STICK
Author: 1stRab-id, Raeann
Feedback: Rabid1st@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Subject: B/S, A/X and S/Hallie
Spoilers: None that I know of
past Season 6 episode, Older and Far Away
Summary/Challenge: Pool Fic challenge issued by Juleen on
Onegoodlaysb,
this was based on a rumor that B/S were going to
break up. Here in, they have broken
up and are playing pool at the Bronze. Sexual tension and innuendo
a must. Sorry to say
that I messed this challenge up as Buffy isn’t alone
here. But still thought it
was worth the submission.
Beta Babe: Rilla/Thud!
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own all…I sadly own nothing but
a used
Song: “Fine Line”, herein by Hootie and the Blowfish. ‘Cause B/S been crossing
over that border way too long.
“How do
you confess what words can’t explain?
He never
intended to cause this much pain,
kind of feels like a farmer
praying for rain
he got more than he
bargained for from the clouds.
You know
it’s a fine line in between right and wrong…”
The
Bronze was hopping. Music pounded,
people danced under the pulsing lights
or made out in the darkest corners under the
stairs. Buffy, Tara, Xander
and
Anya had gathered a few hours earlier for some
much-needed Slay-free bonding.
The
frothy nectar had flowed generously and the conversation had spun off of
wedding plans and somehow landed on the Slayer’s
social life.
“All
I know,” Anya slurred, peering into her empty glass,
“is that you get more
honey with a carrot than you do with a whole bunch of
vinegar.”
“Isn’t
there something in there about bees?” Xander asked,
as he returned with
the frosty mug refills.
“No,”
his fiancée said, with a firm shake of her head. “I’m sure it’s carrots.”
“The
honey comes from the bees,” Buffy provided, helpfully, as she splashed
another two fingers of tequila into her shot
glass. She tossed back her booze
and grimaced.
“I
think it’s flies,”
beer.
“Nope,”
Buffy disagreed, still making faces, “you’re thinking of maggots. Bees
give you the honey.
Flies give you the maggots.”
“No,
Silly,”
that’s the saying.
‘You catch more flies with honey than you do with a stick.’
Or…uhm…” she frowned, “wait…that’s not it either.”
“You
can’t catch flies with a stick,” Xander informed,
taking exception to the
entire concept.
“They have those buggy eyes and they always see you coming.”
“You
shouldn’t try to catch them even,” Buffy grumbled. “If you got a stick, you
should just whack ‘em! Filthy things flies, spreading diseases and
plagues and
maggots everywhere. I say we whack ‘em
all!”
A
blond man in his late twenties was leaning over the pool table just to the
left of the Slayer’s chair. He slid back his cue stick, targeting the
eight
ball for a game winning shot just as Buffy made her
pronouncement. To
illustrate her point, she yanked the cue out of his
hands and smacked it down
hard on the green velvet surface. The stick
shattered into three pieces and a
handful of splinters. Silence fell like a blanket over the bar as
everyone
turned to stare at the Slayer.
“Hey!”
the young man yelped, into the sudden quiet.
“Oh,
sorry,” Buffy muttered.
She
popped off her chair and began picking up the pieces of the cue. She tried
to fit them together again. When that failed, she offered the largest
fragment
to the erstwhile pool player but he backed,
hastily, away from her.
“Stay
away from me you crazy bitch,” he said, holding up one hand as if warding
her off.
“See?”
Anya said, conversationally, as she waved vaguely in
Buffy’s general
direction. “That’s exactly what I am talking about, she’s all about the stick.”
The
ex-demon turned to point an accusing finger at the Slayer, “You’ll never
find a man for kisses and snuggles and marriage and
babies if you keep on using
the sticks approach. You have to start using the honey.”
“I
thought it was carrots,” Xander said.
“Or
vinegar,” Buffy inserted, as she came back to the table.
She
was still holding the shattered hilt of the pool cue. She carefully placed
the modified stake in her chair. Hefting her half-empty tequila bottle, she
pouted at it, “And vinegar is what this stuff tastes
like if you ask me.”
She
filled her shot glass to the brim and clinked the bottle down again before
continuing,
“and I know a man you can get with tequila if I wanted to get
him…and he was even a man…which I don’t need
anyway…so why don’t we talk about
this with someone who even cares about the birds and
the bees…or the flies…or
whatever is that you don’t want to let me whack.”
“You
know, Buffy,”
signaling for a waiter, “maybe we should switch to
coffee.” She nodded toward
the, now, empty pool table and asked, “How about a
game?”
“Okay,”
Buffy agreed, happily, as she pirouetted back toward the Rec
area. “But
you are going to so go down for me, Sister. Pool is my game. I could take you
all on if I wanted cause I have that Slayer hand to
eye
ordinace…crowedeh-er…cowardation…uhm…that hand-eye thingee going
for me.”
Suddenly,
she shouted, “ANYONE
HERE THINKS THEY CAN TAKE ME? STEP ON
UP!
‘Cause I got a check from the Double Meat that says you
can’t.”
She
patted herself down, whipped a yellow strip of paper out of her pants pocket
and slapped it onto the pool table.
“BUFFY!”
Xander and Tara yelped, as one. Leaping to the Slayer’s side, they
each took an arm.
The carpenter reached his free hand out toward the check.
But
a set of pale fingers got to it first, snatching it away.
“Well,
lookee here,” Spike purred, holding the check up to
the light like an art
expert on alert for forgeries. “What’s this then? A bit of history for some
future generation.
The first Slayer to ever whore herself for a daily wage and
I
could own the proof of it. Can’t really
take a pass on something like that,
now can I?”
“Spike,”
And…”
“I
AM NOT drunk,” Buffy exclaimed, huffily.
Wrenching free of her friends, she
shot Spike a killing glance and rapped her knuckles
on the table, “You want a
piece of me?” she said provocatively, “Why don’t you
come over here and get it?”
“Hmmm,”
Spike cooed, tilting his head. “Now, why does that offer sound so
familiar?”
“Maybe because you dream about it every night?” Xander
suggested.
“Nnn-oooo,” Spike corrected, with a tiny shake of his
head. He raised one brow
at the Slayer and grinned. Savoring each word, he stretched the
syllables out
like he was working on a puzzle, as he replied, “I
don’t think I was
dreaming…but night…yeah, night seems right to me…”
“Buffy,
let’s just go home, okay?”
“I’ve
got an early class and you have to get Dawn up for school tomorrow.
Besides,
you worked hard for that money. You
don’t really want to lose it.”
“Lose
it!” Buffy squeaked, indignantly. “As if?”
“Lost
to me last time we played, as I recall,” Spike reminded.
“Yeah,”
Buffy affirmed, “But LAST time you had something I wanted.”
“Last
time,” Spike said, edging forward threateningly, “I went easy on you.”
“Mutual,”
Buffy said, bracing herself as if she expected a
strike from him.
“Whoa,
let’s all calm down,” Xander advised, stepping
between the pair. “Buffy,
“Oh,
don’t worry your head about our little Slayer,” Spike drawled, backing down
a bit. “She won’t go hungry.”
He
shifted his center of gravity so he could look past Xander
and raked Buffy up
and down with an appraising glance, before
addressing her directly, “Still got a
few tricks up your sleeve don’t you, Pet? I bet you could turn a pretty penny
if you put your mind to it.” He paused to favor her with a tight mirthless
smile and added, “
“Okay,
that’s IT, Cadaver-Boy!” Xander snapped, balling up
his fist and whipping
around on Spike. “You’re kissing some peanut shells.”
Moving
in a blur, Buffy caught her friend’s elbow and spun him into a chair.
“Sit,”
she commanded, suddenly sounding sober as a judge. She held up one
finger, stifling his half-formed protest, “Stay!”
Spike
felt a wet clenching in his groin as she turned away from Xander
to look
at him.
Fear and arousal wrestled for dominance within him. Buffy ran her
tongue over her teeth and her eyes over his body. She moved, closing the
distance between them with a long low
stride. When she reached the pool
table,
the Slayer slid her open palms along the rounded
wooden edge and, with the
barest flex of muscle, pressed herself up like a
gymnast mounting the beam. She
turned in the air and settled her hip over the bumper
onto the green felt.
Dipping
one shoulder forward, she offered Spike an unobstructed view down the
front of her blouse.
Arousal took fear to the mat for the long ten count.
“The
question is,” Buffy murmured, “what are you putting up against me?”
Her
gaze drifted south of his belt buckle and lingered for a few seconds longer
than was strictly necessary to make her point. Impossibly, Spike’s temperature
rose several degrees.
“Slayer
magic,” he thought. He sidled forward
until he was standing in the
ambient heat of Buffy’s body. Then, he leaned in close to her ear and
whispered, “See anything you fancy?”
Buffy
pulled back to met his eye. She
moistened her lips and dropped her gaze,
studying the sculpted curve of his mouth before
answering. Her sweet,
alcohol-laced breath kissed against
his skin.
“Oh,
yeah,” she admitted, measuring out an equal amount of innuendo. Then
wrinkling up her nose at him she flicked his lapel
up with her finger,
“Something in black leather? Bit of Slayer history?”
Spike
gaped at her, unable to credit her audacity.
He puffed out an outraged
‘Fuck
That’ and turned to leave. The Slayer hopped down from her perch on the
table, artlessly dusting off her hands.
“Whatever,”
she chirped, triumphantly. Picking up
her check, she folded it
twice and tucked it into her cleavage. “At least
you’ve learned to walk away
when you’re outclassed. Avoiding the inevitable
embarrassment.”
He
was at her side in a flat second. One
hand twisted her right arm back and
the other plunged down her neckline to retrieve the
check. Despite the
temptation of silken skin and suddenly tight
nipples, he didn’t tarry.
Releasing
the Slayer with a sharp shove, he stalked over to Anya.
“You
hold the stake,” he ordered, handing her Buffy’s paper. He shrugged out of
his duster and tossed it onto a barstool between
the ex-demon and Xander.
“But
we have to go home,” Anya protested. “Very soon! Xander and I are both
working tomorrow and…”
“This
won’t take that long,” Spike retorted.
“Hmmm?” Buffy cooed, tilting her head. “Now, why
does that sound so familiar?”
“Street corner?” Spike suggested,
throwing the comment over his shoulder as he
went to select a stick.
“Nnn-ooo,” Buffy returned, mimicking his earlier tone. “I’m
sure that’s not it.
Just
as degrading, yes…but what I have in mind was nowhere near as satisfying.”
“Yeah, right!” Spike snorted out a
laugh and the Slayer shrugged, dismissively.
“Oh,
well,” she sighed, “whatever it was…it’s not like it made that much of an
impression.”
“Can’t
make an impression in some things,” Spike remarked, casually as he
chalked up. “Too hard and
dense and cold for it. And then
the return’s not
half-worth the effort.”
Buffy’s
eyes glittered dangerously but all she said was, “Nine ball?”
Spike
nodded, “Best three out of five.”
“Fine,”
she agreed. They stood staring one
another down for several seconds and
then Buffy cut her glance toward the table’s
coin-operated ball-drop.
“Oh,
come on,” Spike protested, his entire body telegraphing his disbelief. “You
don’t, seriously, expect me to pay for the games?”
“Spent
my last dollar on tequila,” Buffy shrugged, pointing toward her
half-empty bottle, “and I obviously haven’t cashed
my paycheck. But if you’d
rather default?”
Spike
rolled his eyes heavenward and clenched his jaw. He spat out a minor oath
as he yanked a wad of bills from his pocket. Flattening a One, he inserted it
into the feeder.
There was a rumble from somewhere in the bowels of the pool
table and an avalanche of colorful balls cascaded
into view. Buffy began
racking.
Sighing in defeat,
the Rec area and propped
her chin in her hands.
Two
hours later she was jerked out of a restless, nodding snooze by an affronted
yelp from Buffy.
The Bronze was nearly empty. It
was forty-five minutes until
closing time.
Xander and Anya had
long since abandoned the vigil. The
stakes
in the game kept changing and were now in
jewelry and a wad of cash and a number of
handwritten notes on napkins beside
the vampire’s leather jacket.
“
turned on Spike, pointing at him. “You are a nudger…and…and a cheat and…YOU have
stupid hair!
You have way stupider hair than me.”
“Yeah,”
Spike mumbled as he patted himself down for a smoke, “well YOU are
drunk,” he fished out a crumbled pack of unfiltered
Camels and waved them at
her, “and also delusional.”
“Pinocchio’s
nose grows when he lies,” Buffy snapped.
“Does yours?”
“Not
since I made it to real boy,” Spike commented.
He pulled a cigarette from
the pack with his teeth. Lighting up, he took a long drag. Exhaling slowly, he
continued, “Still, if wood is what interests you,
Pet, I do a mighty fine stake
impression.”
He clicked his lighter closed and pocketed it before amending, “or
so I’ve been told.”
Buffy
cocked a smile at him and pumped her hand up and down the smooth length of
her cue stick.
For the tenth time that night, her predatory glance crawled over
him. The
vampire shifted, easing the tightness in his groin. A montage of
erotic images flashed through his mind. Creative uses for pool tables and pool
cues predominated.
Spike’s thoughts played out on his face and Buffy’s smile
broadened in satisfaction.
“Glad
to know you have the skills,” she remarked, offhandedly. “If you miss this
shot that may be all you have left to wager.”
“I’m
not the one down two games to none,” Spike reminded.
“No,”
Buffy agreed. “You’re the one that already lost ten games in a row. This
time there’s no double. Just lots of nothing. So…if you are quite finished
adjusting your balls maybe you could shoot
already. It’s late! Tara and I need
to get home.”
“Oh,
now she wants to go home,” Spike said, with an exasperated sigh, “as soon
as the luck turns.”
He
bent over to sight along his cue stick.
On the far side of the table, Buffy
shifted into his range of vision. She stretched, reaching over her head so that
her blouse rode up.
The maneuver exposed a tantalizing expanse of tawny skin.
She
pushed her hips forward, arching her back seductively against the roof
support pole.
Spike
squeezed his eyes shut and relaxed his neck muscles, letting his head drop
forward.
He was throbbing inside like a high voltage wire but he wasn’t going
to let that affect his shot. He took several steadying breaths and pulled
himself together. Opening his eyes again, he focused all of his
attention on
the nine-ball, tuning out the Slayer’s hypnotic
heartbeat and nearly
incapacitating scent. He eased the cue back for the game and wager
winning
shot.
“Nine-ball,
right corner pocket,” he declared.
“William?”
Halfrek cried, from the edge of the dance floor, just
as he fired the
cue forward. “What on earth are you doing?”
“William,”
Buffy playfully sang out and the tip of his stick jerked sideways
barely grazing the cue ball. The nine bounced off the bumper several
inches
short of the correct pocket. The Slayer giggled.
“BALLS!” Spike snarled, pulling back his cue as
if he intended to club someone.
Hallie sashayed up to the table, attracting his
dangerous attention as she
primly surveyed the Slayer and Tara. Oblivious to his mood, she addressed Spike
with a tone of almost parental disappointment, “Why
are you socializing with
these people?
I thought that we had decided that was a bad idea?”
“Ohhhh,” Buffy said, favoring Hallie
with a sympathetic look, “Did he escape
again? Slip
off the leash? I’d suggest punishment
but that would only
encourage him!”
Both
Spike and
“You
know,” Buffy advised, “you should really start chaining him up at night. I
know it sounds cruel but really it’s not.” Moving
closer to the Vengeance Demon,
she dropped her voice to a lower register and
added, “Just between us girls, it
gives him a sense of security. Kinda like crating
a puppy.”
Spike
glowered. He flicked his cigarette to
the floor and ground it out under a
savage boot heel.
“I
am not really into chains,” Hallie sniffed,
haughtily, edging away from the
Slayer.
Buffy
transferred her sympathetic look to Spike, “Awww,"
she purred, "that’s too
bad.”
“Hallie,
beer while the Slayer and I finish up here?”
“Or how about a tequila?” Buffy offered, pouring
out a shot from her second
bottle, “Spike picked up the tab so you might as well
enjoy it.”
Hallie took the pre-offered drink. She stared at it for a long moment and then
sat it aside.
Frowning slightly, she brushed her fingers lightly against her
skirt as if they were soiled by contact with the
Slayer’s glass.
“I
think that we should be going now, William,” she said, with pointed distaste.
“Well,
if you have to go,” Buffy said, crossing to stand by
to go!”
She
swept the jewelry and I.O.U.’s to one side and shook
out Spike’s duster.
Swirling
it through the air like a cape, she let it settle around her shoulders.
Taking her time, Buffy slid her arms into the
sleeves. Making it a sensual
experience, she let the heavy coat embrace her. She wrapped it around her
torso, from neck to hips, and snuggled into the
leather. Spike felt the ache
grow in his groin as he watched her cuddling
up. He could vividly recall
surrounding her in the same way, skin on skin.
Buffy
buried her hands in the coat pockets and inhaled, pulling his scent deep
into her body and holding him inside. Spike knew what she was doing, claiming
him and reminding him of his place. It made him hard and angry and slightly
reckless.
“I’m
not leaving ‘til I get back what’s mine,” he announced, his fervent gaze
nearly scorching the Slayer’s skin.
“Nothing
here IS yours,” Buffy returned, meeting his stare with an equally
intensity.
“Yeah…right,”
he said on a soft breath, his head falling back slightly in a
come-hither gesture.
The
Slayer was defiant. Rocking up on balls
of her feet, she dared him to make
a move.
Spike’s mouth began to water. He
wanted to toss her bodily onto the
pool table and take her in front of the entire room. He could see it clearly in
his mind, feel it in his gut and taste the tang of
it on his tongue.
“Are
you saying William lost all of these things?” Hallie
exclaimed, breaking
the mood.
“Ain’t lost anything, yet,” Spike sighed, relaxing. “Matter
of fact, still two
games up.” He gestured at the table, “It’s your shot,
Goldilocks!”
Buffy
didn’t bother to take off his duster as she walked to the table. It
flared out behind her accentuating her swagger. She barely sighted, called the
pocket, spun her stick and dropped the nine-ball in
one smooth motion. It was
the careless grace of her that set Spike’s teeth on
edge. The subtle suggestion
that he was the rodent in her little game of cat and
mouse.
He
narrowed his eyes at his former lover.
Buffy was oblivious to his ire.
She
used his wagered cash to reset the game and began
racking the balls in a diamond
formation.
With practiced ease, she twirled the triangular rack and tossed it
over her shoulder.
It made a full-ringer over three extra pool cues in the
stand.
Blindfolded ring-toss, Spike thought, yet another Slayer skill.
“See
what I’m up against, Baby?” he murmured, pulling Hallie
against him as
Buffy
leaned over the table to break. “Damned Slayer's eye, it's bloody
unnatural.
But now that you’re here to inspire me….”
Spike's
voice trailed off and Buffy stiffened slightly.
Her eyes flickered up
in time to see him nuzzle into the Vengeance
Demon’s neck. Distracted, she
popped the cue ball and cursed as it flew off the
table and bounced across the
dance floor.
“Watch
your language, Slayer,” Spike called after her, as she hurried to
retrieve the wayward sphere. “There are ladies
present.”
Buffy
snatched up the white ball and whipped it back at Spike’s head even as she
responded to his taunt, “Oh, yeah…Sorry,
Spike
caught the meteoric projectile in one hand.
He winced at the sting of it
as it slapped into his palm. Shaking off the pain, he planted a kiss full
on
Hallie’s startled lips.
“Be
right back, Luv,” he purred, breaking the kiss and
favoring the demon with a
hundred watt smile. Before she could react, he twirled her into a
chair and
headed for the Slayer’s position.
Buffy
was seething. She could not believe how
angry she was. He had kissed
that…that…and now he was grinning at her…and. Spike’s voice cut through the
incendiary fog in Buffy’s brain. He mouthed something at her as he passed on
his way to the table.
“You
are going down,” he said, his voice barely audible even to Slayer ears.
“Been
there, done that,” Buffy returned, with equal softness.
She
watched Spike intently as he prepared for his shot. He cocked his stick
back and slid it forward, four or five times,
letting the slippery in and out
movement between his fingers communicate for
him. Buffy moistened her lips with
the tip of her tongue, easily getting the
message. She timed her response
exactly, whispering one word at the very second
the point of his stick hit the
ball, “Swallowed.”
It
was a beautiful break. He sank the one,
the two…and the cue ball. Game over.
“And
just like that we’re all tied up,” Buffy grinned, giving a victorious
rotation of her hips.
Spike
stared at her for several beats, anger and affection teetering on the
knife edge of the moment before affection won and he
laughed.
“Been
there, done that,” he said, turning away from her to fetch the rack for
their final game.
“Yeah,”
Buffy agreed, wondering at her own brazenness. “It’s what I liked best
of all.”
“Oh,
no,” Spike demurred, in one of those for her ears only voices, “Not the
best.”
“William?”
Hallie spoke over Buffy’s extra quiet response,
drowning it out, “I
think that I understand the problem here.”
new girlfriend.
She noted the similar tilt to the head, the same loose-kneed
stance and the exactly matched lift at the corners of
both mouths. It was
shocking that nobody in the Slayer’s inner circle
ever thought of Buffy as
Spike’s lover. Even half-turned away from each other,
separated by dozens of
feet of space and a huge piece of recreational
furniture, they were still in
perfect sync.
“There’s
a problem?” Spike asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Well,
yes,” Hallie exclaimed, gesturing broadly as if
exasperated by his mental
slowness. “You do appear to be losing.”
“And
you think you know how to stop that,” Buffy prompted, her voice and manner
indicating serious doubt.
“I
don’t know much about low games like billiards," Hallie
sniffed. "But I
happened to notice something as William took that
last shot and I think it might
be important.”
“So
share already,” the Slayer said.
After
giving Buffy a venomous glare, Hallie turned back to
address Spike. She
sucked in a lung full of air and announced, “Your
stick is bent.”
Buffy
and Spike locked eyes. They held it
together for all of five seconds and
then an impish grin flitted across Buffy’s face.
Cutting her eyes toward the
vengeance demon, the Slayer asked with
incredulity, “You mean to tell me you JUST
noticed that?”
Spike
turned his face into the pillar by the cue stand, clutching onto it for
support but the Slayer simply dropped to the
floor in a boneless ball of
free-flowing mirth.
“Okay,”
declaring this competition a tie.”
Spike
waved a hand to indicate his agreement.
Buffy nodded as she wiped her
eyes with the back of one hand.
“I
don’t understand this outlandish behavior,” Hallie
exclaimed, obviously
offended.
“It’s
an inside joke,” she declared, somewhat unfortunately, as Spike snorted
loudly at that and Buffy collapsed again. This time,
stifle her own giggles.
“It
is impolite,” Hallie informed them all, “to laugh at
a joke that is not
universally understood.”
“Sorry,”
Buffy said, climbing to her feet by holding on to the pool table leg,
“So,
sorry…you’re right! This was fun,
though.” She smiled indulgently at the
demon, “We should do this again. ‘Cause I like you way more than Dru or
Harmony.”
The
Slayer dusted herself down and then slid out of Spike’s long leather coat.
She
laid it on the table and picked up her check.
“You aren’t keeping the outerwear, then, Luv?” Spike asked. “Won it fair and
square.”
Buffy
considered for a moment and then shook her head, “Looks better on you,”
she said, saw his surprise, blushed and covered
with, “so retro-grunge, not my
thing.”
“Still
and all,” Spike pressed, “you got to take something. I can’t welch on
those ten games.”
Buffy
thought this over for a second and then reaching down she plucked a bit of
silver out of the pile. It was a quick, surreptitious choice but
Spike sang
inside at the significance of it.
“Are
you coming,
toward the door.
“In
a minute,”
something.”
“Indeed?”
Hallie blinked.
“What could you possibly need to ask me?
If you wish
someone cursed…I’m on vacation but I could give
you a chant! Unless it’s your
father…”
“Uhm…no…not exactly,”
over at Spike she asked, “How’s that cramp doing?”
“Huh?”
Spike said, tearing his eyes away from the departing Slayer with obvious
difficulty.
He turned a puzzled look on the Wiccan
woman.
and her lips curved up into a knowing smile.
“Maybe
you should put some ice on it,” she prompted, willing him to remember and
play along.
“Oh!”
Spike yelped in sudden comprehension and then gripping his leg he
repeated, “Ooohhhhh,
yeah…it hurts!”
“You
were injured?” Hallie asked, starting to rise. “How
were you injured during
a billiards match?”
“It
was a minor slip,” the blond woman supplied, “Zigged
when he should have
zagged. Knotted up hard as rock…needs to rub
something on it! We can chat
while he gets ice from the kitchen.”
She
called, encouragingly, over her shoulder, “You won’t be long will you,
Spike?”
“Ten
minutes,” Spike said, already moving. “You girls wait here. I'll be right
back.”
“Maybe
I should help him,” Hallie said, looking slightly
confused. “If he is
suffering…”
“Oh,
he’ll be fine,”
little groin pull.
Spike knows what to do to relieve it.
And I really need to
get your advice about the wedding reception. I am having a major problem with
demon etiquette and Anya is
so busy right now…and you must know EVERYTHING
there is to know about proper behavior…”
Hallie began to glow as
And,
the wiccan mused, if things
went according to plan the vengeance demon
would be a free agent by the end of the evening.
Buffy
was halfway down the alley when Spike clanged out of the kitchen door. He
closed on her swiftly, like a predator on a
scent. She backed away.
Throwing
up both hands to ward him off, she chanted, “No, no,
no, no….”
“Yes,”
he snarled, grabbing her by the shoulders and pushing her into the wall,
“You
know you want it and you know it’s right.”
He
captured her mouth in a rough kiss.
Buffy balled her hands up into fists and
pressed them into Spike’s chest. She shoved out, hard, but not quite hard
enough to dislodge him from her lips. He was wild, demanding, and filled with a
torrid passion but he wasn’t hurting her. His tongue probed her gently and he
pulled back long enough for her to exhale and draw in
one long shuddering breath
before taking her again. They repeated this pattern a half-dozen times
before
Buffy
let her fingers splay open.
Slowly,
she slid her palms up to cradle his face.
Her fingers tangled in his
hair. Spike
dropped one arm around her waist and hugged her tight against his
body. He
began to stroke his other hand along the outside of her arm. His
touch was soothing and stimulating at the same
time. Her pulse pounded as he
caressed her skin. Reaching her wrist he gripped it and
maneuvered her left
hand to his hips.
Buffy took the hint and tugged him closer. He kissed along
her jaw line toward her ear and down the curve of
her neck.
“Oh,”
Buffy breathed out. Pushing
ineffectually against him she tried once more
for a reasonable tone, “Spike…don’t…this is
wrong…we have to….”
She
broke off, moaning as he bit down lightly just over her jugular. Her
fingers curled, clawing into his flesh and
threading through his hair. She
rubbed against him, twisting her shoulders into the
wall as her hips bucked
forward.
“No,”
he whispered, against her skin. “It’s not wrong. You’re mine.”
“I’m
not,” she reminded, still panting from what he was doing to her, “you have
a girlfriend…Hallie…and…and
I’m not a demon…and…”
Buffy’s
voice trailed off into a breathless ecstasy as Spike lifted his head to
stare down at her.
In the dim illumination of the Bronze security lights, his
eyes were a luminous silver, like mirrors in
moonlight. The planes of his face
cast deep shadows, making him even more
entrancing. Looking up at him, Buffy
felt a tingle of some primal emotion wash through
her body. Spike’s lips pursed
slightly as he considered her.
“Don’t
want a demon,” he pouted. Leaning in to
kiss her again, he breathed two
words into her mouth, “Want you.”
Buffy
tried to focus her objections. She tried
to think of Spike as a vampire,
a demon-animated corpse, but it was
impossible. He seemed so alive to her.
There
was nothing dead about him. His arms
rippled with muscles as he pressed
her against a body that literally vibrated with
need. His fingers explored with
vigor, teasing out her secrets. His lips were firm and full. His tongue played
against hers, thrusting and slithering in her
mouth like a living thing. Spike
made her so hot it was inconceivable that he could
be cold. Before her skin
could acknowledge a temperature difference between
them, it ignited under his
touch.
Fully
clothed, they mimicked the love act.
Warm, sticky fluid, soaked through
Buffy’s
jeans as Spike rocked the bulge of his arousal against her. He slipped
his hand down to cup her behind. Sliding his palm along the back of her right
thigh, he silently urged her to wrap the leg around
him. She complied. He kept
licking and biting and worrying at her face and
neck and shoulders until she
could barely form coherent thought.
“Is
this the honey or the stick?” she wondered, not even aware that she was
speaking out loud.
Spike
leaned his forehead into hers, panting with her. He slid his hand up
under the edge of her blouse to toy with the satiny
soft skin of her stomach.
“Bit
of both,” he guessed, somehow understanding.
Buffy
nodded, pulling him into another interminable kiss.
“Punishment
and reward,” she thought, “pain and pleasure.
So wrong and yet so
very right.”
“All
I want is you,” he said at the break, “my Heaven, my Hell, my
Buffy.”
His
voice was thick with desperation as he pushed his fingers into the front
pocket of her jeans searching for his token even as he
rocked between her legs.
It
made the Slayer’s breath catch in her throat.
She knew what he was doing
this time but it still sent a chill up her spine,
raised the gooseflesh on her
arms as he looted her. She had won it, it was hers now. He brought it out on
the tip of one finger and carried it to the palm of
her hand.
Buffy
closed her grip around the silver circle and Spike stopped suckling her
throat long enough to whisper hoarsely, “Put it on.”
“Spike…I
wanted…” she began and was interrupted by a loud crash in the middle of
the alley.
They separated ready for attack and relaxed again as a cat dashed
away from the fallen trashcans. The kitchen door clanged open almost
immediately.
“William?”
Hallie called, from the doorway. Spotting them she frowned, “What in
the world are you doing out here?”
The
vampire and Slayer exchanged a smoldering glance but Buffy was already
edging away, sliding along the wall toward the parking
lot and
waiting car.
“There
was a demon,” she explained, lamely, as she made her escape. “Spike
was…just…helping.”
And
with that the Slayer turned and pelted down the alleyway. As she raced up
to the car,
squealing out of her parking space into the center
of the lot. Buffy popped the
door open and got in.
“Go,”
she said, simply.
But
after a few blocks she slowed down. Stopping for a red light,
she glanced back, frowned at the lack of any
pursuit and then looked
over at the still panting Slayer. Buffy was studying something
in the palm of her hand. It was a ring. A heavy, tacky thing with a
silver
skull design.
It was the thing Buffy had chosen to settle the wager. For some
unknown reason, Spike had wrapped the band with
yarn, so it would only fit his
littlest finger.
stolen, the correct size.
The
Slayer seemed mesmerized by her prize.
She toyed with it, playing her
fingertips over the raised design.
about this particular ring. Spike had several after all. But just as she drew
in the breath to speak, with a tiny sigh, Buffy
slid the band onto her right
ring finger.
Suddenly, it was obvious that the ring had been modified to fit
the Slayer’s hand.
And yet, Spike carried it with him.
One of several late
night conversations with
implication, she spoke without thinking.
“He
asked you to marry him,” she recalled.
Buffy
snatched off the ring and shoved it into her pocket.
“It
was a spell,” she snapped and turned to stare out the window, effectively,
ending the conversation.
THE
END