The vampire and the Slayer leaned against the hood of the black DeSoto and scanned the shoreline, looking for any movement revealed to them by the light of the full moon. Both were dressed in black–Spike in his usual t-shirt, jeans, and leather duster, Buffy in a black sweatsuit , her jacket unzipped over a white tank top.
Spike had come to her earlier that night with news of the location of a nest of Renga demons. The Renga had been uncommonly brazen the past few weeks, attacking in town, even occasionally in daylight. Giles had speculated that the recent drought in the area had dried up their habitats near lakes and rivers, sending them into a frenzy that could be satiated only by frequent killing.
Through channels, Spike had heard of a possible nest at Cotter´s Lake out past Breaker´s Woods, and so he and Buffy had driven up here an hour earlier. Avoiding the well-travelled byways, they´d followed an almost invisible gravel road that led upwards to an overlook–an ideal vantage point to assess the situation. Suddenly, Spike cocked his head, listening intently. Buffy watched him, knowing he´d sensed something even her Slayer sense couldn´t pick up.
"Something´s that way," he said, pointing to the left. "Could be animal, could be demon. Can´t tell for sure."
"Let´s check it out then," said Buffy, standing up and moving around the car.
They prepared for battle efficiently, without needing to speak. Spike unlocked the trunk and removed several axes, while Buffy slipped a knife into her sleeve and clipped her hair back out of her face. Since they were closer to the lake, there was a cool breeze coming off the water, so she also zipped up her sweatshirt. Stealthily, they headed to the left towards the woods.
Spike saw a flash of white on the ground and bent down, picking up a piece of cloth.
"This yours, Slayer?" he asked, holding it up so she could see.
Buffy peered at it in the moonlight. It was a bra. Spike turned it a little, revealing that it was made for a very full-figured woman.
"Guess not," he smirked.
"You´re a pig, Spike," she said, glad he couldn´t see her flushing. "What´s that doing here?"
"Probably left by the tourists," he said.
"Huh?"
Spike looked at her, puzzled. "C´mon, Summers. You know what this place is, right?"
"Former Miss America pageant site? The summer home of an overweight lingerie collector?"
"No…. it´s Snog Central--you know, lover´s lane, submarine races, inspiration point…. Where young lovers park when they want a little bit of privacy?"
"Oh," Buffy said. She was embarrassed for not knowing.
"You telling me a sweet thing like yourself never took a nice long drive someplace dark and quiet with some Gap-wearing boyfriend?" Spike was incredulous.
"I was called when I was 15," she snapped at him. "After that, I never got a half-mile away from the cemetery at night, unless, of course, I was in the middle of saving the world from another apocalypse. Not a lot of time to read Frommer´s Guide to Best Places to Make Out." She so didn´t want to talk about her ridiculous failure to have a normal high school experience.
Spike shook his head. "Well, the old grandsire never did have much imagination."
Oh, mistake. He could practically hear the muscles in her hand clenching as they formed a fist.
"White flag! Sorry, luv. Just hate to think that you´d missed out on the quintessential American girl experience, you know? Angel probably just didn´t know. He wasn´t the type to watch reruns of old 70s shows on the telly like I was."
There was just enough sincerity in his voice that she stopped herself from punching him.
"Well, I´m not the quintessential American girl. I´m the slayer, and there are demons to be killed, so let´s go now and kill them, 'kay?" She turned and stalked away, the light of her golden hair quickly becoming engulfed by the darkness of the woods. No, there wasn´t anything normal about her, and Spike liked her that way. Still, it was a shame she´d missed out. Sighing, he dropped the bra back to the ground and headed after her.
The Renga demons were large, somewhat slippery-skinned because of their amphibious nature, and possessed of two gleaming white tusks, like walruses–but they were also pretty ineffective fighters, and between the two of them, Buffy and Spike were able to kill about 12 out of a nest of 15 or so. A few slithered back into the water, but Spike assured Buffy that they´d be likely to hide there for a few days. They could come back next week and finish off the leftovers.
As they were walking back to the car, Spike noticed that Buffy was favoring her right arm.
"What´s that, Slayer?" he asked. "Renga get a piece of you?"
"Yeah," she admitted reluctantly. "One of them stabbed me with its pointy white tooth."
"Tusk."
"Whatever. I´ll wrap it up when we get into the car." They´d brought a first-aid kit. Slayers and vampires had super healing powers, but there was no point bloodying up the interior of the DeSoto if they didn´t have to.
When they got to the car, Buffy got into the front seat and pulled the first aid kit out from the glove compartment. Spike doffed his coat, throwing it into the back, then slid into the driver´s seat and closed the door. He pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one, watching as Buffy pulled off her sweatshirt and tried to examine her wound. It was a neat puncture, larger than a vampire´s bite, but it was on the back of her left upper arm and hard for her to access.
She wasn´t asking for his help, but the wound was hard to see, and she spilled a little antiseptic on the seat. With a tsking sound, he stamped out his cigarette and took the bottle from her. She let him soak a cotton ball in antiseptic and dab it into the wound. Expecting clumsy roughness, she was surprised by his gentleness. She´d never let him tend her wounds before. He got out the gauze and carefully bandaged her arm.
"If this is such a big make-out spot, I wonder why no one´s here?" she said, looking around at the empty clearing as he secured the bandage with tape.
"Renga might´ve been busy here, scared the regulars away."
"What´s the big appeal of making out in a car, anyway? It can´t be very comfortable." Buffy said idly. "I never bought into that whole car scene. Cars and me–not mixy." She put away the first aid supplies and closed the car door. They both reclined their heads on the vinyl, still a little bit wound up from the fight with the Renga.
"It´s not about comfort, luv. It´s about passion. It´s about danger. It´s about knowing you´re doing the wrong thing with the wrong person in the wrong place."
Why did he make it sound so appealing?
"And you know this because… you made out in the back seat of a car?" Buffy sat forward, incredulous.
"Well, no. But I had a coupla decent meals at a drive-in movie once–does that count?"
"Ewww."
He smiled. He liked getting a reaction out of her. "Well, I watch a lot of telly, too, and I know how the whole scene goes. Boy all worked up, ready to do anything to get under the girl´s skirts. The girl, all prissy and cold on the outside, all hot and wanton on the inside, willing to be persuaded."
"Neanderthal much? Have you ever heard of Gloria Stein?"
"Steinem," he smirked. "But face it, pet. Most of the time, the boy and girl know what they´re there for." His voice got lower, more husky, more hypnotic. "It´s a dance, with all the moves choreographed beforehand. They dance on the edge of danger, knowing the risks, but knowing too the promise of pleasure the dance will bring." She felt a tingle of excitement at his words.
"He´s sitting there, in the quiet, with the most beautiful girl he´s ever seen." She stole a glance at him; he´d turned his head and was looking at her with what seemed like longing. She felt suddenly warm, unable to tear her eyes from his.
"Does he dare touch her? What will she say? Maybe, just maybe, she´ll forget all that rot about what good girls are supposed to do and how they´re supposed to avoid the bad boys from the wrong side of the track. But it´s the bad boys who have the cool cars and the kickass attitudes and the sexy good looks." He spoke rhythmically, seductively, and a smile curled on his face as they stared at each other, faces barely visible in the moonlight making its way through the hole in the blacked-out windshield.
"And so here she is, out with him, alone in the night. What will he do? Will he try to touch her? What should she do? What does she want to do? Will her parents approve? What will her friends say when they find out?" Something flickered in her eyes, and she broke off the stare and turned forward again, trying to break the spell.
He watched her for a moment, then turned away and yawned widely, stretching out his arms. She jerked her head back to look at him–was she that pathetic that she had bored to death even a vampire?
As he finished stretching, his right arm surreptitiously landed along the back of the car seat, barely touching her hair. Her breath caught. She stole another glance at him. He was looking forward, but his senses seemed to center on her every movement. With a start, she felt the fingers of his right hand brush gently against her bare arm. She turned her head to look at them, getting slightly bolder, massaging her shoulder gently.
She turned her head forward again, but did nothing. She was too afraid to move–afraid not of him, but of herself, of her reactions. The feel of his fingers on her shoulder. It was so wrong. And yet it was so exciting.
His right hand now cupped her shoulder, still moving in small circles, as if simply enjoying the feel of warm silky skin. Her heart was beating faster. Did he really think he could…. Did he really think she would…. All of a sudden, she didn´t know what she would do. And yet she wanted him to do it. But he wasn´t doing anything more. He was just rubbing her shoulder rhythmically.
She felt as if she might scream in frustration–and then she felt herself turn toward him, just slightly, just enough so his rhythmic hand could touch the back of her neck.
It was the move he had been waiting for. His left hand crept into her lap, lightly danced over her left hand, playing with the rings on her thumb and ring finger.
Oh god, she felt herself getting wet. Stop, she thought. This was wrong. What would Giles say? Willow. Xander…. His thumb had moved under her hand and was making circles in her palm. She swallowed. This had to stop. She´d just tell him …. She turned her head–to find his face inches away, his dark eyes watching her, a slight quirk in his lip as he noticed her nervousness.
His eyes dipped to her lips. Unconsciously, she wet them with her tongue, then regretted it instantly when his eyes flickered up to meet hers, hot and full of desire.
Did she want him too? He didn´t move. Just looked at her with heat, his hands still caressing her shoulder and palm languorously. Wanting him was wrong. She didn´t want him. She just wanted his lips. Yes, she needed to feel his lips on hers. She moved forward and touched them with her own.
They were as soft as she remembered, but this time, it felt like touching electricity. His hand clutched hers, and his palm on her shoulder pressed her closer. She opened her mouth, deepening the kiss. Their tongues touched, danced, for what seemed like hours. She broke away to breathe, gasping in air, and his lips travelled along her jaw then back to her mouth, this time capturing her lower lip gently between his teeth. She moaned softly, and he released her lip and kissed her fiercely, hard and hungry.
She finally disengaged her hand from his and touched him with both her hands, first resting them on his chest, convulsively clawing the fabric, then moving up his neck to cup his face and pull him closer for deeper kisses. Left to its own devices, his left hand wandered to the neckline of her tank top, skimming lower and lower to the edge of her bra, dipping just below the edge to the softer skin hidden beneath. He pulled the strap of her top and her bra down and worked the cup of her bra downward, releasing the nipple. When his fingers flickered over her nipple, she moaned again, and he dipped his head and caught it between his lips and suckled gently. His hands went around her back, burrowed under her shirt, and headed for the catch of her bra. His hands were trembling like the clumsy teenager he had pretended to be as he worked at removing the hooks from the keys.
Buffy ran her lips along the side of his neck, breathing in his scent. He shuddered, then gave up on the bra and simply pulled it and her tank top up over her head. His lips fastened on her other breast, and she arched her back, pushing herself closer. The feel of his mouth, sucking and licking, electrified her, and a moan escaped her lips. She pulled up his head and fastened her mouth on his, matching his movements.
While he was distracted by her lips, she reached her hands to the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it up out of the waistband of his jeans, breaking off their kiss for a moment to raise it over his head. They kissed again ferociously, their bare skin pressed together. She´d thought he´d be cold, but instead he was merely cool. Her body heat must be warming him up, she thought disconnectedly
He´d pulled her across his lap, cradling her in his left arm while his right hand cupped her breast. Their kisses were wet and wild and exciting, and she felt his hand trail down her abdomen to the top of her sweats. He undid the drawstring, loosening the waistband, His hand paused there for frustrating seconds, his fingertips caressing her at the border, dipping underneath now and then, tormenting her.
He seemed to be waiting for her response. He never stopped the caressing, but he didn´t move further down. He was waiting for her. Damn it. She didn´t want to make this decision. She didn´t want to think about how she was here, topless, in the front seat of a car in a deserted clearing with a vampire who had tried to kill her more than once. If anyone found out…. The thought was strangely exciting. She was in a car with blacked-out windows in the middle of nowhere. There was no one to see, no one in the world outside of her and Spike and this car and his hands on her.
She grabbed his wrist. He pulled back instantly, eyes deep and dark in the moonlight, watching her, questioning, his head tilted. She held his eyes a moment, then pushed his hand down further. He closed his eyes a moment, his lashes dark against his pale cheeks. Then he opened them and looked at her with such hunger she felt dizzy.
He moved his hand down of his own volition, rubbing her belly gently, playing at the sensitive area of her bikini line, fingers brushing her curls. She was wet with anticipation and wound with frustration. She fastened her lips on his chest, flicking his nipple with her tongue. He let out a gasp and slid his fingers down into her hot wetness. Her skin prickled as he did interesting things with his thumb while his fingers moved inside her. She opened her legs more to give him better access, and her left hand wandered across his chest, neck, and hair as she pulled him to her for more kisses, moaning into his mouth.
His fingers were stroking and stroking, and she found it hard to concentrate, to move. She felt a tension inside her as if she would explode. No, not yet. She pushed herself back from him, and bumped into the steering wheel, setting off the horn. The honk broke the tension for a moment, and she giggled. He smiled too.
"Told you it wasn´t about the comfort, luv." His voice was a husky whisper.
She backed off the steering wheel and settled herself next to him, reaching with trembling fingers for the button to his jeans. He shifted his hips so she could unzip him, free him from the restrictive material of the jeans. She closed her hand around him, and his head fell back against the seat as he groaned. She liked that she could make him do that, especially considering the pile of boneless mush he´d been turning her into for the past several minutes. She stroked him harder until it wasn´t enough for her, then she bent down her head and took him in her mouth. He jerked as if she´d touched him with fire, and he reached his hands into her hair and pulled her head up.
"No, not now," he said in a strangled voice. "I mean, I appreciate the thought, luv, but there are some ways I´d rather not be like a teenage boy tonight, if you don´t mind."
Instead, he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her backwards, pausing a moment to gaze upon her body, silver in the moonlight. He lifted her feet and removed her shoes and socks one by one, then reached under the waistband of her panties and sweats and pulled them down. She lifted her hips and raised her legs to help him out, and then she was naked and he was on top of her.
He didn´t have time or room to remove his jeans, but they were pulled down just enough so she could clutch his bare hips and pull him closer, opening her legs in invitation. He entered her in one thrust, no fumbling, not unsure and inexperienced but confident and strangely knowing even though he´d never touched her this way before tonight. His fingers dug into her hips as he lifted her so he could thrust into her more deeply. She raised her right leg and braced herself on the steering column as she matched his thrusts.
The pressure was building quickly. It was familiar, and yet it wasn´t. It was mixed with something else–fear? Excitement? It was mixed with that same feeling she had that first time with Angel–except now she was a lot more experienced and knew a few tricks of her own. She clenched her muscles around Spike, wrapping her left leg around his back as they rocked together. The vinyl was sticky against her back, and she opened her eyes and thought she could see stars in the bits of sky visible through the blacked-out windshield. And then her orgasm hit her, and she did see stars. She let out a cry that was half scream, half groan, and she felt Spike tighten his grip on her as he moaned her name, finding his own release.
His head was buried in her shoulder and his weight was heavy on her, but she enjoyed it, lightly caressing his back as she caught her breath and spiraled back down to earth. She felt his lips move against her neck in a kiss, then he raised himself up on his arms and gazed at her, his face still and guarded and even somewhat vulnerable, She put her hand up to his cheek and cupped it, and he leaned into her touch and closed his eyes.
"Thanks," she said huskily. He smiled, a genuine, smirk-free smile, then he bent down and kissed her lips sweetly before disengaging from her and sitting up. They dressed quietly, and they also made the drive back to Sunnydale in silence, as if words would break the spell of the evening.
When they pulled up in front of the house at Revello Drive, Giles was just leaving. He looked relieved when he saw Spike´s car and approached Buffy´s window.
"Oh, good that you´re back and all in one p-piece, though it took you a rather long time," he said. "Nothing go wrong, I trust?" He peered inside to look at Spike, as if to make sure it was an intact Spike doing the driving.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Watcher, but I still got all my parts," Spike said. The smirk was back, but when Buffy turned to glare at him, his face softened momentarily. She couldn´t give him a hard time after what happened. She reached out a hand, touched his leg, and gave him a half-smile.
"See you tomorrow?"
"Count on it, Slayer," he said.
Then she opened the door and got out. "Giles, you didn´t tell me about the serious dental issues those Renga must have…." As he pulled away, he could still hear her chattering about the details of the demon kill.
He pulled into the abandoned garage where he stored the DeSoto during the day, turned off the ignition, and got out. He was a few steps away when he realized he´d forgotten his duster, so he turned back and opened the back door to retrieve it.
The duster was there, and atop it was a piece of white lace and satin. He smiled.
She´d left her bra.