool around her head, and brushes a stray lock across her cheek and his. She scrapes her fingernails on his scalp and, in response, he arches his neck to give her better access. She breaks off and stares at him. "I want to stay with you tonight." In answer, he moves his head and nibbles his way across her jawbone from her chin to her earlobe. "So stay, ducks," he whispers, and kisses his way down her neck to her exposed collarbone. She can feel the spots where he’s kissed her, embers left burning brands on her skin. She makes a small humming noise, and wriggles under him, trying to seduce him with the friction of her clothes over his skin. He moves to straddle her thighs, and reaches for the hem of her shirt, tugging gently. She reaches down and yanks the shirt out of her jeans, exposing her stomach, before she pushes him back and sits up slightly, propped up on one elbow while she pulls at the shirt. He replaces her hands with his, cool on her skin, and nudges the tanktop up, sliding his palms over her curves until the shirt is over her head and held only by her shoulders. She watches him as she shrugs first one arm and then the other out of the shirt, and he tosses it away. He holds her gaze as he uses one hand to nudge her to lie down again, and when she does, he leans forward and began to caress her with cool hands and clever fingers. She shivers as he nibbles up her right side and down her arm, nipping gently at the inside of her elbow. He works his way down and kisses the palm of her hand, then each of her fingers, sucks the thumb into his mouth and plays with the short nail with his tongue. She can’t believe that fingers can be so erotic, and makes a sound in her throat. He looks up to see she is smiling at the ceiling. "You think that’s funny, do you, Summers?" He makes a mocking gesture and then tickles her until she curls up, laughing helplessly. Before she can gain her breath back, he dips his mouth to caress each satin-covered breast in turn. She stills and makes another small noise, almost a purr, and she can feel him smiling against her. Without lifting his head, he comments, "You know, a real bad guy would just rip this thing right off you." She opens her eyes and says distractedly, "Tear it." "Right." He rips the bra apart at the little lacy twist in the center, pitching it next to the discarded tank top, then bows his head again, this time caressing the spots where the tight bra has left red lines across her skin and running his palms across her entire torso, soothing and inciting her. "Spike," she murmurs. He lifts his head and looks up at her, eyes slitted in desire. "Yes, love?" She smiles and imitates his move from earlier, flipping their positions again, so that he lies on his back with her across him. "My turn." He grins a little twisted grin and pulls his hands up, tucking them behind his head, feigning a composure soon lost as she imitates his caresses across his neck and chest. She runs a hand down his waist, finding him nude and hard, and then leans up to bite his lip teasingly. "No fair," she smiles, before grasping him carefully in her left hand. He jumps at her touch and answers, in a roughened voice. "I wasn’t expecting company." She dances her fingers over him and feels the tugging in her stomach intensify as she slides down his body. When her mouth descends on him, he makes a tortured sound in his throat and drops his arms down to thread his fingers through her hair as she moves between his legs. She takes him in deeply and he wraps his fingers in her hair, holding her. She laves her tongue over his shaft as she caresses his balls with one hand and he begins to twitch. She feels him tugging on her hair, gently at first and later with more emphasis as he begins to beg her to stop. She obeys and rises to kiss his stomach, lightly tracing him with her tongue. He strokes his fingers through her hair, over her shoulders, and over her breasts, finally sliding his hands under her arms. He pulls her upwards and kisses her desperately, and she wiggles her hands down and begins to twist the button on her jeans, unable to get it to release in her haste. He pushes her hands away, gently unbuttoning the jeans and unzipping them before sliding them and her panties off her hips. She slips them the rest of the way to her knees and sits up on the bed to pull them the rest of the way off, pitching them off the side of the bed. Once her jeans are gone, he sits up and covers her body with his own again, pushing her gently down into the twisted comforter with his weight. She leans back and kisses him fiercely while he drifts his hand to find her secret warmth. He parts her with blunt fingertips, softly murmuring words she doesn’t hear in between hot, wet kisses. When he strokes her first with one finger, then two, she moves her hips to ride his movements. When he touches her center with his other hand, she dissolves into a million stars. She comes down slowly and sighs, moving her arms languidly to brush up and down his back, lightly scratching. He arches into the scratching, then props his weight up on his right elbow as he brushes his other hand up to pull her right hand down to touch him again, as he moves to cover her. His hand over hers as she guides him, she opens her eyes to watch his face. She sees his blue eyes, wide and aroused and matching her in intensity. She wonders if he can see all the emotion reflected in her eyes as he slowly pushes into her. She sighs again when he is buried deep, and he swallows compulsively. He pulls back, and she makes a disappointed mewl deep in her throat. She pushes her hips to meet his and arches her back; he slides his hands from under her arms to tightly hold on to the back of her shoulders while he rains butterfly kisses across her neck and thrusts into her again. She cries out and tightens around him as her breathing starts to come in gasps, and he reaches down to stroke her heat again. She calls out to him and scores his shoulders deeply with her fingernails, and he buries his head on her shoulder to muffle his scream as they explode together. * Buffy awakened abruptly, heart racing and twisted up in her sheets. And highly aroused. "Dammit," she thought. This was the second time she’d had that dream. And the third dream in that vein -- about Spike. It wasn't right. She was tiptoeing around him already; it seemed like everything he said was an innuendo. Just being around him was a kind of torture, especially when he taunted her about kissing him last Tuesday, during Xander's stupid all-singing-all-dancing musical extravaganza. Just because she gave in to curiosity once...okay, twice...did not mean she intended to do it again. No way. Spike was right out. All men were right out. This was the new Buffy, who didn't depend on some guy who always left you in the lurch no matter whether he was a boyfriend or a father or a Watcher. The new Buffy, who wrapped her relationship hangups around herself like a security blanket and stuck her tongue out at the rest of the world before riding off into the sunset. Or something. She began to untangle her sheets from around her. Mr. Gordo sat in his customary place, seeming to regard her reprovingly. She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and walked over to the stuffed pig, turned him to face the wall. "Please," she muttered. "I got enough baggage here to last a lifetime without you dumping on me, too." And besides everything else, Spike was a vampire. Been there, done that, got the bite scars on her neck to prove it. And, chip? Everybody knew that computers crashed all the time, or needed upgrades, or something. It was only a matter of time before the chip malfunctioned and he went back to his old ways. And then of course, she'd have to kill him. Not, in her experience, a satisfactory end to a relationship. But still...there was something there. Sometimes, if it was dark enough outside and lonely enough in her room, she admitted to herself that maybe Spike was right. Maybe she did want to be with him, or at least maybe she wanted him. He understood her, at least a little. Nobody since Faith had been able to see through to the darkness in her quite so well. Not Angel, definitely not Riley, not even Giles, who was supposed to know so much about everything to do with Slayers and their motivations. Maybe Spike understood too much, and drew conclusions based on that, conclusions that weren't entirely true. But she wasn't about to give him more to go on. No, she was staying far, far away from him. Too hurtful to get close to people, then they changed or left and you didn't have anyone anymore. She set her jaw and glared at her reflection in the mirror, and went off to take yet another cold shower. Which didn't really work, but it was sort of the principle of the thing. * Downstairs, life in the Summers household went on. With Tara gone, Willow resolutely marched around the kitchen making breakfast for Dawn. When Buffy entered the room, Dawn excitedly bounced up to greet her. "Buffy! I got an assignment in English and I wanted to ask if you could help me out. We all got assigned novels to read and write an essay on, and I got 'Dracula.' Can you believe that? I totally have the inside track on Drac...." She trailed off uncertainly at her sister's obvious lack of enthusiasm. Buffy tried to smile encouragingly. "Sounds fun. Have you read the book yet? I had to read it last fall for a Lit class. And, of course, got the whole thrall experience thing too, so, yeah, inside track is no problem." Her words lacked some sort of punch and Dawn looked let down. "Tell you what. We'll all be at the Magic Box like normal, this afternoon, and maybe we can all brainstorm to remember stuff you can write about. I'm thinking easy A." At that, Dawn's bright smile returned. "I hope so. I can kinda use one of those. And, um, Willow, would you mind helping me with algebra this weekend? I have a test next Friday and I'm totally confused." Willow looked up, smiled briefly. "Sure thing. We'll do the study thing. Just let me know, 'cause I was kind of thinking of going out this weekend." "Oh." Dawn looked hurt. "Without Tara?" Willow sighed. "Yeah, without Tara. She broke up with me, Dawn. Not the other way around." Dawn looked down, and Buffy stretched out a hand to cover hers and squeeze it reassuringly. "Oh," she said in a small voice. "Anyways, I have class," Willow said. "Gotta book." She snagged her backpack from the floor next to the back door and left, without saying goodbye. "You know," Buffy said quietly, and slung her arm around Dawn in a half-hug. "I miss Tara too. And I'm not entirely sure that it's as one-sided as Willow wants us to think. But it's not our business. And Willow has to figure this out herself. Besides, we have Tara's number at the dorm so you can call her up any time you miss her. And I happen to know she has two tickets for Harry Potter this weekend, one of which has your name on it." "Oh!" Dawn bounced up. "She didn't forget the movie! That's great." Buffy smiled. "Of course she didn't forget. But you'd better get out of here if you want to make it to class on time. Even if your principal isn't evil like mine was, you probably ought to at least try to stay on her good side." Dawn laughed self-deprecatingly. "Please. As if anyone notices what I do. I could walk into school wearing stilts and a clown outfit with a big red wig and people would still be all like, 'Dawn, can I copy your chem lab?'" She wrinkled her nose in disgust as she hopped down and grabbed her own backpack. "Gosh, I just love school. See ya at the Magic Box after school?" "Yep. Same as always." Buffy smiled, this time slightly more cheerily, waving as Dawn opened the back door and took off. She began to clear the dishes as she turned her mind back to the dream from which she'd woken this morning, and the personal events that inspired it. It was pretty clear something was going to have to change. Either she was going to have to tell Spike no in no uncertain terms, or...no, that was pretty much it. There was no future in it. No way she could see him. She wrinkled her own nose. Date Spike? As if. His idea of a date probably involved breaking and entering a blood bank, vandalizing headstones, or worse, some unholy amount of tequila. He was in no way even remotely similar to Angel. And wasn't that what she wanted? Some sort of romantic relationship that involved happy endings and flowers on birthdays, and...June Cleaver-style solutions to any problem in half an hour or less? "Oh, god," she muttered and threw the dishtowel in the sink irritably. "I am so not that boring. I just don't want to set myself up for guaranteed heartbreak. So I have to tell him that." Buffy started pacing back and forth between the refrigerator and the stove, running one hand along the kitchen island on alternate trips. She started running through scenarios out loud, making exaggerated hand motions and facial expressions to match. "'Spike, I have thought about this a lot, and I know how you feel about me. I'm honored, but it these workplace relationships never work out.' Yick. "'Hi, Spike! I've been looking for you. Hey, I wanted to know if you wanted to go shoot some pool. There was something I wanted to talk to you about. You know this whole thing where we keep kissing? Well, ....' No, no mention of kissing, that's a bad idea right there. "'Spike, you need to move on. I'm still in love with Angel, and ...,' and," she sighed, "he'll never buy that. "'Spike, I'm sorry, but it can't ever happen between you and me. We're too different. For one thing, you're a vampire and I'm a vampire slayer. "Worlds apart" doesn't begin to make the distinction.'" She hummed thoughtfully. "Has potential. 'I'm sorry if I've made you think otherwise. I hope we can still be friends.'" Buffy made a repulsive noise. "Friends. Yeah, good plan. Arrrgh." Facing the refrigerator, she angrily put her hands on her hips and stomped a foot, which made her feel marginally better, so she did it again. Unfortunately, the second stomp dented the floor. "Shit!" "Well, this is amusing." Buffy heard the familiar voice and froze in shock. "How the hell did you get in?" She whirled around to see him standing in the doorway to the hall. "Key, love." He dangled a housekey at eye-level, taunting her. "I came over to see if I could cadge a cup of coffee, didn't realize there was a free show playing. I really have to say -- oof!" Buffy had thrown a coffee mug at him, which smacked into his stomach and bounced to the floor, where it snapped the handle off and lay still. "Sorry, did I hit a nerve?" Spike grinned at her. Buffy threw her hands up in the air and addressed the ceiling. "What did I ever do? I don't deserve this. Don't I get extra credit for saving the world like fourteen times?" Her voice dripped acid. "Relax, Summers. I know you too well to expect you to realize what you want." "Spike, one more word and I'm going to stake you with a wooden spoon." She yanked open a drawer and poked through its contents, but all she could come up with was a plastic spatula, which she waved menacingly in his general direction. "As soon as I find one. I swear to god." He laughed loudly. "Death by pancake flipper. How the mighty have fallen." Careful to dodge both the morning sunlight streaming in the kitchen window and the wavering spatula, he darted across the room and grabbed Buffy around the waist, expertly dodging the elbows she sent towards his ribs. Buffy struggled half-heartedly against Spike, trying to get free, but finally gave up and stood with her back snuggled against him, with his arms still around her waist. She looked down at his hands, and the sight of his slim fingers made her heart beat a little faster, her palms begin to get damp. For some reason, the stupid dream wouldn't leave her head. "What do you want," she asked unsteadily. Spike pretended to consider the question. "I want a lot of things, Slayer. Not the least of which is to avoid dying this morning." He grabbed the spatula out of her hand and tossed it in the sink. "I also wanted to get you to talk to me." Suddenly serious, he turned her around and looked directly into her eyes. "I'm a little tired of this whole 'Kiss Spike and then run away very fast' routine." She refused to meet his gaze. "Sorry. No talking. You interrupted my talk rehearsal and thereby lost your talk privileges. Come back later. Like in twenty years. No, thirty." She dropped her hands to his, and forcibly removed them from her body. "Go away." She turned her back on him and stepped directly in the sunlight by the sink, trying to regain her composure. Spike regarded her without speaking for a minute. "All right," he said. "But we're going to talk about this at some point, Buffy. You can't run away forever." She turned around and met his blue eyes, glaring. He stepped back and began to walk towards the front exit, pulling his battered blanket out and preparing to drape it over his head. "Later then, Slayer." He ducked through the door and was gone. Buffy sighed. This was so not working out how she wanted. And now she had to go take another cold shower.