TANGO
Author: 1stRab-id/Rabid/Raeann
Characters: Buffy/Spike/Roscoe(aka Rocko)
Valenti
Rating: R
Beta Babes: Unavailable…so you can
just imagine…the horror…the horror…
Synopsis: This is the story of
Buffy’s attempt to return to dating and put her
craving for Spike behind her and how that plan
goes seriously awry…because
well…it's just SO wrong <eg>
Spoilers: Up to the Season 6 Eppy Bargaining…well not really…more like to “The
Gift”
because after that I went all AU…
help and there were all kinds of ramifications but
not the same ones we have in
S6! So…other different Ramifications…and I went
totally off canon and then I
got all depressed and quit. Actually this fic
was part of the B/S history that
led to the events in my fic
Cuore Della Notte…but I
wasn't able to finish the
massive thing (which also includes my version of
the Buffy resurrection)…Still,
I
liked this bit and wanted to resurrect IT!
Even if it's lame.
Disclaimer: Obviously everything
belongs to Joss because if it belonged to me I
would be in the bloody loop wouldn’t I? Anyway, all
hail the genius of Joss
Whedon and Co. and don’t sue me for being insatiable
in my longing for B/S
interaction.
“Though
I am not naturally honest, I am so sometimes by chance.”
William
Shakespeare from “A Winter’s Tale”
Part
ONE
“Hang
on a minute,” Spike scolded. He made a
wild grab for Buffy’s elbow,
catching her just before she entered the
abandoned building in pursuit of three
huge vampires. “What the Hell do you think you’re
doing?” he asked, spinning her
back to face him.
“Fighting
Evil,” Buffy replied, in a “buy a clue Spike” tone of voice, as she
wrenched free of his painful grip. “You
remember? My night
job?”
“Yeah,
well, I also remember that the Rottweiler Triplets
kicked your ass less
than five minutes ago,” Spike snapped back,
pointedly. “You know, in case you
forgot.”
“They
got in a couple lucky shots.”
“Well,
looks like their lucky night, dunnit? With you about
to go Muldering into
that deathtrap and me without my tiny pocket torch
and cell phone. What’s the
plan then? We use our sunny personalities to toast
them?
“Oh,
Spike, You think that will work?” Buffy asked, breathlessly, giving a
perfect imitation of the Bot’s
wide-eyed adoration.
“That’s
clever, that is,” Spike nodded, not at all amused. “With a razor wit
like that you won’t have any trouble entertaining
the troops. I can see my
talents aren’t needed here so I‘ll just toddle
on home and leave you to it.”
Buffy
didn’t reply as he turned and stalked off into the night but she did cast
a skeptical glance at the dilapidated
building. Xander
and Tara were blocks
away and illogical as it was without Spike the
night seemed suddenly colder.
Buffy
shivered slightly. She looked after her
erstwhile companion who was a
good 20 yards up the street his pantheric
stride covering ground quickly.
“Okay,
maybe you’re right,” the Slayer muttered, under her breath, certain he
wouldn’t hear.
“No
MAYBE about it,” Spike shouted, still walking away. “Go on n’kill
yourself
all over again.
I can’t stop you. Matter of fact,
I’m going to be the perfect
21st
Century companion and support your decision completely.”
He
was furious. Far angrier than this
evening’s botched encounter or Buffy’s
flippancy warranted. He’d been angry for almost
three weeks. Ever since Buffy
announced her plan to start dating again. Dating!
When she'd made the
pronouncement, he'd choked on one of
thoughtlessly tried to perform the
Heimlich maneuver on him.
He
stopped under a streetlamp to pat himself down for a pack of smokes. Leaning
into the lamppost, he lit up and let most of his
attention turn back toward the
spot where he’d left the Slayer. Spike was 95% certain she hadn’t entered the
building.
But he needed to be 100% sure. He
waited, listening, cigarette
dangling from his lips. There was a stir in the shadows behind him as
he
clicked his lighter closed. Spike tensed, turned and caught the scent of
her,
even through the tang of burning tobacco.
“Will
you, please, stop quoting from the relationship books, already?” Buffy
sighed, stepping into the aurora of light.
“Don’t
like my insight into your feminine wiles?”
“Don’t
think you come from anywhere close to Mars,” Buffy supplied, looking
nervously around for her fellow Scoobies. So far,
she had managed to cover up
her, for lack of a better word,
"relationship" with the vampire.
But Buffy was
seriously worried.
If she didn't find another outlet for her hormones soon Buffy
was afraid the whole world would find out just how
sick and twisted she really
was.
“I
have a cave,” he smiled, exhaling a blue cloud around them, before amending,
“well, a crypt…same difference.”
“You
know, I seriously doubt that it is,” Buffy returned, glancing nervously over her
shoulder. “And you know what else I doubt?”
“That
I have a good grip on the 'Sunlight of Security?'" Spike asked, too
innocently. "That I truly understand a woman’s
need for admiration and respect?
That
I can let go of my carnal desires long enough to patiently bring you to
your sexual peak?
“No…well,
okay…that last one,” Buffy grimaced, blushing prettily. She tried in
vain to shake off the mental images as she
continued, “because there is NO way
you and Gary Smalley are on the same page with your
definitions of the word
‘carnal’.”
“Ain’t
When
Buffy gave him the deadpan stare he remembered his righteous anger. With a
flick of his wrist the vampire tossed his half-smoked
cigarette into the gutter.
He pulled his duster tight and pushed off from
the lamppost.
“Love
to stay and chat but I have pressing business with…”
Spike
verbally stumbled to the pause. He frowned up the street as if he might
read the nature of his ‘pressing business’ in the
distance.
“…with
someone else,” he finished, lamely.
As
he turned to leave the Slayer stepped in close and placed a restraining hand
on his arm.
It was a feather light touch but it halted Spike in his tracks.
She said his name, breathing it out softly, “Spike?”
“Wh-what?”
he said, trying very hard not to look at her.
He concentrated his
attention on a crack in the concrete underfoot.
“This
isn’t just about tonight? Me being careless or reckless or whatever?
This
is something between you and mhhh…”
Spike
shifted, lifting his gaze from the sidewalk and meeting her eye. An
electric circuit seemed to click closed between
them. Buffy felt the current
rush through her body from their point of
contact. Suddenly, the Slayer didn’t want to
know what was going on with Spike. She just wanted to get as far away from him
as possible. Before she gave into her desire to get
as close to him as possible.
The
Slayer jerked away from his arm like it had scalded her but Spike closed in relentlessly
until she was backed up against the streetlight’s
concrete pole.
“Me
and…you, Luv?” he gloated. “You saying there’s a ‘me
and you’?”
“That’s
NOT what I am saying,” Buffy snapped, sliding away. “There is a YOU and
there is a ME.”
“And
there is something between us?”
Spike
was feeling better than he had in weeks.
He stalked Buffy with playful
intensity well aware of the effect he was having
on her. It was the same vein
tingling rush she caused in him. Moving around the lamppost to keep the
Slayer’s
back against it, he felt himself growing hard in response to their
game. The hot
scent coming off of his beloved was more intoxicating than fresh
spilled blood.
Buffy
stuttered, “N-no! I me-m-mean...yes! Something…between.
Not SOMETHING
BETWEEN!”
“We
should try a mirroring exercise,” Spike said.
“Because
I hear what you’re saying but I’m not sure that I completely grasp your
meaning.”
“What?”
Buffy's mouth dropped open as she puckered her brow up at him.
“Mirroring,”
Spike clarified. “Copying each other’s movements and repeating each
other’s words in a search for better
understanding. Now let’s see…you took my
arm like this…”
He
reached out and laid his hand against the bare skin of Buffy’s forearm. The
Slayer’s
entire body jerked from the powerful surge of her hormonal response.
In
her mind's eye, they were twined together, flesh on flesh. She could hear
the panting moan of her own desire. It longed for
voice. Buffy was forced to bite
down hard on her lower lip to keep the sound from
escaping. Her gaze locked
onto Spike’s and her interior switchboard lit up.
“This
isn’t just about tonight,” Spike whispered, repeating Buffy’s exact words
as he trailed his fingertips along her arm. Her simple statement suddenly
seemed to be layered with ulterior meaning, “You…being
careless or reckless…or…”
“Whatever?”
Buffy added, breathlessly, just before the vampire’s fingers brushed
over the tip of her cotton-covered breast.
“This
is something between us,” Spike finished and leaned in to kiss her.
“You
and me,” Buffy corrected, before parting her lips to receive him.
Spike
lost all sense of self-preservation in the thrill of the moment. He
ground the Slayer into the concrete lamppost. Grabbing fistfuls of her glorious
hair, he held her in place as he savaged her mouth
with his tongue. Buffy
moaned and arched back like the poster girl for full
body surrender. She
wrapped herself around Spike like he was her
personal salvation. And he was.
His
blood had given her new life and it sang now in her veins. She could feel
the gravitational pull of it, drawing them
together.
But
was that reason enough to give in to this wicked hunger?
Was
a blood bonding enough of a foundation to build on? Was it even possible to
build something approaching normal with a vampire? A dead, demon-animated
thing? Buffy
felt the returning prick of her subconscious and she pushed at
Spike, twisting out of his arms.
"Baby…what?" Spike blinked, like a
man awaking from a drugged sleep, his tone
one of throaty confusion. He looked around, half expecting to see some
enemy.
"I
don't want this," Buffy asserted, hating the tremor in her voice.
"You
do," he said, firmly, reaching for her again. "You know you do."
Panicking,
she slapped him, hard, growling, "Leave me alone."
Spike
balled up his fist, eyes blazing. He
stepped in, challenging her, "You're
aching for it aren't you? Some physical contact. Fighting or fucking, makes no
never mind. Go
on then get it out of your system. I'm
not good enough for the
likes of you to bed…but nobody else is stepping up to
the plate now are they?
Guess
a small dose of your precious self is more than most men can handle."
Buffy
gaped at him, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. Afraid of the hurt,
she let anger carry her past painful truths and
spat out, "You're not a man.
Men
can handle me just fine. You wait and
see how well they handle me." She
spun on her heel and stalked off, shouldering
between Xander and Tara as they
rounded the corner of
The
two Scoobies shot a look back at Spike before
trotting after the Slayer.
Sighing,
Spike fished in his duster pocket, pulling out a battered spiral bound
notebook and a pen. Flipping to a blank page, he wrote,
"September 18th - Argued
with Buffy, again.
Negative: Dating still a go.
Positive: Snogged. Progress.
Points for Mirroring. Next
up Quality Time."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“He
is out to drive me insane,” Buffy Summers said, by way of greeting, as
Willow
Rosenberg bounced down the steps of the
snide comment, just one more and I’m going to slip
him the wooden sayonara.”
“What
did Spike do now?” the red-haired witch sighed, as she watched the Slayer
pace back and forth in a tightly wound manner. There was only one being on the
planet that could unsettle Buffy to this extent.
“It’s
the whole relationship thing again,” the Slayer snarled, in exasperation.
"Last
night during patrol and again today.
Like it’s fate or destiny and we
belong together, now.
Look at this," she urged, holding out at card.
took it and read the neatly printed words.
"It's,"
the witch began, trying not to smile, "it's a poem."
The
Slayer struck a dramatic pose one hand pressed to her breast and the other
raised toward the Heavens as she quoted in a bombastic
British accent, “Both
born of the darkness, now joined in the blood!”
“Is
this…?”
rushing out the question. "Is it because of your
resurrection?"
Buffy
nodded, blushing uncontrollably as she mumbled, "He says 'we are one…like
the siring.'"
from this new angle.
“That’s an intriguing concept actually.
I wonder if…”
“And
when you say ‘intriguing’,” Buffy interrupted, “I am sure what you really
mean is ‘icky’?”
“Oh,
well, yes,”
also…uhm…bad…Spike is so very
bad…to say something like,” she snorted,
derisively,
air quoting, "'We are one'…you and Spike…one…laughable…HA!"
Buffy
looked even more morose, “Why did you have to use HIS blood, Will?”
“The
spell called for heart’s blood,”
blood of an innocent?”
“I
guess,” Buffy mumbled, as she plopped onto a bus-stop bench halfway along Oak
Street.
“But why did it have to be SPIKE? You couldn’t have called Angel?”
“Spike
was here,”
volunteered.
Besides would you really be any happier if I'd bound you to
Angel?”
“Please
don’t use that word,” Buffy grimaced, springing to her feet again and
launching into a rant. “Bound!
I am bound to Spike! Hand to hand, heart to
heart…leg shackle to ball and chain. It’s like some
kind of death sentence.” She
exchanged a glance with her resurrectionist
and then laughed, loosing her steam,
“Okay…literally.”
“He
missed you, Buffy,”
a little crazy after…" the witch sighed,
remembering the pain they all had
endured. "When you died he wept like a…a
lost child.”
Buffy
sank back down onto the bench, sighing.
"Dawn
told me," she admitted. They
watched a Silver Porsche pull up to the
opposite curb and stop before she continued, “She
said he stayed by my grave.
Night after night. Weeping. Until you agreed to bring me back. But…that
doesn’t change the way things are,
normal…. someone living. And Spike just needs to let go and move on.”
The
two friends sat side by side each lost in thought. They watched a couple
exit the flashy car at the far curb and climb the
steps of a brownstone
apartment building. The man graciously took the woman's arm,
pulling her close.
She was young and trim but exceedingly plain
with virtually no figure. She had
a pointy forgettable face and wispy nut-brown
hair.
Her
companion was a marked contrast, a glittering privateer of a man, all
brooding brow, flowing locks and rippling
muscles. He looked like something
just off the cover of a trashy paperback novel.
telling glance as they contemplated the
mismatched pair.
“Boy!”
Buffy whispered, leaning close to her bud. “Talk about the odd couple.”
“Do
you think he’s like…a…you know?”
“Gigolo?” Buffy asked, giving the word a ‘duh’
spin.
“Well…”
“Definitely,”
Buffy giggled, as the couple vanished into the building. “Did you
see that shirt? Open to the waist. And the gold earring?”
“Not
to mention that bodice ripper body,”
tells me she isn’t interested in the intellectual
relationship.”
“Will?”
Buffy gasped, in mocked shock. “I didn’t know you noticed that kind of
thing anymore.
Are you thinking of switching back to the home team?”
“I'm
gay not blind,”
was just pointing out the obvious attractions of
the man. Speaking from a
purely aesthetic standpoint. Like with art or music. But he is kind of your
type.”
“Nope,”
Buffy said, standing up and shaking her head in a firm negative. “His
type is no longer my type. I’ve had enough of those hulking,
omni-present men
of many muscles and few words. Next time out, I’m after a talker. I want
someone svelte and sensitive. An intellectual type that
writes the poetry.”
“Usually
don’t find that sort of thing lurking around Sunnydale,”
laughed, following the Slayer across the street.
“Oh,
he’s out there,” Buffy assured, as she paused to give “Cover Boy’s” silver
Porsche a closer look. “I can sense him.”
Caught
up in studying the car, neither woman noticed the view through one of the
brownstone’s windows. Inside one of the front apartments, the
longhaired hunk
and his mousy companion were engaged in passionate
lovemaking. They were locked
together, half-naked, in what looked like the
kitchenette. Suddenly, gray
tentacles erupted from the entire length of the
man’s body.
The
barbed ends of each swaying member pierced the woman’s flesh and she arched
back, struggling like a fish caught in an anemone’s
deadly embrace. She seemed
to be screaming but no sound filtered out to the
street. Sparks of plasmic
energy danced between the pair for several long
seconds and then the tentacles
pulled free.
The woman’s emaciated body crumbled to the floor, nothing more
than a pile of dusty skin and bones.
Buffy
straightened slightly and looked around as if she’d heard something odd.
She
felt a tingling sensation crawl along her exposed flesh. In the apartment
the Faux-Male also appeared to be listening. Noticing the open curtain, the
hunky creature belatedly pulled the sash closed just
before the Slayer ran her
appraising glance over the front of the
building. Seeing nothing unusual, but
still supremely wigged, Buffy took
the street.
The
brownstone apartment’s curtains twitched open slightly. Through the thin
slit in the drapes, the Fabio look-a-like stared
fixedly after the Slayer. His
features and figure began to melt, blending and
twisting together. In a very
short time, the tentacled
demon had assumed a svelte, poetic and very familiar
form.
Letting
the curtain fall back, the Incubus turned a critical eye on the
apartment.
A shower of sparks and a rippling wave of energy spread out from his
body and the décor of the room changed. Red gingham curtains became sunny
yellow, the kitschy kitchen took on a sleek,
streamlined look and the
entertainment center became a
bookcase full of intellectual texts. The
remains
of his latest meal morphed into a fine antique
vase. The creature picked up his
new vase, placing it in an artistic arrangement
with some other gewgaws on a
small table.
In the street below, the Silver Porsche melted away and for a
brief moment was replaced with a rusted out Jetta before stretching like a
contented cat and settling into the outline of a
Buffy-pleasing Black Jaguar.
END
THIS PART