Disclaimer: This is not mine, nor has it ever been, but I am thanking Joss to high heaven for the encouragement to continue writing fanfic now that the series is over. Even if he is an incredibly sadistic ass for killing off Spike and Anya.
Side Note: You've noticed that our villainess's name is Lilith. According to some pieces of vampire lore, Lilith is the queen mother, the first of all vampires. Except, apparently, in Anne Rice's world, where the Egyptian Akasha reigns supreme. Eh, what does she know? Think about this -- she's a bit of a looney for brooding vampires, anyway. She had a great character going with Louis, but honestly, the brooding just never STOPPED. She'd have a field day with Angel. Anyway, I digress. The Lilith in this story is most definitely the same Lilith of lore. I don't know all that much about her, but I don't think anybody really does, unless they are an expert in the field. So I'm just gonna go with the flow and use some of the information I pulled up about her in Giles and Willow's inevitable research session, whenever that comes around.
Chapter completed August 13, 2003
beneath you
part
eleven
He'd been asking for it, really. It wasn't as if he didn't know what Buffy's temper was like. It was that he'd forgotten what Buffy did when she was pissed.
And currently, what she'd done was completely staining his silky purple shirt. (Was there a double meaning behind this? He'd worn this shirt the first time they'd made love.]
"Bloody bitch," he muttered under his breath, dabbing uselessly at the sugary, fruity concoction she'd dumped on him. He wouldn't be as pissed off if she'd just punched him in the nose and insulted him like usual, but instead, she'd poured her drink all over him.
Dawn glanced at him, her lips pressed tightly together. "Quiet. You brought this on yourself."
His lower lip popped out, as if on cue. "But do I have to act like I did?" Spike asked, his voice bordering on a whine. Dawn had to bite down on her lips to keep from smiling.
"It'd be nice if you did," she retorted. She glanced sideways at the buxom brunette who was halfway across the room at the bar, where Spike had been sitting until Buffy's petty little revenge tactic. "Who the hell's she, and, what's more, what the hell are you doing with her?" she asked.
Spike glanced toward Lilith and grimaced slightly. Maybe he'd played up the swinging bachelor thing too much in front of Buffy, who was currently in the bathroom, refreshing herself. And cursing my name by all that's holy, he thought. After all, he had wanted to make her admit to her feelings; he hadn't meant to make her insane. Spike sighed and looked at Dawn. "She is Lilith, an' she would also be my sorry-ass attempt at tryin' to make the Slayer jealous. So far, all I managed to do was make her pissed."
The side of Dawn's mouth curled up. "Spike, you pissed her off by daring to be seen with another girl. Trust me -- Buffy's jealous."
Spike frowned. "Well I was more or less hopin' she might at least fight her, not dump her girly drink on me." His frown once more became a pout, and his nose scrunched up. "I really liked this shirt. I'm gonna be smellin' like strawberries an' mangos for the next week."
He said this last part in such a dejected tone that Dawn couldn't help but laugh. "God forbid you smell a little fruity, Spike." It was when he scowled at her that she realized exactly what she'd implied. Her cheeks dimpled and she blushed. "Oops. Sorry."
He shook his head. "Bloody hell," he sighed.
Dawn tilted her head at him curiously, soaking another paper towel, wringing it out, then dabbing at ends of his shirt. "So what was with the suddenly needing to 'prove Buffy's jealousy' bit?"
Spike glanced at her, grasping the shirt tail and spreading it across his thigh, wiping at it desperately. "Tha's exactly what I was tryin' to do. Prove her jealousy -- prove that she has feelin's for me. I bloody well know she does, but your airhead of an older sister is still keepin' mum about it. 'S drivin' me nuts." He threw his hands up in disgust. "Sod it, the shirt's ruined, 'Bit." He tilted his head, gazing at her. "You wouldn't mind too much if I killed your sister for this, would you?"
Dawn shrugged. "Sorry, but yeah. As airhead-ed as she is, she's still family."
"Damn," Spike said, shaking his head and sighing while Dawn giggled. He looked around the Bronze momentarily, and almost immediately, his head turned in the direction of the restrooms, spotting Buffy heading through the crowd. "Oh, bugger. Here come's the Ice Queen now."
Dawn frowned. "I thought Darla was the Ice Queen." At Spike's look, Dawn laughed. "Oh, right. Buffy. Of course."
Spike rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't mind bein' a luv an' helpin' me out in my moment of need, would you, ducks?"
Dawn grinned sneakily. "I will manipulate and invoke craziness in my sister to the best of my abilities," she said, holding two fingers up as a promise.
Spike chuckled and patted leg affectionately. "Tha's my girl!" Dawn giggled again, before she spotted Buffy and promptly reverted to Stone Cold Dawn. "... And if I ever catch you near my sister again..." she hissed, loudly enough for Buffy to hear as the elder Summers barely trumped to a stop.
"Dawn," Buffy called in the way an owner might order a beloved pet. Apparently Dawn had been trained very well, because, after one quick wink and grin at Spike, she went.
Spike smiled to himself. Damn, but it was good to have such a clever, devilish little chit on his side for once. He slowly stood up, arching his back as he stretched, then meandered over to where he'd left Lilith.
"Ex-girlfriend, right?" she asked, watching the blonde and brunette girls as they left.
Spike's shit-eating grin faltered, and he frowned, grunting under his breath. "Yeah. Somethin' like that," he muttered.
Lilith tilted her head sympathetically. "Poor thing. Who ended it?"
Spike shrugged. "I screwed up. She ended it."
Lilith frowned. "Then what right does she have to come over with jealousy and douse you like that?"
"E-every right. Well, maybe not with the jealousy, but I did do some... nasty things to her. So she does have every right. I think." The more he stumbled over his words, the more unsure Spike sounded. Eventually, he shook his head and held his hand up. "Look, it was really... bad between us two, an' I'm bein' as polite as I can be when I ask you to drop it." He stood up again, looking around. "How about I just walk you home, eh? 've got nowhere else to be, an' to tell the truth, I don't really wanna be here anymore." Spike held out his arm to her chivalrously, crooked at the elbow.
Lilith slid off her stool, accepting his arm. "Okay, we can leave. But how about I walk you home instead?"
Spike looked at her with surprised eyes, tilting his head to the side. "You must be new in town. There's lots of nasties in Sunnydale that you need to watch out for. This isn't the safest place for a chit to go walkin' out at night by herself."
The brunette shrugged. "I can hold my own," she said simply.
After a moment's contemplation, Spike reluctantly nodded. "Tha's a plan. Let's go."
Lilith smiled.
"Okay. How bad is it getting to you?"
Buffy looked up, her lips curled in such a deep frown that her nose was scrunched up halfway up her face. "How bad is what getting to me?"
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Buffy. Please. You've been moping ever since we left. Hell, you've been moping since we were on the dance floor. You've been moping since May! How bad is it eating you up that Spike was with another chick?"
Buffy scoffed. "It is not... eating me up! Nothing is getting to me, and there is no eating up of... of any kind! This is me, not being eaten up!"
Dawn snorted. "That much is obvious," she muttered under her breath. Clearing her throat, she spoke up. "Buffy. We're sisters. And, if you wanna get technical, we're each other. Same blood and all that? Literally? I can practically read it all over your face. You are so totally eaten with jealousy."
"I am not!"
Dawn nodded slowly. "Ah, so that's why you poured your Fizzy all over Spike's gorgeous purple shirt?"
Buffy sputtered for a moment. "Well... i-it was dirty, a-and I didn't think it would stain all that much, and... and he looked over-heated!"
Dawn stared. Surely her sister didn't honestly think that... this... was a valid excuse?
Buffy flushed. "Okay, okay! So I was..." she glanced around, as if looking to see if Spike would suddenly pop up behind her, well within hearing range, "So I was a little jealous! After all, it wasn't so long ago when he was showering me with utterly devoted attention." She caught the look on Dawn's face, and hurriedly reiterated herself. "Utterly devoted attention that I didn't want! I just..." She bit her lower lip and looked away. "I got kinda... used to it, is all."
Dawn's eyes softened, and she wrapped an arm around her sister's shoulders. "Buffy... it's just me. It's okay to admit how you felt. Not one word of this is gonna get back to Spike unless you want it to."
"I was jealous," Buffy blurted out, before her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth. A few minutes of uncomfortable silence followed as the sisters ambled along the sidewalk. And then, Buffy spoke up again, much calmer, much more resigned this time.
"I was jealous," she murmured again, softly, her voice hurt. "He's always been following me, coming after me, telling me he loved me, and anything and everything else he could think of, and then, suddenly... I mean, even when he was with Drusilla, he had some sort of half-blind obsession with me. He followed me, I swear he did, and I swear even more that half the time, all I could feel him doing was just... watching me. That very first night when I met him?" she questioned, turning to Dawn. Dawn nodded in recognition. She'd heard every possible version of that night's events, and so she had been fully prepared to meet the swaggering bleach blonde vampire before he'd ever even been aware of her existence.
Or at least, that was what her memories said to her.
Buffy continued. "I knew he was there. I was dancing, I was having a good time, but all of a sudden, my senses acted up, and all I could feel was this cold shiver running down my spine. I hadn't even met him yet but I knew who he was, and I knew he was watching me. And I could feel him in every pore of my body, and I've felt him that way ever since. No one has ever gotten me that riled up before, not even Angel."
Dawn tilted her head. "So... you were attracted to him even then?"
Buffy bit her lower lip, then slowly, tentatively nodded. "Yeah. I think so." She shook her head. "Anyway... ever since he told me he loved me -- " she paused, then frowned, then started back up again. "No, wait. It started before then. He's been romantically interested in me, I think, since Willow's 'do-thy-will' spell flopped. Anyway, ever since then, it's been so hard to get rid of him. I thought that was what I wanted, that I wanted him to leave me alone, to get out of my way, to let me breathe."
She glanced at Dawn again. "I grew used to it. I expected him to be there, I expected him to pop up behind me and snark at me, to pounce over my head and start pounding away on the baddie of the night for me, even when I didn't want him to, and later, to follow me around, telling me he loved me. And then, later than that, to walk beside me, not saying anything, not implying anything, but just... listening and knowing the right times to make a joke and pull me out of a brood."
Dawn grinned. "And God forbid you should brood."
Buffy tilted her head, regarding her sister with a wan smile. "Right." She shook her head. "But then... last night, before he got home and told me about the crypt... he told me he was over me. He begged me to tell him that there was a chance between us. Practically got on his knees and begged me. And I choked. I couldn't say anything. And I wanted to. So badly. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck and tell him I loved him, and that there would always be a chance for us, and that I wanted him always... and I couldn't. I couldn't say a word."
By this time, Buffy's eyes had blurred with tears. She hadn't even realized that she'd stopped walking , and was just standing on the sidewalk, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. "And it hurt him so much. I could see it in his eyes -- he was more than heartbroken. And then he turned around and walked out. And he came back not fifteen minutes later, but I was still so in shock that I couldn't say a word to him. I just told him that he could stay at our house, and I went to bed."
She shook her head. "So I really have no right whatsoever to be jealous. I'm the one that rejected him, again. So if he goes and gets a girlfriend, one that will actually give him the amount of attention he deserves, then more power to him. But..." She looked up and started walking again. "I don't want him to have a different girl. I want him to have me. I want to be with him, and I'm sick of letting everyone else tell me what I should or should not want or feel. I'm just sick of it."
They continued on, before arriving at 1630 on Revello, turning up the walk and walking in companiable silence, before Dawn spoke up. "Buffy. I may not have much experience, but I definitely know one thing: If you want something bad enough, you have to fight for it." The teenager lifted her head, her brown hair draping itself over one eye. "Fight for him. If you want him, fight for him, Buffy. Take him back. Don't let him get roped in by a skank."
Buffy gave the girl a half-smile. "Any ideas for me?"
A slow smile curled over Dawn's lips. "Oh... just one."
The house was right around the corner, and for all the times he'd been there, he'd never noticed what a disturbing 'loom' quality it had. Hello, certain doom.
Sigh. He may as well say goodbye to Lilith now, because as soon as he walked through the front doors, Buffy was going to kill him, and he'd never see this raven-haired beauty again.
Spike stopped right in front of the walk, but Lilith, who still had hold of his arm, and seemed preternaturally strong (which, considering this town, wasn't an odd thing), led him all the way up to the porch. Grudgingly, Spike tromped up the steps.
"So this is where you live," Lilith breathed, looking curiously through the front window.
Spike shrugged, uninterested. "S'not really mine. My, uh... a friend lives here. They're letting me crash for a while. My old place was destroyed." Lilith turned to look at him, wide-eyed, and Spike shrugged. "Eh, s'nothing unusual in Sunnydale. Shit gets knocked down all the time."
Lilith gently touched the front door. "Could we go inside, maybe?" she asked coquettishly, batting her eyelashes.
Spike shrugged after a moment. "Why not," he muttered. As he opened the front door, he remembered and froze. Buffy was why not. She was ready to kill him anyway, for even daring to be seen with another girl in public; if he brought this girl inside the house, no one would ever see her again. As he stepped inside the threshold, he turned and smiled weakly. "Uh, actually, luv, maybe it's best for you to go straight home. Since it's not my house, I don't think my mates'll be too pleased with me bringin' you home. Not to mention, I'm worn out as all hell."
It took but a second's contemplation to reach the facts. Well, that, and a keen sense of smell. Okay, and the fact that she'd been watching him and his little circle of acquaintances since his return to this horrid little town. But it only looked like a second's contemplation to Spike. "This is your ex's house, isn't it?" She smiled slowly. "Come on, let me in, Spike. We can show her the true meaning of being jealous if we're inside the house..."
And as much as Spike fidgeted about that idea, he couldn't. As much as Buffy hurt him from the day-to-day, as well as lifetime, stuff, he couldn't deny that no matter how hard he tried to fight it, he was still head-over-heels for the girl. He just didn't want to hurt her anymore.
That didn't necessarily mean, however, that he wasn't going to. But he was only willing to go to a few certain extents, and no way was letting another chit in the house going to be good for any of them. He gave her a stronger half-smile. "Sorry, luv. It's appealin', naturally, but I don't want to risk your hide on the burner. 'S better for me to just go in there an' let the little wench get on with it."
Lilith fidgeted noticeably. Her hands twitched, in fact, and she looked to be fighting against strangling something. "Are you sure you don't want me in the house? Spike, let me come in, please. I'll make it worth your while, I promise."
Spike frowned. For all that she wanted to help him get back at Buffy, she really wanted to be inside the house to do it. "Luv, do you wanna be in the house so badly? 'Cos I've barely known you one night an', yeah, that's not generally a problem with me, but you sound like you want the house more'n me!"
Instantly, Lilith backed off. "No, it's not that. I guess... I'm just cold."
Spike's frown deepened. "It's eighty-six degrees in California during Indian Summer in November."
Lilith shrugged. "Maybe I'm used to the East," she joked, backing away. "Okay, Spike. I guess I'll see you around."
Spike suddenly snapped out of his confusion and jumped down the porch steps, running out to her. After all, she was a sweet girl, and he didn't want her to leave on a sour note. The least he could do was to... "Wait..." She turned around expectantly. "Don't you wanna at least..." he shrugged modestly. "Seal the night with a kiss?"
The dark-haired beauty -- so much like Drusilla, and so familiar to him it was eerie -- smiled and turned around. Placing her arms around his neck, she pulled him in for a deep, slow, stirring kiss. Spike's eyes closed as he wrapped his arms around her, one hand at the small of her back, one hand at the back of her head. He wasn't so used to women being his height or even, in Lilith's case, slightly taller than him. As much as she'd matched him blow for blow, Dru was just the tiniest bit shorter than him, as was Harmony, and... Buffy.
And with that thought, his inner eye switched images quickly. He wasn't seeing Drusilla anymore. He wasn't seeing Lilith, either. It was all Buffy. Always Buffy. Gold hair, eager pink lips, cute little upturned nose, even if it did have a slight bump on the bridge, hazel green eyes glittering with fire, passion, love, hate, lust...
Holy hell, he was suffocating. And he didn't even breath!
He jerked away from Lilith, gasping in order to catch his breath -- which, again, he didn't need to breath. Lord, but the effect Buffy had on him was mortally degenerating. Putting his hand on his chest, he drew in one single breath, then looked up at the women in front of him. "Er... maybe it's a good idea for you to be leavin' now, yeah?"
Lilith smiled. "Of course. See you, Spike," she said as she walked down the front walk. Her teeth ground together in obvious fury, and as soon as she was out of Spike's sight, she pummeled the trunk of a tree.
Stupid vampire. William was being quite unreasonable about this whole thing. She growled to herself and transformed, taking the shape of her current chosen animal, the leopard. There had to be something more she could do in order to wear him down. She'd already struck once -- her kiss with Spike had been witnessed by that short little blonde bitch from the upstairs window. But there was something more she needed to do. She had to get inside that house! Destroying the Slayer and all her comrades -- or preferably having Spike destroy them -- would be the only way to free sweet, vicious William from the spell that this harlot had unknowingly cast on him.
Now... she just needed to think of her tactics. And she always thought better after a good hunt.
Buffy smiled to herself when Spike turned away from Vamp Tramp, looking disgusted and distraught. Or maybe the disgust was just her imagination? Either way, Spike looked completely confused, but not so much that he hadn't had the wisdom to get rid of Lilith instead of inviting her into her home.
Although she would have been even more pleased with Spike if he hadn't resorted to kissing the living dead's version of a walking STD.
But either way, it worked out. Spike wasn't around Influential Possible Vampire Whore, and (thanks to Dawn's ingenuity and quick timing), she was alone with Spike in the house. Dawn had informed Clem, Giles and Willow that Buffy had been slightly on edge as of late, and wished to spend the night alone, so it would be wise to go to the local motel for the night. When countered with a speculative question on Spike's presence in the house as well, Dawn responded (albeit very lamely) that Spike would be in the basement, keeping to himself, while Buffy would be wiled away in her own bedroom. Alone. By herself. As in not-with-Spike.
Which of course, she would be. Hopefully. If this plan went off without a hitch.
Maybe it had been the urgency in Dawn's voice that had gotten Willow to lay off and follow along.
But anyway, the point was that Buffy and Spike were alone in the house, and thanks to an outfit she'd never thought she'd have use for, and the sweltering evening that had crept up on Sunnydale tonight, seemingly in Buffy's favor, the plan Dawn had provided her with in order to win Spike's affections once again was in place. And how exactly Dawn had known about the this thing was a question that Buffy was going to stay far, far away from.
When Anya had first given her the gauzy red teddie, she'd been shocked into embarrassed stillness, because for some reason, the idea that Anya owned anything like this in her wardrobe was more shocking than half the words that came out of her mouth at times. The teddie was trimmed with black faux rabbit fur around the cleavage and the hem, which was probably the only reason Anya had worn it in the first place, since she believed that the rabbit that had contributed to this outfit had died a most painful and gruesome death.
One of these days, Buffy was really gonna have to get to the bottom of Anya's rather ridiculous rabbit fear.
The teddie dipped so low over her breasts that Buffy was amazed that the damned thing could support her so well anyway. It was virtually backless, supported only by a few strings that crisscrossed over her skin, and the thong portion was pretty much the same -- one thin, single string settling between her... yeah.
And to make things more embarrassing for her, she could not for the life of her find a way to keep her garters attached to the damned thing. They were supposed to be hooked to the bikini-cut hem in the front (which settled much too far above her bikini line, in Buffy's opinion). However, the garter belt itself seemed to enjoy loosening itself and slipping down her waist until it twisted around her legs. And the robe Anya had bought to go with the whole ensemble? See-through, and ended right below her ass. Go figure. So much for at least keeping some of her body concealed. It would do the trick, though. Spike's eyes would very likely not be returning to their sockets when he saw her in this.
Personally, the only thing she liked about the entire outfit was the robe. The make-up tips that had come with the outfit were extremely helpful. She enjoyed the way that the kohl black eyeliner rimming her eyes made them appear smoky and mysterious.
The problem was that it was very likely that Spike would keel over and die from spontaneous sexual combustion. She was wearing -- or barely wearing, anyway -- his favorite colors, after all.
Self-consciously, she glanced down at herself, appraising how she looked, and imagining what Spike's possible reaction would be.
Snorting to herself, she recalled Anya's words, when she'd first handed the naughty girl outfit over to Buffy.
"I read in Cosmopolitan that sheer, racy undergarments such as these, when worn by the women in question, were guaranteed to throw a man's hormones off balance, ensuring heightened pleasure and longer lasting orgasms," Anya had said. Then she'd frowned. "It definitely added stimulation, but Xander didn't like it at all. In fact, he seemed more interested in taking it off of me, instead of ravishing me with it on. Not that I minded, but show a little appreciation, you know? I spent a hundred dollars on that thing!"
Buffy had merely stared, pale-faced, at Anya, unable to keep herself from shuddering at the thought of herself coming in bodily contact with one of her best friend's... er... releases.
But worse still was what Anya had said after that. "Based on the fact that Xander didn't seem too fond of this thing, and seeing as I no longer have any use for it, and also regarding the fact that though you're skinnier than I am by far, we're still about the same size, I would like to present this to you to have. You aren't seeing anyone at the moment, so you have no need to worry about wearing it in the bedroom, and granted that you never will use it, I can take it back anytime I need to, so long as you don't have any orgasms while wearing it." She'd grinned. "So! Have fun!"
Oh, yeah, Buffy had thought at the time. How can I not have fun with gorgeous, sexy underwear, when you've made it particularly clear to me that I'm unappealing to men, what with my skinny-ness, and the fact that I don't have anybody....
Okay, so she'd decided to put those thoughts on the back-burner for tonight. After all, tonight, she did have somebody. Granted, he was half-terrified of her, not to mention being "over" her, and he had suffered severe emotional and physical abuse because of her, but she had SO gotten over herself! She was finally Buffy again, she was normal, and not going through the motions, and feeling sorry for herself, and taking it out on everyone that meant something to her (well, except when Xander brought it on himself). And, bigger plus, she was in love with him. And she was willing to put herself into far-too-sexy garments with her skinny (but getting plumper) little self, just to get him back from a conniving, whoring she-devil, so that HAD to mean something.
Of course it had to mean something. She was doing this to get Spike back in her life. She'd never wanted him in her life before, thanks to her friends' influences and her own stupid, stuck-up notions about vampires and their feelings. So, yes, it meant something. She was getting Spike back. Biiiiiig step forward.
Well, Anya had never asked for it back, possibly because, when she'd given it to Buffy, it had been two weeks since Darth Willow had tried to end the world, and Anya's relationship with Xander had been the real apocalypse.
So Buffy was going to put this to good use, especially since she still had the body needed for it to work.
And hopefully, after Spike regained his equilibrium, he'd have her on the ground within a nanosecond. Or, romantically, in his arms, carrying her to her bedroom, but she'd have to make due. Just as long as she got Spike back.
Meaning something to him again was, really, all that mattered to her.
Well, no screaming banshee Slayers tonight. Spike sighed as he fairly keeled over onto the couch. Clem wasn't here for some reason. Spike grunted. Floppy must've been out with the kitten poker crowd again.
Suddenly, something caught his attention, and he sniffed. Frowned. Sat up.
Nobody was here. He couldn't hear a single heartbeat -- no, wait, there was one. Kinda fast-paced beating, almost nervous, he'd say, but whatever, that wasn't the point. The point was, he and someone else were the only ones here. Where was everybody else? Had Buffy finally driven them insane and run them all out of the house? Had she hinted to Giles, Willow and the others that Spike was being a bad non-neutered puppy or something, and had sent them after him? In which case, they were running a wild goose chase, since he so obviously lived here now.
What the hell was going on?
Ooh. Footsteps. The person-who-was-here was finally making their physical presence known.
And holy hell, did they make it known.
As soon as Spike caught the slightest glimpse of the body that was coming down the stairs, his eyes attempted two different things at once: first, they widened to almost painful proportions in order to get a better view, while at the same time, they snapped shut, so as not to embarrass the hell out of himself when she made it into the living room.
He had a feeling that was going to happen anyway.
Buffy descended the final step, looking for all the world like an innocent angel -- okay, well, maybe 'innocent' wasn't quite the right word. Not with what she was wearing. The only angelic thing about her was probably her hair (which, by the way, was down, floating around her like a golden halo, and -- oh, hell, here came the bloody awful poet.) Her eyes were outlined in charcoal black, her lips were dyed ruby red, and her skin, normally a healthy, golden California tan in the light of day, was a pale, pale white in the dark of night in this house. And her outfit...
That outfit was so bloody scandalous that Darla would have cringed at the sight of it... and Darla had been a whore.
Still, it did its duty, and Not-So-Little-Spike rose up to happily salute Slayer and Body.
Buffy smiled slightly at him. "Hey, Spike." She paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue after that. Go with sweet and innocent, like you wear this sort of thing every night! chorused Pro-And-Anti-Spike (who, subsequently, seemed to be merging into one, and were apparently acknowledging Buffy again, now that her sense had been knocked back into her). "Listen... about earlier tonight?" She moved closer to him, the sheer red robe swishing back and forth with her movements. Spike's eyes widened at the high cut of the bikini-like bottoms -- and nearly fainted from pure, undiluted orgasmic overload when he saw that the soft brown hairs that had once decorated her mound had apparently been shaven off.
It took a minute for him to come back to earth and listen to her. "I'm sorry for the... you know... turning you into a Sea Breeze. You have a right to see other girls. I-I shouldn't have done that."
She knelt down so she was eye-level with him, jarring the Anti-Nightie so much that the top slipped down slightly, barely showing a hint of a pert, pink nipple to his eyes. He fought off a whimper. Buffy it seemed, however, took no notice of his reaction, instead laying her hand on his bare chest, the contact alone being enough to nearly drive Spike off the edge at this point.
"We're still... friends, right, Spike?" she asked, with enough suggestiveness in her voice that easily out-innuendo-ed every quip and leer Spike had given her in the last five years. And now she was nibbling her lower lip. The action was so enticing and endearing at the same time that, as Spike unconsciously began to lean closer, her nearly fell off the couch.
Catching himself before he committed the first action to prove himself an utter ass in front of her, he nodded quickly, affecting a nonchalant air. "Yeah, sure, Slayer. Whatever you say."
He was nearly thrown through a wall by the smile that exploded onto her face. She threw herself forward, impulsively hugging him, and unconsciously rubbed her half-exposed breast against his very much exposed, very Buffy-sensitive chest. He hastily caught the unmanly 'eep' that threatened to emerge.
"Thanks, Spike," Buffy said, her insides nearly quivering with laughter at the tension and desperation in Spike's body. Over me, Glory's lopsided ass! she thought giddily. Now all she had to do was make the tension absolutely unbearable. Thank the Powers for that sweltering heat.
She pulled back, rubbing a hand lightly over her chest. "God, I think I'm melting," she breathed, frowning at the sticky sweaty-ness that coated her skin.
For his part, Spike did his best to respond while attempting to tear his eyes away from the tiny Slayer hand running over the delectable Slayer skin on his delicious little Slayer -- and, yeah, he really had to stop that. Still trying not to keel over with laughter, Buffy took pity -- at least for the moment -- and went to the kitchen.
Immediately, Spike's eyes were closed, and he was on his back muttering to himself.
Crosses, garlic, sunlight, holy water, stakin', getting staked, stakin' Buffy -- no, shit, goddammit! Beheadin', catchin' fire, burnin' up, runnin' out of cigarettes, runnin' out of blood, killin' people, suckin' blood, suckin' people's blood, suckin' warm, delicious human blood, suckin' warm, delicious, powerful Slayer's blood, suckin' Buffy's blood, suckin' Buffy -- ack! No! Okay, okay, wait -- Peaches! Think of bloody Peaches, think of Angelus, Angelus stole Dru, Angelus embarrassed you, made life miserable, stole your woman, shagged Dru, shagged the Slayer before you did -- DAMMIT!
Spike cringed, finally reduced to his last resort. Think about last year, mate. Think about bein' used, think about nearly rapin' Buffy, think of your stupid bloody mistake when you got drunk an' shagged Anya, think of Harris, think of Stupid Git Harris, for Christ's sake, think of bloody Harris in a cat suit and coming on to you!
Spike's eyes snapped open, and he gave a full-body shudder. Well, that one worked.
At least it did until Buffy walked back into the room. Even making it so that the horrid Harris image in his mind was naked and coming on to him wasn't going to distract him from Buffy's beauty.
Buffy, meanwhile, knew exactly how she was affecting Spike, and the knowledge made her giddy. She really had been hot, however, when she'd left Spike's company for the kitchen. But the second she'd stuck her head in the freezer to cool down, she'd spotted another method of inducing Spike-Torture.
Namely, a box of rocket pops. Not exactly the right color (snort) and no where near Spike's proportions, but it would definitely do the job otherwise.
Spike's eyes widened when he saw the way-too-close to phallic shape of the Popsicle in Buffy's hand. His jaw very nearly fell off of its hinges when she brought the pop up to her lips and slowly, deliberately, licked the very tip with a dart of her nimble pink tongue.
His eyes followed helplessly as she engulfed the frozen treat, making her seemingly innocent act of enjoying the iced sugar seem all too obscene. He wasn't positive how, but he managed to close his eyes and begin to mutter to himself mentally. However, his Harris in a cat suit! mantra somehow turned into Buffy in a cat suit! -- complete with visuals, and then she wasn't in a cat suit, she was in that scandalous little scrap of lace, and then she was naked.
At the images fluttering in front of him from the times he had seen Buffy naked, Spike very nearly fell on the ground, howling from the very real physical pain that his thoughts cost him. He chanced a glance at Real-Life Buffy, thinking a barely dressed Buffy would at least be slightly better than Naked Buffy and would calm his erection down the tiniest bit.
Nope, that didn't work.
For one, her popsicle was melting. Meaning that now, little rivulets were dripping down her hand, and she was in a race to catch them before they dripped down her elbow. Meaning that she was licking and sucking at the rocket pop like there was no tomorrow. And for Spike, from previous experience, of course, watching the little show that Buffy was presenting to him set his borrowed blood to boiling in lust.
He groaned silently. Why? Why me? I'm trying to be good, really! Why do you bloody gits have to torture me?!
Her tongue was trying to catch up to all the drippings (Spike cursed the imbecile who'd made this night so goddamn hot -- er, weather-wise), and after a frustrating moment of trying to figure out what it was, exactly, that she was going to do, she finally deep-throated the whole damn thing. Spike's eyes bolted open, and try as he might, he couldn't help the one tiny, unmanly squeak that shot out of his throat and did a taunting 'nyah, nyah, nyah-nyah, nyah!' right in front of him. Sigh. There was no other way around it. He couldn't deny it to himself anymore.
He was hard. All thanks to that devious little bitch.
Buffy, on the other hand, was loving every single second of this. Obviously, she had no problems with turning Spike on. But here was the hard part -- getting him so riled that he made it up the stairs and right into her bed.
Which actually, now that she thought about it, shouldn't be that difficult at all.
"Spike?" she asked, creeping closer until she was on her knees on the floor beside him. Spike's mind stubbornly refused to acknowledge the 'on her knees' part, while the rest of his body was currently in the midst of a veto in attempting to toss his brain into the clinger.
The popsicle was still very useful, as Buffy's lips were now following its length up and down. He knew, because his eyes had opened long enough to catch her on the upsweep. Her head tilted to the side a bit, and she contemplated him as her tongue traced the tip of what was now the most perverted rocket pop on the planet. Deciding that it would be best to just point out the obvious rather than to give stupid, long-winded statements, she leaned over him and placed her hand over his. His body gave a very visible jolt, and he glanced at her, wide-eyed and anxious.
"Do you--" her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Spike relaxed a bit -- obviously Buffy wasn't all stones tonight, and was even a little nervous about what it was exactly that she was pulling. "Do you," she started again, "want to come upstairs and let me... handle the problem?" Her hand moved from his to the painfully large bulge in his lap.
Spike let a hiss escape his throat through his teeth. The searing hot pressure of her hand was so familiar, so comforting, so, so... arousing, that it was difficult not to just explode right there. It was then that it finally hit him what Buffy was doing -- and why. Yes, she really was coming onto him. Why? Because she still wanted him. But Christ, even after all the shit he'd put her through, she still craved him?
Somehow, that wasn't very comforting. Was she fucking insane?!
Well, at least she'd finally ditched that evil popsicle. Right into a potted plant, but still. No more torture. She straightened, standing up, and Spike's eyes shot closed when he was treated to yet another view of why Buffy had chosen this scrap of nothing to cover her tonight. Her hand reached out to cup his cheek, and he unconsciously leaned into it, purring. She waited until he opened his eyes again.
"No pressure, Spike," she murmured softly, then slowly, deliberately blinked once. "I'll be waiting."
She turned and Spike was given yet another glimpse of her transparent backside.
He was gonna murder the lunatic who'd given that teddie to her. It was a pure piece of evil.
Granted, the view was pretty enticing. Not as nice as her front side, but still way up there. What with nothing but a piece of floss between her smooth round cheeks, and the way her hips were swaying back and forth, and the whole point that she was very nearly naked right in front of him!
He nearly caved in and went after her.
But then he realized what the little bint had implied by her "I'll be waiting." Translation? "I'm waiting upstairs for you and with the way I look, there's no doubt in my mind you'll come after me, because you have absolutely no self control."
She had actually assumed that he wouldn't have the willpower to deny her something she wanted.
Something she wanted. Of course. Once again, it was All About Buffy. It was a wonder that the girl's head wasn't floating off her shoulders, the way her ego was daily inflated.
Well she was wrong for once. He wasn't going to go traipsing after her like her little lapdog again, eager to please, more eager to get fucked, happy to just have on of her condescending eyes straying his way. Spike was going to sit right here on his tight little ass, while Buffy was going to be hit with the mother off rude revelations. She could stew as much as she wanted -- he didn't give a shit. He was staying put until she understood that he had not been put on this earth and brought into her life in order to be bossed around.
One of these days, she had to learn. Spike was not her personal lust-bunny.
His decision made, he sat back and unzipped his pants.
Hey, his realizations about Buffy may have pissed him off, but the image of her was still stuck in his head. He had to do something to get rid of this problem.
She was pissed. No, brassed off.
No, wait, she had one better. She was fucking livid!
She'd been waiting for Spike to trudge upstairs for more than forty-five minutes now -- assuming that Spike might want to fix himself instead of limping up the stairs -- but so far, Spike had proven to be a no show. So, she headed back downstairs.
Her jaw dropped at the sight of the object of her affections, turned on his side, facing the couch, peacefully asleep.
Suddenly, her anger found itself merged with unbearable hurt, and it took every cell of her body to keep that wailing sob that was rising in her throat from escaping. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop her tears from dripping down both cheeks, and after a few sniffs, she bowed her head and made her way back up to the bed that she would apparently be occupying alone.
It was true. He didn't want her anymore. Oh, he wanted her physically -- with the way she'd been dressed, she had pretty much ensured that. But when it all came down to it, he was a man, and she was a woman wearing transparent clothing that pretty much just covered her tits. Spike probably would have reacted that way to any woman he'd seen wearing that outfit.
But if it had been so easy for him to just roll over and go to sleep without giving her a second thought...
"Thoughts bad," she whimpered, sniffling. "No more thinking."
This was all Dawn's fault, she decided. The teenager had been the one to push her into the whole Operation: Seduce Spike thing; Dawn had been the one to encourage her to act on her feelings for him. Therefore, seeing as how the whole sorry attempt had backfired horribly in Buffy's face, it was Dawn she was placing the blame on.
But there was another face that was surfacing in her mind -- another person that she knew, deep down, was the cause of her jealousy and hurt.
No, she thought, straightening abruptly, her face solidifying into a hateful mask. Not Dawn's fault. HER'S. Her tears stopped flowing, and her eyes hardened and became ice cold. She knew why Spike was no longer interested in her.
"Turbo-Bitch," she growled.
Practically tearing off the now-useless teddie, she dressed dangerously in a pair of black jeans, a black tank top, and her black, steel-toed army boots. Strapping several stakes onto various locations on her person, she fought the urge to go down the stairs and give Spike a good kick in the shins. Instead, she took a trip to her teen years, and climbed out her window. Dropping nimbly to the ground, she scowled and continued on towards the cemetery. Maybe it was natural instinct, or maybe it was wishful thinking on Buffy's part that led her there, but something told her to search this place for the bitch that had dared to try taking Spike away from her.
However, after about an hour of searching, she realized how fruitless her search was, and began wondering if her Slayer instincts were on the fritz. The Drusilla wanna-be Slut-Bomb that had set her sights on Spike was human (she had to be; her presence hadn't even set off Buffy's normally accurate Spidey-senses). There was no reason Stupid!Evil!Bitch would be wandering around the cemetery, not even this late at night.
With fatigue, failure, and depression setting in, Buffy turned to go home.
And then she heard voices.
Normally, she wouldn't be worried -- especially since Pro-and-Anti Spike (now merged, as she'd realized before) had made it a habit lately of talking to her like they were old friends -- and like they were real. But she knew right off the bat that the voices she was hearing did not belong to her friendly neighborhood mental loonies.
Stepping into a wall of bushes and peering through the leaves, she squinted her eyes and realized that --
Sigh. She'd stumbled in on a make-out session.
Dammit.
But something told her to take a closer look. And so she did.
The female (who, by the way, had her long, skanky legs wrapped around the guy's waist) finally lifted her head and smiled an almost bone-chilling smile.
Buffy's heart gave a lurch. It was her! It was the Slut-Bomb! YES! she cheered internally. The bitch hadn't even been with Spike for more than a night, and was already playing him! And Buffy, better than anybody, knew how much Spike hated polygamy -- he was a one-woman vampire, and always had been (which made him a bit of a freak in the vampire world. Not that he already wasn't one). When he heard about this, he was going to be furious!
And you'll get to console him and be in all self-righteous indignation with him! Pro-Spike added excitedly. Buffy's eyebrows creased.
Where the hell have you been? she thought.
Er... visiting last year's memories, Pro-Spike replied sheepishly.
Buffy nodded to herself understandingly. Gotcha. Proceed.
She nearly smacked herself on the head when she realized what she was doing. Stop talking to yourself, dipshit! Get home and tell Spike he's taken up with another two-timing whore!
But before she could, Slut-Bitch did something that not even Buffy had anticipated.
Her fangs bared, her head dove down and she struck like a viper. Her victim never had a chance to make a noise, and her legs' tight grip on him snapped him in half. She drained the boy in two seconds flat.
Buffy's Slayer instincts thrummed with excitement. The evil man-stealer was not only a two-timer, but she was a vampire.
A slow, predatory smile curled her lips.
This night just couldn't get any better.