He was on the fifth level.
The door slammed open, letting in the night air, and a rather pleasant gust of wind.
Spike watched in horror as his lovely castle shattered and it's component rectangles of cardboard flutter to the stone.
"Bloody--"
"Pheromones!"
He stopped at Buffy's voice. And he'd been getting a good string of curses set up, too. Now his concentration was shot. How would he get all that fury out now? He'd have to hit something...
His forehead wrinkled as he processed what she'd said.
"Pheromones?" he repeated, turning slightly to take in the sight of her, obviously just off patrol. Slightly winded, wearing light clothes in dark colors, all of which were liberally sprinkled with dust.
She paused a moment, catching her breath, then continued into the crypt.
"Pheromones," she confirmed. "That's what this is."
"Pheromones."
"Yep."
Spike sent a slightly forlorn glance at the cards scattered all over the sarcophagus and floor, then hopped up on said grave.
"Do tell."
"The whole 'sleeping with you' thing. That. And the 'thinking about you all the time' thing," Buffy started talking faster as she got into the obviously prepared- monologue.
"And the 'really wanting to get you naked' thing. And the 'blushing when you talk' thing..."
Spike's eyebrows raised. Did she even realize what she was saying? Daft--
"Ooh! And the whole 'keeping coming back to see you again, even though I really shouldn't, because you're a soulless beast' thing. That too. All of that stuff."
Spike waited for her to realize that wasn't a sentence. It occurred to him, as Buffy stood proudly in front of him, that he'd have to prompt.
"All that stuff... What?"
She took a deep breath, and dove back in, bringing her hands into play, gesturing frantically in front of her.
"Well. I thought I was just totally screwed up to even think about-- you know. But I just can't stop. So I figured I'm just warped. But now I know it's not my fault."
Spike's forehead creased further. "Pheromones," he guessed.
"Pheromones," Buffy nodded. "They're to blame for this."
Spike scratched his eyebrow. "Uh huh."
Buffy started pacing. "You see, it's totally chemical! It has nothing to do with you, it's just smells and chemicals and biology and ...stuff. That you ..uh.. Make. Your body. That my body responds to. See? It's okay. I'm not insane, I'm just under the influence of your pheromones."
She stopped, finished, and grinned and the vampire.
He blinked at her.
"Uh, Buffy, luv..." He bit his lip. "I'm dead. A corpse. I don't breathe, I don't sweat, and I certainly don't emit 'pheromones.'"
There was a moment of silence, in the crypt, as there should be.
Then--
"Ah, shit." Buffy stormed out, to invent more excuses for why she kept doing this very thing. But not before pulling the vampire into a kiss fit for theaters.
^^***^^***^^
Hope you liked. I don't know where it came from. Poof! Like magic. What's the saying? "Inspiration strikes. Like lightning, leaving a smoking crater in its wake." Pretty appropriate, really.
Check out my other stories, "Irony Becomes Her," and "Of Blondes that Bite and Stab." Both are awaiting updates, which I hope will be speedy. But no real promises. I've got two exams due, so all bets are off.
Plus, hey, marching band....
I'm gonna shut up before this turns into an ugly diatribe.
~Star Mouse