March 10, 1998 -- Tuesday

Buffy, Slayer Extraordinaire

Buffy sighed as she slammed the cover of her diary shut. This was pretty bad. Somehow, some way, she'd managed to get the hots for an evil, bloodsucking fiend. And if she was truthful, she'd technically had the hots for him since she'd first met him. Spike had a rare, Roman-esque, Greek-Adonis type beauty that tended to... melt women when they first saw it. Every aspect of him from what she'd seen, even his unnaturally blonde hair, was fitting. His whole body just suited him. Made him extra... yummy.

She scoffed at herself. Buffy, thou art damned to hell.

She'd begun to notice something quite disturbing about herself, something that Giles seemed to have restrained trying to yell at her for since he found out about Angel: she seemed to have a thing for the undead. Angel had been the first, and yeah, she'd thought he was just some weird human guy on her trail until her Slayer senses had gone haywire around him. But he'd been full of good intentions, because he had a soul. And yeah, he drove her absolutely crazy, pulling that stupid hot-and-cold, on-again-off-again, 'I love you, but I can't be with you' bullshit on her time and time again, but she'd still loved him, had still been proud that he slayed at her side.

Angel had warmed her from head to foot the moment he entered the room, whether he was all-business and sending a rare smile her way, or whether they were alone together, whispering sweet nothings interchanged with gentle, heartwarming kisses.

Spike, on the other hand...

The man was brutal. He had absolutely no sense of gentility and devotion and totally ignoring the fact that that's how he was with Drusilla before Angelus took her away from him and his caustic tongue was one to rival even Cordelia's. Cordelia had no sense of tact; Spike had a sense of wicked tactlessness. The difference there was that Cordelia wasn't aware of what she said most of the time, be it hurtful, truthful, or helpful. Spike was fully aware of what he said; he purposely primed it to be hurtful, and he wallowed in the phrase 'The truth hurts.'

Yet somehow, his scathing tongue and tear-inducing words seemed like a defense mechanism, almost. Buffy hadn't failed to notice that he usually only said those bitter, cutting phrases after she instigated it with something sore and malicious. It was nothing but a bitter cycle: she started it, he finished it, he started it, she... more than often finished it.

But at the same time, while Angel's presence had warmed her like a blanket being thrown over her shoulders in a violent winter wind, Spike's presence lit a fire inside of her body, an inferno that had absolutely no intention of being put out. Angel's presence had once calmed her; Spike's presence made her go all loopy, wanting to lose any and all inhibitions, throwing caution to the wind.

He angered her, and at the same time, made her want him. It was incomprehensible; she just didn't understand why it only happened around Spike. He made her feel powerful, hungry. He preferred to have her draw her power out instead of fighting mechanically during a battle.

Vaguely, she recalled his disappointed words on Halloween, the night she'd been turned into a noblewoman for Angel, only to find out that he hadn't even liked the women of his time. Spike hadn't been reluctant to bite her, but he had been reluctant to have to end her life without a fight. He'd wanted a challenge in her, and on Halloween, he'd been denied that challenge, because she'd been a weak, pathetic little girl.

Spike made her want to take pride in the fact that she was a Slayer, to use it to her full ability, to actually indulge herself in her more primitive half when she made a kill. Angel had preferred to let her live the life of a normal girl, to have boyfriends and dates with coffee, to snuggle on the couch watching old romantic movies from the '30s and '40s, and to think of her Calling as a necessary job, and nothing else... Spike made her feel that not only could she be that normal girl, but she could embrace her primal self as well, to truly become the Slayer.

And what more, he didn't bother to shield her from the dark and gloomy. Spike fed in front of her, gave her the cold, hard facts, had killed quite a few humans right in her view, and didn't bother to try and hide what he was. Angel, however, had refused to let her see him feed, and she'd always had the vague sense of annoyance that he only came out patrolling with her so that he could thin the herd before she so much as got one vamp staked. And he had always tried to hide what he was.

Spike made her want to stand up and feel proud of her heritage, be strong, and violent and skillful. He wanted an equal. Angel, apparently, didn't.

Why hadn't Angel bothered to make her feel that way?

And, god... she wasn't even going to go into the differences in their kissing. She was scared she might short-circuit. One thing was for sure, though: as old as Angel was compared to Spike, the younger vampire was definitely the better kisser. All hot, and tingly and commanding and powerful, reaching right into the center of her being and igniting that fire into the raging inferno, setting her every muscle at ease and her every nerve ending at attention...

Ohhhh... her brain was officially fried. No more thinking for Buffy.

I'm supposed to be heartbroken over the loss of my ex while trying to figure out how to kill him, Drusilla, and Spike, not debating the merits of dating Spike as opposed to having dated Angel!

She whined softly before pulling back her covers, turning off her lamp, and letting her head hit the pillow.

Stupid hormones. Always gotta make things harder.

He's only doing this to rile you, mate. Ignore that stupid face of his, and the stupid hair, and that stupid smirk, and don't look at Drusilla, the vile, rank bitch. Don't let her into your head.

"What do you think, Dru?"

Spike looked up. He'd made it back home in time to fling himself into the Metal Death Trap known as the wheelchair, just as Angelus and Drusilla had come storming in from the back, well-fed and riotous with an unquenchable thirst for sex.

Which had been put on hold the minute they'd seen him. Hell, Spike had known he was close to trouble the moment Drusilla had come waltzing into the garden, spinning to a stop in front of him.

It was inevitable, really. He was kicking himself for being so stupid.

He had Slayer Smell all over him. All for the simple fact that, when he'd gotten back, he'd forgotten to change his clothes.

Idiot.

So now he was busy shielding his mind from Drusilla's particularly annoying "insight." All things considered, it was actually pretty easy to do. Dru's insanity sometimes rendered her into a helpless, child-like state. And in the incredibly rare moments when she was lucid, she could generally only decipher the thoughts and emotions that Spike directed at her. Having been with the loon for over a century, he'd learned quite a few tricks to confuse his one-time lover that his idiot of a grandsire was too dimwitted to realize.

Which brought him to the hard part: confusing Dru enough with his emotions for her to convince the Great Ass that he wasn't hiding anything. After all, Angelus, as Angel, had spent so much time with Buffy that her scent was currently lodged into his senses. When he'd perceived the smell desperately clinging to the threads of Spike's clothes, he'd immediately rounded on the younger vampire, barking orders at Drusilla to determine any guilt; anything naughty that a paraplegic vampire should not have had any business doing.

Fortunately for Spike, as much bravado as his grandsire put on, Angelus really was as stupid and gullible as he seemed. Spike had instantly been prepared for Dru's brain-probing when they'd come back, and he'd quickly sent out emotional waves of annoyance toward Angelus and hurt because of Dru. His irritated thoughts of having worn these clothes the last time he'd been able to face the Slayer bounced forward into Dru's mind the moment her consciousness locked with his.

However, she'd been probing him for almost five minutes now, and Angelus was getting testy. "Dru..." He wasn't really curious if Buffy had decided to pay the mansion a visit after somehow discovering that they were staying there. What he really wanted was an all access pass from Dru to beat the holy hell out of Spike. From there, he entered the Happy Land of Chains and Torture, which was why he started when Drusilla gave a sudden delighted giggle.

"My Spike's an innocent one, he is... Poppet had no one to help pull on the prince's new robes. He had to use the beggar's." She sniffed lightly, inhaling vanilla perfume combined with the Slayer's earthy musk, then shook her head, apparently pleased by what she found. "The wicked Slayer's smell has grown for months... she's aged, Daddy, she has..."

Angelus glanced at her blankly. "Er, yeah. So... I don't get to kill him, then?"

Drusilla smiled darkly. "Naughty Daddy... He wants to take away my toy and never give it back. Poor me... he doesn't want me to play anymore. My white knight's no longer of use. Maybe Daddy has a bigger game in mind?" Her long, dark eyelashes swept up and down coquettishly, and in an instant, Angelus forgot who Spike even was, let alone his desire to kill him, in favor of a more... strenuous activity.

He strode forward, a lascivious smirk crossing his face as he trailed a deceptively gentle hand down the length of Drusilla's body. The smirk only widened when Spike emitted a low growl behind him, and it took all his strength not to glance back and gloat at the now-seething bleach blonde. "Oh, I've got a few games I think you might like, baby." Reaching Drusilla's hand, he caught it in his own, twisting sharply upward, causing Dru to gasp in pain and excitement. "But I think they're better suited... away from prying eyes."

Drusilla raised her head eagerly as Angelus stepped away from her, moving upstairs. When Spike growled again, Dru's eyes strayed to him. Noticing that he had her attention, Spike once again roused his capacity for emotions, giving her a look of deepest longing, hurt, heartbreak and disgust, emitting a soft, pleading whimper.

The dark beauty simply shrugged to herself, following her sire back upstairs into the mansion. Apparently, Spike's feelings were placed as they should be, and were not of any consequence. No need to worry. He didn't matter.

Spike's lips curled into a bitter smile as he slipped out of his jealous, jilted lover persona, listening hatefully to Drusilla's footsteps alighting on the landing above him. This most recent display of her indifference to her betrayal... was the nail in her coffin, so to speak. Spike was more certain than ever that his alliance with the Slayer was the smartest thing he had ever done.

The Slayer... Spike smirked to himself. The fiery little thing had been completely shaken by his kiss, which pleased him to no end. She'd refused to look anywhere in his vicinity the entire time back to the high school, and she'd practically run out the door when the Watcher had set the lot of them free for the night.

Spike had heard Rupert's voice calling him back, but he'd pointedly ignored it, stalking out the doors and jetting out of the high school, positive that Giles only wanted to give him some not-very-threatening glares and gestures, and tell him to keep his fangs to himself. He'd turned to the left and right, and had caught the smallest glimpse of blonde hair swishing around. He had almost decided to run after her when he'd realized how close it was to his sires' grand return. So he'd hauled ass down to Crawford Street, just in time to greet the two lunatics that he was unfortunate and reluctant to say were "related" to him.

And now, they were holed up in Angelus' room, roaring, and screaming, and growling their heads off in a not-so-subtle attempt to piss him off. Spike snorted and shook his head. God, if his mum could just see him now...

Eh. If his mum could see him now, she'd probably sympathize with him and nothing more. Anne had been a quiet, gentle, sweet-natured woman by the time she'd taken ill, and Spike, when human, had been her entire world. She'd doted on him as if he were a prince. If anything, she would have understood the love he'd had for Drusilla, and probably would have found a way to discourage the hate he now harbored for his sires. She might even have chided him for teasing and taunting Buffy, and would probably have asserted the fact that Buffy was still only a child, and new to the world, compared to him. She was, after all, only 17.

Oh, crap. Ring up one sulk-fest -- he'd just started brooding again. Why the hell had he randomly brought up the memories he had of his mother? What the hell did she have to do with anything now? Honestly, he was a Master Vampire (although in his current position, he might do well to keep his mouth shut), and if it wasn't for the fact that he was hell-bent and dead-set on bringing about Angelus' ruin, Drusilla's abject humiliation, and both of their destructions, he'd be in the mental ward, kicking himself in the head and what-not.

He let out a frustrated growl and rose up in one lithe motion from his chair. Christ, he wanted to kill something. Violently. Either that, or have a nice, long, hard fuck. Or, preferably, both. The good ol' fuck-an'-feed. Not like Drusilla would mind, the bitch. The whore could kiss his ass, as far as he was concerned. He had no doubts that she would do just that - literally - when Angelus was finally brought down, and then Spike could have the utmost pleasure in denouncing her and kicking her to the curb. Hell, if he wanted to, he'd even let Buffy stake her. That'd take care of the adulterous cunt, once and for all -- nothing stopping him from doing whatever (and whoever) he wanted.

Speaking of doing... He kept bringing Buffy up while he was contemplating his revenge, but even as he did, she was still dancing around in his head -- literally. He could see her as he did that first night -- twisting and shaking, gyrating like a maddening lust-kitten when really, she was just a teenage girl dancing. Reluctant as he was to admit it, while he'd enjoyed the kiss, and the effect that it'd had on her, the effect that it was having on him was giving him something to fear. He'd really enjoyed that kiss, could still taste it on his lips, even now -- she tasted like vanilla, strawberries, honey and chocolate all at once -- and he was going mad with want. He wanted more -- he craved more. His body was straining in their confinements, desperate to chase after that infuriating, blonde-haired bint, kiss her till she was breathless, then pound into her until she screamed for more.

Fuck, he was hard again.

But he knew he couldn't chase after the girl. Not yet, at least -- he had to give her some time to stew, to think about their lip-wrestling, before he chased after her and gave her the taste for more... before he gave her the taste of a real man.

Damn. Looks like he'd have to rely on Lefty tonight. Grumbling under his breath, he plopped back into the chair and rolled away into the safety of the house's study, locking the door. In no way did he feel like being Angelus' laughing stock when the pompous ass strutted back down the stairs. Not tonight. Not anymore.

"Buffy! Wake up, it's time for school!"

Grunt. Groan. Turning over now and praying to some form of God that this is just a nightmare.

"Buffy!"

She whined softly. "No..."

"BUFFY!"

The graceful Slayer that she was had decided to sleep in as well. Teenage Gonna-Be-Late-For-School Buffy let out a horrific shriek and tumbled off the end of the bed, landing flat on her stomach. A high-pitched, delighted giggle sounded from the other side, and Buffy looked up warily, thinking she'd find Evil Incarnate preparing to torture her himself. Instead, she found her 12-year-old sister with a maniacal grin on her face, her arms folded across her chest.

Eh, close enough.

"Dawn?" Buffy started sweetly, shifting as her honey-colored hair tumbled down in front of her face.

 Dawn instantly went on alert, staring at her with wide, cautious eyes. "What...?"

The Slayer woke up at the sound of her counterpart's ferocity. "RUN."

Whatever she'd seen flashing in Buffy's eyes, she didn't exactly know, but she wasted absolutely no time in doing just as her sister had asked her. Dawn scampered out the door.

Buffy watched her sister from her new seat on the floor, then sighed, flopping backwards. This was not the way to start the day.

A half-hour, several shouts from Joyce that Buffy was going to be late again, a few more arguments between Slayers and Younger-Sisters-That-Can't-Shut-Up-For-Their-Own-Good, and a box of donuts later, and Buffy was finally at school, heading directly for the library. Luckily, the sugar-high from the three raspberry jelly-filled donuts she'd devoured were starting to take effect. She bounced in through the double-swing doors, clutching the box protectively in her arms. Xander was the only one at the research table, and for some reason she didn't understand (or couldn't remember), she found herself being overly cautious and aloof with him.

"Xander," she greeted quietly. "What's doing?"

Xander shrugged, looking down for a moment, before responding. He seemed to be trying his hardest not to make any suggestions that might earn him a beheading. "Nothing major. You know, big apocalypse research, end-of-the-world thing, geometry homework. The usual." His eyes lit up hopefully when he saw the donut box in Buffy's hands. "Jellies?"

Buffy nodded, smirking. Figures. "Don't eat 'em all. Giles'll kill you if you do. Oh, speaking of... Giii-iiles!" she called, glad that her confrontation with Xander had been interrupted by the need for work. She set the box down and turned toward the office. Behind her, she heard the vague sounds of Xander launching a full-frontal assault. "Giles! Anything new on the big World-Endage?"

Giles barely, save for a slight scowl at her lack of serious-ness, glanced up at her from his papers. "Not at the moment, no. I'm sure I've heard something, a legend, about a demon with a sword through his chest, but I can't seem to find any of my bloody manuscripts."

Buffy stared at him silently while he continued to sift. She scratched her arm, then the side of her head. Wriggling slightly, she adjusted her tank-top. After a moment, she looked up, noticing that he was still searching, and (rudely) ignoring her. Finally, she sighed and said, "We've got donuts."

Giles looked up. "Jellies?"

Buffy smiled. "If Xander didn't eat them all by now."

An almost frantic look (for Giles, anyway) came over his face, and he grabbed his papers, standing up and stalking out the door. Buffy grinned to herself when she heard Giles angrily yell, "Xander!" Apparently, her friend had been extremely hungry today.

She walked back outside into the main library and couldn't help but smirk when she saw Giles chastising the young brunet male, who was apparently attempting to become part turtle by shrinking into his shirt. For some reason, it felt oddly satisfying to see Giles yelling at him, but she couldn't for the life of her understand why. Wiggy.

At that moment, Willow pushed open the doors, followed closely by Oz, whose hair was still blue, but a lighter, more vibrant shade. The color seemed awfully familiar for some reason. "Hey, Buffy!" Willow called. Oz raised his hand in greeting, plopping down onto the end of the table and pulling Willow down next to him. Buffy's eyes lingered on the way he gently stroked her best friend's hand with his thumb, feeling a little pang of jealousy inside of her. No. No, no, no. Not gonna get achy over loosing my boyfriend. It happened, now he's an asshole, and I have to kill him. That's it.

She shook herself out of her daze and smiled warmly at her red-headed friend. "Hey, Wills. How's it going?"

Willow smiled, sneaking a glance at Oz, as he watched Giles berating Xander curiously. "It's going good. Really good."

Buffy smiled. "That's great." For you...

Oz raised his gaze from the duo at the end of the table. "Did we miss something?" he asked.

Buffy shook her head. "Xander ate the jelly donuts without leaving any for Giles."

 "I did too!" Xander said back indignantly, then sheepishly pulled out the half of a strawberry jelly that was left. "He's still got this..."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "That's the last time I leave you with the donuts."

Giles scowled, shaking his head and snatching a...blech... glazed. "Anyway. To business." He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, then turned to Buffy. "Has Spike been in any contact with you since you left last night?"

Spike. Buffy's eyes widened as she heard the name. Images came crashing back, and sensations danced across her lips as she recalled everything she had presently forgotten. Spike had kissed her last night. Oh... right. The softness... his gentleness, which was just odd. He'd been kind. Spike... had been kind... What the hell kind of freaky world did she live in? Vampires were supposed to hate her, want her dead, want to taste her blood, right? Instead, Spike, the so-called Slayer of Slayers, had kissed her and, if she wasn't entirely mistaken, had liked it. That was definitely not supposed to happen! Spike didn't have a soul, he was soulless, and he reveled in the kill! She couldn't be all... happy-feeling after he'd kissed her! She wasn't supposed to feel that at all! Her eyes widened even more as the realization struck. Oh, god, she was having happies over a kiss from Spike! A Spike kiss had her all... happy...

Bad Buffy images were starting to push their way into her brain. Somebody had better interrupt soon, or else she just might --

"Buffy?"

She looked up. "Wha -- huh?"

Giles was looking a slight bit worried as he gazed at her. "Are... are you all right? Did you hear me?"

Buffy blinked, shaking her head, before taking a deep breath and meeting her Watcher's gaze head on. "Oh -- er, yeah. Um... no, he hasn't gotten back to me. He doesn't have my phone number, so he can't call, and he doesn't exactly have day-walking privileges. And it's not like I'd let him in my house or anything, you know?" Shit! That's exactly what I did! I let the blood-thirsty whore-mongrel into my house! Wait, whore mongrel...? Okay, not the time, Buff... "So... no. No contact. My guess? We won't get anything new til tonight." Or until he decides that he wants to take advantage of his new invite and flaunt a dead, bleeding Buffy as a message.

Actually, if she wanted to be honest, she was half-expecting the library doors to come flying open, and Spike to come barreling through any minute now with his shirt unbuttoned and being blown back by an imaginary wind, every bit the anti-hero. And every bit as delicious and forbidden her mind added wickedly.

Buffy sighed to herself. Okay, yeah, she had a thing for the forbidden bad boys. Jeez... First Pike back in Los Angeles, then Angel when she'd first come to Sunnydale - well, he'd seemed like a bad boy at first, anyway, and now she seemed to be getting all bent out of shape over Spike. And Spike was more the forbidden bad boy than either Pike or Angel were.

Grrr.

Oh, Giles was talking. Might want to pay attention this time. "... only to find that certain things have, for some reason, gone missing from my desk, so I suggest that we all reconvene tonight at seven. I presume from what... Spike told us," -- Buffy tried to ignore how distasteful her Watcher sounded when he said the bleach blonde's name -- "that Angelus and Drusilla go out to hunt as soon as the sun sets every night, and do not return until just an hour before dawn. That should give Spike plenty of time to arrive and give us any information he may or may not have."

Buffy nodded slowly. "And meanwhile, I should...?"

Giles glanced at her warmly. "Sit back. Relax. You've been training too hard lately. I don't believe you've had a good night's sleep since..." He trailed off. Since Angel lost his soul, Buffy knew he wanted to say. Either that, or Jenny's death, which was true, because her ability to sleep had pretty much been wiped out by her guilt over the technopagan's murder. At least she'd been sleeping a bit after Angelus decided to pop out, but not anymore.

Giles drew a deep breath. "Go straight home tonight. Go to sleep. Rest. Eat. Spend some time with your mother, I'm sure she'll be glad to see you home. We," indicating the whole group around him, "shall take over patrol tonight."

Willow hopped off the table next to Oz and put an arm gently around Buffy. "Tell ya what. You can even start now!"

Giles instantly began to protest. "Now, Willow, I meant she must still stay in class --"

The young hacker nodded earnestly. "Oh, I know. But Algebra Two/Trig is next, and Buffy always falls asleep in that class, so I figure, what a great way to start the day, you know?"

Buffy tried hard not to grin at the frown on Giles's face. It would've been just too easy to make a crack, but not even poor Giles seemed up to chastising her for it today. "Thanks, Giles. Please don't get killed tonight, and, like, arm yourselves to the nose with crucifixes and stuff, 'kay?"

Xander looked at her, confused. "Uh, don't you mean, 'arm yourselves to the teeth,' Buff?"

Buffy shrugged. "Teeth, nose, whatever. It's all up there. Wear bullet-proof, holy-water drenched, cross-covered vests if you have to, just don't let yourselves get killed, or even injured."

Oz nodded. "Got any weapons we can borrow?"

Buffy sighed, biting her lower lip. "There are the ones down here, in Giles's weapons chest, and then I've got a few, say, hundred bottles of holy water at home, plus stakes, and the crosses and my crossbow. I'll drop by at lunch and get them." She suddenly became very severe, standing straight and glaring at everyone in the room. "Anyone even plucks the trigger wrong, and I'll hunt you down. That crossbow is my baby."

Xander saluted. "Check. Don't trigger Buffy's baby." He froze for a moment, frowning in confusion. "Wait a minute, that sounded a lot more... um..."

"Ludicrous?" Willow supplied.

Xander snapped his fingers. "That's it. It sounded more lunacrust than I meant it."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Sure, Buffy with a baby is lunacrust. Why don't we just call me hopeless, too?"

Xander shrugged sheepishly, saying "Sorry," as Willow rolled her eyes and corrected both of them at the same time, "It's ludicrous."

Giles frowned. "What's ludicrous?"

Willow's eyes widened, and she groaned, putting her head in her hands. Oz comforted her, patting her back gently, a vague curl at the corners of his lips visible. "This entire conversation, apparently."

Buffy giggled, gently tugging Willow from Oz's grasp and placing an arm around her. "Come on, Wills. I need to catch up on some sleep next class." Willow nodded, smiling slightly, while Buffy turned and waved to her Watcher. "Thanks again, Giles. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

Giles nodded. "Of course."

Buffy tugged Willow out the double doors of the library, Oz trailing behind. Xander lingered slightly over the donut box, so long that he let out a yip when Giles slapped his hand on the desk, giving him a thunderous scowl.

"Xander, get to class!"

He hadn't shown up tonight. Well, he had, but he apparently hadn't stayed long. Giles had called her, telling her that Spike had come into the library, only to find that Buffy was not there, and had backed out again instantly, not coming back when Giles had called him.

"Were you going to try and kill him?" she'd asked her Watcher.

"Possibly," Giles had replied.

Buffy had grinned, then started laughing. "Then there's your answer, Research Man."

Giles had given her an indignant huff, chastised her for her lack of respect to her elders, not that those reprovals actually got anywhere, then ordered her to eat dinner and bade her good night.

So now she was sleeping, as she had been all afternoon after she'd gone down to eat dinner with Joyce and Dawn. Joyce had been ecstatic at finally having her eldest join her for a good home-cooked meal. "We've seen so less of you recently that we were wondering if you'd moved out!" Joyce had told her. Dawn had sulked. "That means I can't have your room, huh?" she'd asked, receiving a nasty glare from Buffy and a whap upside the head in response.

Sleep was good. Sleep was really good, although her sheets were beginning to feel funny after having been there all day. And that damn shiver running up and down her spine was driving her crazy. It usually wasn't so damn cold in Sunnydale at night.

She wondered vaguely why Spike hadn't stuck around when he'd seen that she wasn't there. After all, without the Slayer hovering over him, he could have easily gone after the rest of the group and killed them. But no, her thoughts reminded her, Spike wants to get rid of Angelus and Dru as badly as you do. He probably wouldn't have breached a promise.

But did he really promise me that he wouldn't harm anyone, or was that just something he said to appease my threats? another voice asked.

Stupid indecisions. How funny that she would begin to have doubts after she had already taken him into the Anti-Angelus movement. Shouldn't she have had the doubts prior to her decision? Hadn't she? Eh, go figure.

She nearly screeched when a weight settled down next to her on the bed. Instantly, she tried to spin around, but found that cool, rough hands were holding her down, one arm pinning her arms to her sides, the other reaching around her and covering her mouth. Slowly, carefully, she was turned over, and the body slid on top of her, straddling her legs. The hand moved off of her mouth, joining the other hand in holding her arms steady. An sparkling pair of cerulean blue eyes peered down at her intently. She gaped.

"Spike?" she spat. "What the hell are you doing in my room?" she asked in disbelief.

Spike smirked. He could take her right now, and she would never say a word. He had uncovered her mouth and given her the chance to scream bloody murder, but she hadn't done it. And his body wasn't holding her down that securely. Buffy could twist free at any moment.

He'd been thinking about her all morning, really. After the first hand-job he'd had, he'd stared down in disbelief and encountered the fact that, yes, he was still up and hard and, yes, it was because he was thinking about her. His cock had been very sore by the time the sun had set, and he'd managed to clean up very well when Angelus and Drusilla had made their nightly torture visit into the study to see him. And, he'd made a resolution to himself. Since Buffy seemed to be the one causing his suddenly perpetual hardness, Buffy could be the one to take care of it. The minute Angelus and Dru had left, Spike had taken off for Revello Drive. Thank God Buffy invited me in, he thought as he gazed down at her.

The little bitch looked lovely as always. Her hair was sprawled all over her pillow, and it was sort of sticking up. Her jaw was set, and her lips were pressed together in a furious line, her eyes gazing back at him in shock and hate and disbelief. She was wearing a dark green tank top with thin straps on the shoulders, and a pair of black cotton boxers. He peered over the side of the bed, searching for scraps of underwear, and almost instantly, he detected small cotton panties flung toward the laundry basket.

Ah, perfect. She was ready, if not willing, and very fuckable. His cock strained against his jeans with the thought.

"Do you think I haven't noticed how you look at me, Summers?" he started, smirking hungrily down at her. "You think I haven't noticed the way you smell when you look at me? That I can't tell that I make you wetter'n the Pacific Ocean?" Buffy gasped in shock, and Spike's smirk widened. She hadn't. She really hadn't realized that vampires could smell arousal. But as he pressed down against her, he realized that she knew all-too-well the effects she had on most vampires.

Buffy gave another sharp gasp as he began rubbing his hips against hers. That had to be the hardest thing she had ever felt in her life! What the hell was in this guy's pants, the Empire State Building?

The Slayer Warning bell was going off in her head, screaming, Danger, Danger!, and she instantly began to struggled, trying to get out from underneath him. What the hell had suddenly brought this on? She knew that Spike had, for reasons unknown to her, developed some kind of attraction to her -- hell, she'd seen it on his face yesterday, she hadn't needed that kiss -- but why all of a sudden was he in her room, rubbing against her like a cat in heat, and hard enough to cut glass? The only aroused part of a male she had really come in contact with had been Angel's... and it hadn't felt as hard as this. Spike seemed to be at a breaking point -- almost literally.

He shoved her down roughly when she began to struggle, then, one hand still holding her arms above her head, he lowered the other to her thinly-covered breast. When he squeezed, Buffy gave a soft moan, and almost instantly relaxed. Spike gave a predatory smirk. Perfect. One squeeze, and she was putty in his hands. He reached up and tugged the strap of her tank top down, then lowered the cloth, uncovering one small, perfect, milky-white breast.

Oh, hell. If Buffy was putty, Spike was pretty much Jell-O. Groaning softly, he lowered his head and captured the tiny, berry-colored nipple in his mouth, sucking it between his teeth. Buffy gave a soft cry, arching up under him, pressing her breast further into his face. Oh, God, she thought. He hadn't even put his fingers down there, and here, she was half-way to her climax already. What was it about him that made her hormones get so damn overcharged?!

Thoughts of Angel, of her friends, of her mother and Dawn being in the other rooms flew out of her head as Spike's hand began to creep down her body. Tugging lightly on the elastic of her boxers, he slipped his hand inside, fingers curling into her mound. At the feel of his slightly chilled fingers, Buffy snapped to attention again, trying to push him away. Anything to get away from him. This was Spike she was here with! How could she be doing this? How could she even let herself think of letting him touch her?! He was vile, disgusting, a demon, dead, and most of all, the enemy...

He slipped one finger inside of her, testing her arousal, while his thumb began to circle the small swollen button of nerves. Buffy's Anti-Spike thoughts froze.

But god did his hands feel good...

She moaned again, softly, beginning to thrust against his hand as his fingers pumped into her. How had no one ever made her feel like this, physically or otherwise?

Resolved, she allowed herself to give in, just this once. It wasn't as if he had a soul to lose, and one night with him couldn't hurt, if she failed to prevent the apocalypse.

If Spike was the devil, then he'd better reserve her a seat right next to him in Hell.

"Yes... yes," she moaned.

Spike was practically salivating.

He had climbed the tree after he had left the high school to take a peek at the Slayer and see what was wrong with her. And that was when he'd seen her all cuddled up in bed, blankets piled up over her head. It figured. She'd just been tired, and Watcher Boy had given her the night off.

So he'd swung himself onto the tree branch closest to her window, preparing to pop in, give her a good scare, then haul her out to the cemetery to possibly get in a shot at killing Angelus or Dru. But then, she'd shifted, and the strap of her tank top had fallen down her shoulder.

And then... her hands had started to travel up and down her sides. And when one hand had reached her breast, she'd slid her hand into her top, and gently squeezed it, giving out a low moan. Her legs had begun to thrash under the covers, and, seeing as how they had been clumped up on the edge of the bed anyway, one swift kick had knocked them all off, leaving her to Spike's view in a pair of black boxers shorts. And...

His eyes widened. Her other hand was inside the shorts. And her moans were gathering in volume..

So now, Spike sat there on the branch, intently watching the Slayer finger herself, desperately trying not to drool on himself, and savagely squeezing the big insatiable lump in his jeans.

And then he heard it, so low that were he not a vampire, it would have gone unnoticed. As it was, it shocked him so badly that he fell right out of the tree with a yelp.

After a moment of wondering why all the bad things on earth seemed to happen to him, he sat up and relaxed against the trunk of the tree. And then he'd smiled.

Glancing down, he gave his crotch a reassuring pat, saying softly, "Don't worry. You'll get your treat soon enough." Then he stretched slightly, and groaned as he stood up.

Walking away from 1630 Revello Drive, Spike's smile grew as his mind replayed the softly whispered cry again.

"Spike!"

five || three || fog home || the naughtiness