A multitude of taxis were lined up in a yellow row across the street from the theater, and tires squealed as two of them abandoned the configuration in an attempt to win the fare. Driver number two was desperate enough to pull recklessly in front of the leading cab, uncaring of the scant inch between the two vehicles as he braked in front of the couple.
Spike might have felt a smidgen sorry for the winning driver if he'd had any bit of conscience. In the semi-privacy of the back seat, he pulled out every sensual tactic he knew, sliding his fingers under and up Charlie's dress to trail her inner thigh, tantalizingly close to where he knew she wanted his hand to be. She played the game as well as he did, running her hand seductively back and forth along the lower edge of his belt. He began to fear for the strength of his zipper.
Though he kept his hands in check, his tongue explored her mouth with a thoroughness that had the flustered cabbie turning up the radio and stepping generously on the gas pedal. Charlie dropped an uncounted wad of cash into the driver's lap when they screeched to a halt outside the Hyperion, and they were both inside the hotel before the man could even bid them goodnight.
Cordelia was snoring quietly, cheek ungracefully flattened on top of a pile of papers on the front desk as they raced by on the way to their way up the stairs, though neither of them gave their surroundings much notice.
The room key dropped out of Charlie's hands twice as they stood outside their door. The first time, her hands were trembling. The second time, Spike had needed to feel her lips on his again, and it slipped out of her fingers as she wound her hands around him. He snatched the key off the floor and had the door open faster than a starving lion chasing after a gazelle.
Shutting the door with his foot, he tried to unbutton her dress quickly, twisting one button at a time through its slitted opening. He only made it through half the necessary length before he grew impatient, yanking at the fabric until the buttons either pulled through or broke off entirely, scattering onto the floor. The back finally lay open, a v-shaped expanse of naked flesh framed by green silk, and he paused briefly to enjoy the inviting sight.
He slid his hands down her shoulders, pushing the dress downward until it dropped on its own accord, an iridescent puddle of verdant fabric against the grayish carpet of the floor. She leaned back against him, her body pliantly molding with his, and his hands drifted over to stroke her bare breasts, eliciting a needy groan of desire from her lips.
"Never wanted somethin' so much, luv. Never knew it could feel like this, the wantin'. Feel it in my bones, in my blood," he rumbled into her ear.
She turned around, and caressed his cheek, running a finger along the scar that crossed his brow, then leaned forward to bestow it with a soft press of her lips.
"Say you feel it too," he pleaded, "Your blood screamin' out for mine."
"I feel it," she affirmed, kicking off her shoes, "it wasn't always as strong as this, but I felt it before too…" She planted a fierce kiss on his lips, and unbuttoned the front of his shirt with as much impatience as he felt, tugging the sleeves down his arms and flinging it haphazardly towards the bed.
"Before?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her and capturing her lips again, savoring the feel of her plush, luscious mouth against his own.
"Before you turned me. When I first met you, actually… never would have admitted it, but hell if I didn't want you then too."
He rewarded her with a boyish smile before licking and nibbling his way from her ear to her collarbone, while she took a single, wild breath, weaving her fingers against his head as though she were trying to anchor herself to him. Her legs wrapped around his slim hips, shamelessly rubbing herself against his pelvis as he hoisted her up, carrying her to the bed and releasing her atop the indigo cotton covering.
Dipping a finger under the elastic of her flimsy lace underwear, he drew it down her legs with an excruciating slowness, inclining his head to the sensitive flesh behind her knee and gliding his lips along her skin until he reached the juncture of her thighs. The scent had been teasing him for hours, goading him and guiding him to the x on the treasure map, his reward for figuring out the pathway there. He slipped his tongue inside her, taste as sweet as her blood had been, and she let out a raw, delicious moan that made him yearn to hear it over and over.
Experimenting, he ravaged her with his mouth and learned what made her shudder and what made her legs quiver in pleasure, almost reaching his own release at the noise she made when he thrust a finger inside of her.
"So wet, and a taste of heaven," he murmured.
"Fuck, I need you," was all she could reply, as she reached to unbuckle his belt and deprive him of the rest of his clothing, inhaling sharply as she took in the lean muscle and ivory skin, fully displayed for carnal purposes.
He settled himself betwixt her legs, caressing her side as he felt her fingers drift down the length of his spine and alight on his buttocks, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Spike sought her eyes, and she returned his gaze, begging him, daring him to push himself inside. Accepting the wordless challenge, he slid into her with one deep, languid stroke, and then another, hissing with gratification as she gasped and writhed eagerly against him.
"Easy, luv," he said, a wicked gleam in his eye as he held her hips to the bed. She whimpered in frustration. "Got some plans, see. Hours and hours until we have to leave these sheets, and I've got a fortnight's worth of ideas."
Her voice came out heated and amused, thick with desire. "There you go, calling all the shots again. And it isn't your bed this time. This is neutral territory."
"Bossy bint." With one fluid movement, he had her astride him, groaning with intense satisfaction as she sunk down onto his length. He reached up to palm her breasts, and she arched her back, pushing her chest into his inquisitive hands, all the while moving up and down in a rhythm that both tortured and careened him into a euphoric sensual hunger.
Their bodies transformed into a tangle of limbs, pulling, throbbing, clutching at eachother maddeningly, and he lost awareness of where he ended and she began. He took her every way he could think of, every way he had already daydreamed of. Her fingernails raked over the muscle and sinew of his back as he pressed his teeth into her shoulder, suppressing lingering moans and grunts of pure arousal.
Everything else seemed to fade away. Velvet heat coiled between his legs until he was obliterated, her muscles blissfully convulsing around his hardness as he cried out in ecstasy, spilling himself inside of her.
She collapsed onto his chest, rubbing her cheek against his skin as he trailed his fingertips in lazy patterns over her back. He should have felt sated, but there was a fire in his blood already beginning to stir again.
"That was… wow. Can't. Words."
"Oh, little kitten," he said, with a low growl in his throat and a smile on his lips as he pulled himself out of her, his hands descending to fill the void. "We've only begun."
"This must be what jello feels like." Hours had passed, and Charlie was tangled in the wrinkled navy sheets, letting out little sighs of exhausted satisfaction. "Neither solid nor liquid. Just a pile of goo. I think I still have limbs, but I can't be bothered to check."
"Mmmm… still there." Spike drew his arms around her, pulling her back tightly against the hard lines of his chest and running his hands over her arms and legs, and other places that didn't need checking. Her hair was mussed, and she looked thoroughly, thoroughly debauched. Spike decided it was his favorite version of her, and one he intended on creating as often as possible.
"How did this not happen weeks ago?" she asked, turning her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye, "And how the hell are you so good at this?"
He took advantage of her turned head to gently capture her earlobe between his teeth, alternating skillfully between sucking and nipping at her skin. "Have it down to a fine art, pet. Had a whole century to hone my expertise."
"Oh my god," she groaned, stifling a laugh. "I just slept with a 146 year old. There's gotta be some laws against a 120 year age difference."
"Robbin' the cradle, am I?"
"More like you bought a cradle, watched it get handed down for five or six generations, and then robbed it." She rolled over to face him, a smug grin on her face.
"Pipe down, Lolita. Weren't complainin' 'bout it twenty minutes ago," Spike protested, though any indignance he might have felt melted cleanly away at the sight of her breasts, curving enticingly above the sheets.
She seemed to read his lascivious thoughts. "Couldn't complain because my mouth was otherwise engaged."
His eyes glittered dangerously as he slid his forefinger past her lips, groaning as she ran the tip of her tongue along its underside. "Wanna engage it again?" he asked.
Giving his palm a soft kiss, Charlie propped herself up on her elbows and squinted at the clock on the nightstand, sighing as she assessed the time. "More than you know. But we were supposed to have started driving home an hour and a half ago."
"So we're gonna be late no matter if we leave now or in another three hours." And, he reasoned, they would only be late if they actually showed up at the Magic Box, since forgoing the trip to spend the next week in bed would constitute as being AWOL, not tardy. Absenteeism sounded positively rapturous.
"We said we'd be back by 8," she reminded him.
"And I'm evil. Hafta break the occasional promise here and there, else I'll lose my credibility."
"You're like the little devil that sits on my shoulder, you know that? And it's not really fair 'cause there's no little angel version of you to balance it out." She shifted her head to the side, thinking about it, "Which is a shame since you'd look delectable in a toga."
"Never been one to turn down roleplay, luv," he said, though his mind began to drift elsewhere. At the mention of the word angel, Spike had a sudden overwhelming desire to get back on the road and as far away from Los Angeles as possible. As much pleasure as he got from the knowledge that he'd just spent hours defiling his grandsire's sheets, he really didn't want to run into the older vampire. "Suppose we can hit the road, don't want the slayer breathin' down my neck due to unexcused loitering."
She grabbed Spike's dress shirt off the headboard and slipped into it, only fastening a few of the buttons before crawling out of bed. "Well, if we leave in the next half hour, and you drive as fast as you did getting here, we won't be that late. Though even if we are, we have some useful information on Bleakgrave, which will make Buffy happy. And bonus, we didn't get killed." She meandered into the bathroom, emerging a moment later with her zipped pouch of toiletries, and tossing it into her bag.
"Yeah, sure she'll be over the bloody moon 'bout that part. Slayer's been tryin' to dust me for years," he said, following Charlie with his eyes as she hastily collected the clothing she'd worn the day before, stacking it in a pile before inspecting the rest of the room for anything else that needed packing.
She picked up the swath of green silk that was lying in a tattered heap on the floor. "Hey, Houston? We have a bit of a problem."
"So, um… there was a little snafu with the dress…" Charlie said, more than a little flustered as she laid it on the reception desk where Cordelia was filling out paperwork. It had taken more time to gather the remnants of the upscale outfit than it had taken the two vampires to get dressed, finish packing, and get downstairs to the hotel lobby.
Guiltily, Charlie pulled a handful of loose buttons out of her pocket, and laid them in a pile next to the fabric, cringing as one of them rolled away from the rest and bounced onto the carpet by Cordelia's foot.
"Oh. Wow. What the hell attacked you?" Cordelia asked, staring bewilderedly at the damaged garment.
"He came at me from behind... felt like he had six arms. Just grabbed the back of my dress, and see ya later, buttons."
"And you said, hey, big bad monster, can you stop with the attacks for a sec while I pick these up off the floor?" Cordelia asked, narrowing her eyes at Charlie in perplexion.
"Well, to be fair, by the time I collected them, the monster was, um…" Charlie paused, glancing at Spike for assistance.
"Dead," he finished with a grin.
"Well, thank goodness for that." Cordelia threw her pen onto the desk, and leaned back in her chair. "I'm telling you, you think Sunnydale is bad with all the demons and monsters and stuff? L.A. is just as bad but with smog. Which makes it worse. Did last night go okay?"
"Yeah, totally fine," Charlie answered quickly.
"Went off with a bang, I'd say. Learned a whole slew of things I've been wantin' to know for weeks. Plenty of sights that'll stick with us, loads of physical action… can't wait to get home and go over all the details." Spike had trouble keeping a straight face as Charlie sent a startled glance in his direction.
There was a long, awkward silence before Cordelia spoke. "Alrighty, glad the theater espionage was a success. Well, say hi to everyone for me, I guess."
As they said their goodbyes and exited the hotel, Spike was certain he heard the woman exasperatedly mutter "vampires".
Outside, the sky had just darkened to a dusky shade of azure, set liberally with the promise of pale yellow stars. A cool breeze drifted by, carrying with it a scent that reminded Spike of betrayal, humiliation, and grungy European backstreets, so it was no surprise when he heard footsteps behind him. Spike didn't bother to turn around before addressing him. "Ah. Couldn't let us hit the road without bidding us a sweet farewell, I see. Decided to meet the latest of our line?"
Sure enough, when Spike did finally turn around, there was Angel, dark and looming like a carrion vulture at the front gates of the Hyperion.
"Uh, hey? Is there something you forgot to tell me? What line?" Charlie asked, tartly directing her question at the bleach blond vampire standing next to her.
Spike put a possessive arm around her and flashed Angel an icy smile, "Charlie Girl, meet the big, broodin' cheese of this fine establishment, the perpetual thorn in my side, and oh yeah, your great grandsire. You can call him grandpops, or Fluffy McMopeyface. I find that he responds both with equal amounts of displeasure."
As if to prove his point, Angel glowered back at him. "I don't know what you're playing at, Spike, but when I figure it out, I will find you and put an end to it."
"So do we actually descend from a long, dignified line of McMopeyfaces or is this just the part where you guys exchange insults and threats for a few minutes? I can go wait in the car if you think this will take a while." Charlie cast an unimpressed glance between the two of them, finally arching a brow as Angel looked apologetically in her direction.
"Sorry. There's a history between Spike and I, none of that was directed at you. I'm Angel. Buffy told me about you, and the whole soul thing. You should know, I have one too." It was the puppy-dog stare directed at Charlie that threw Spike into a searing pit of annoyance.
"Right. Let's play the Haves and the Have Nots. As long as we're playing, I have the burning desire to get into the car and drive far, far away, where I don't have to see this pathetic display of puffery. Charlie, think we should be goin' about now, yeah? What with the being late and all?"
"Yeah, probably. Duty calls. Thanks for the room, Angel," Charlie said, throwing her bag through the open window into the back seat of the DeSoto.
"Of course," Angel responded, "And, I know Buffy needs you right now, but once it's over, if you ever want to talk or need a place to crash, the hotel's always open. You don't need to walk the path alone."
Spike knew he should have just driven off into the night, but every word out of Angel's mouth was a massive irritation, begging to be scratched apart. "Don't need to walk… do you hear yourself, you gormless clot? You sound like a bloody brochure for a drug-addicted homeless youth shelter."
"Spike, you don't understand what it's like," Angel sighed, uncomfortably shuffling his foot against the pavement, "A vampire with a soul doesn't fit in with humans or the undead, you have one foot on either side. It's confusing at best, but mostly it's just dangerous, and it never hurts to have allies."
"Oh, boo hoo. Never thought I'd say it, but I miss Angelus. Only thing he ever whined about was slim pickin's for meal choices 'round the summer holidays."
"Guys, maybe we should stick to the real issue at hand right now, and save the… whatever else is going on for later," Charlie interjected.
"Yeah, you're right. So what did you learn about the magician at the show?" Angel asked.
"Sorry, Sally. You're not on the team. Think we have all the bases covered with the Slayer and her Slayerettes. Also, we have Wonder Bread, Buffy's new boy toy. Heard about him? Military type, all sorts of stamina. Might even save some of that endurance for the occasional job." The satisfaction Spike gleaned from seeing the muscles in the older vampire's jaw tighten was worth the entire annoying conversation.
"If this magician-"
"Bleakgrave." Spike interrupted, determined to make his grandsire seem as incompetent as possible.
"If Bleakgrave decides to stick it out in my city, you'd best believe I'll be dealing with him. And if you're not going to tell me, then I'll call Buffy later and she'll fill me in."
"Your city? When'd you get elected you ponce? Nobody in this town knows who the bloody hell you are, and if they did, you'd be facin' the morning sunrise surrounded by a mob of pitchfork-wielding, cross-wearin'-"
"-Okay, we're gonna go now," Charlie said, grabbing Spike by the lapels of his jacket and moving towards the DeSoto. "Spike, let's do that thing you do where you drive the car. Angel, nice meeting you."
"Likewise."
It wasn't until Spike saw the lights of the Los Angeles skyline recede into one distant, blurry shape behind the car that he stopped wanting to snap the steering wheel in half. He took a deep breath for the comfort of it, and cleared his mind of all thoughts of Angel.
"You forgot to mention that grandpops is kinda hot."
Spike accidentally swerved over the highway's yellow line, and the motorcyclist behind him flew by, giving him the middle finger. "Oi! Should I turn this car around, let you have a go at him?"
"Jeez. Look at you, all competitive and grouchy," she said, poking him in the arm, "Don't worry. He may be hot, but he's lacking a little in the personality department. And besides, I happen to like you."
"Glad to hear it," he sulked.
"What's your deal with him, anyway? He steal your ex girlfriend or something?"
Spike shot her a look of consternation, and the teasing smile slipped off her face.
"Oh. Sorry…"
He shrugged, passing a car that was only driving twenty over the speed limit. "Ancient baggage, that. Dru loved me, I think, but Angel was her sire. There was no one more important to her and he played her like a fiddle, enjoyed torturin' me with it, as one of the most cruel and depraved vamps in the history books would. Now that he's on the side of good, he looks down on any soulless creature, even though most aren't half the evil bastard he was."
A thoughtful silence filled the car, and Spike wondered what was going on in her head. "That doesn't seem at all fair," she said finally.
"Isn't," he huffed, "Hence the seething hatred."
"Want me to make him breakfast next time?"
"Abso-bleedin'-loutely not! Has enough people grovelin' at his feet, no amount of warmin' up his bag o'blood in the micro is gonna change his less-unholier-than-thou attitude."
"I meant eat him."
"Oh." Spike considered it, wondering how fast they'd have to get out of town to avoid being staked by Buffy. "Would you?"
"Eh, not really," she shrugged, "Just trying to make you feel better. I think the soul-having kinda kills the delectability quotient. On a scale of one to you, he's about a three."
"You're still thinkin' of me as dinner, then?" he asked. The thought that he had spent an entire day and evening naked-cuddling with a natural predator of soulless demons crossed his mind, but he figured that if he hadn't been bit as of yet, he had little to be apprehensive about.
"Never thought of you like that, you're not just some random demon. It'd be like having a pet pig… you'd still eat meat, maybe even the occasional hot dog, but you wouldn't want to slaughter the animal you cared about, right?"
"Callin' me a pig, now?" came his petulant reply.
"Well, I mean, if the shoe fits…" she said seriously, then caught his eye, unable to resist a little smirk at his defensiveness. "Kidding. They're super cute. Have those soft little noses…" She trailed off, yawning into her fist.
"You look like you're ready to drop, luv."
She smiled to herself. "Well, I had a long night. And day. Mind if I sleep the rest of the way home?"
"Course not. Take a kip, wake you when we're there." His heart would have lurched if it could have, at her labeling the crypt as home. And when she rested her head on his shoulder, snuggling closer as he put his arm around her, he thought his heart might actually start beating again.
He took his time driving, sticking to the middle lane in the highway and taking the scenic route once they were within range of Sunnydale. It was something he typically never did, but he was more relaxed and content than he'd been in decades, and wanted to stretch out the brief respite for as long as he could. The romantic in him loved the closeness, the simple luxury of bodily contact in a quiet space, and so he was heartened by a long line of traffic ahead as they passed by the Welcome to Sunnydale sign. Ten more minutes in gridlock was ten more minutes of serenity.
Craning his neck to see what the backup was about, he suddenly realized that the ground was rumbling. Deciduous trees lining the sidewalks trembled violently, shedding leaves and branches as they swayed, thin cracks began to form in the pavement, and cars were rocking back and forth on their tires as though they were parked on Lover's Lane. The panic alarms on several vehicles began to blare.
The shaking ceased as quickly as it had commenced, and drivers and passengers started climbing out of their cars to take look at the damage, as customers streamed out of the shops and restaurants lining the street.
"What the hell was that?" Charlie asked, blearily shifting herself out from under Spike's arm. "Earthquake?"
"Not an earthquake…" he said, the hair on the back of his arm prickling. Whatever it was, it wasn't a natural occurrence. "Hellmouth, maybe."
"You would know better than I would." She stuck her head out the window to survey the surroundings, turning in the direction that everyone outside seemed to be looking. "But show of hands, who thinks the giant mansion that just appeared on top of that hill had something to do with it?"
Spike checked the rearview mirror, turning full around when he saw the reflection of a massive building illuminated by moonlight, thousands of windows lit up in amber and perched on top of Kingman's Bluff.
"That's not a mansion, luv," Spike said, aghast as he squinted at it in the darkness. "That's bloody Versailles."