Mortal Allies Series

Episode 5

War and Roses

By: Passion4Spike


Chapter 3 – David Copperfield


Chapter Notes:

Hey look, it's Thursday and I'm on time! Go me!

This chapter picks up immediately after their Lover's Lane date.

All the love to MissLuci and All4Spike for their betaing prowess and awesome suggestions, making the story that much better. Any mistakes are all mine, cos I just keep fiddling.


"Then there was one who was like, 'Live long and prosper'," Buffy related with a chuckle as she and the two Spikes mounted the porch steps later that night. "And he did that Vulcan hand thing," she continued, holding up her right hand to show the vampire.

Spike stopped, arching a disdainful brow at her. "What the hell is that, Slayer?"

"I just told you, the Vulcan..."

"The Vulcan salute is like this," Spike explained, holding up his left hand with the thumb extended and his fingers parted into a 'V' between the middle and ring finger. "Your little finger and ring finger stay together, see?" he continued, reaching over to her hand and positioning the fingers properly. As soon as he let go the ring and pinky fingers pulled apart into more of a 'W' than a 'V'. "That's pathetic," he groaned with an eyeroll.

Buffy pouted, trying to get her fingers to do what his did. Spike showed her again, demonstrating with both hands this time.

"What are you, a closet geek?" Buffy asked, giving up and turning for the door.

"Knowing the proper gesture for a greeting in Vulcan doesn't make you a geek," Spike defended with a sniff, squaring his shoulders.

"Hmph," Buffy disagreed as she opened the door and stepped inside. "Doesn't make you not a geek," she asserted, hanging her coat on the rack by the door.

"What doesn't make you not a geek?" Joyce asked, standing up from the couch as the dog bounced up to her, tail wagging, breath smelling of Whoppers and fries.

"He can do that Vulcan thing... with both hands," Buffy accused, waving a hand at the blond coming in after her.

"Lots o' things I can do with both hands, luv," he murmured, barely loud enough for Buffy to hear.

Buffy flushed beet red and elbowed him in the ribs. "Ixnay the aughtynay in front of my othermay," she whispered back.

Joyce looked at them speculatively, apparently trying to figure out what was going on between them. She decided to take the direct approach. "What exactly needs to be ixnayed in front of your othermay?"

Buffy's face was glowing Chernobyl-like. She cleared her throat uncomfortably, but Spike saved her by holding his hands up to show Joyce what Buffy was talking about. "Was just showing Buffy the Vulcan greeting," he explained. "Slayer thinks it's something vulgar, I reckon."

Joyce frowned, clearly not buying it, but let it go. "Oh. That." She shrugged and held her right hand up, doing a good job of mirroring Spike's salute. "I used to be better... I haven't done it in a while."

"Oh, my God," Buffy cried, rolling her eyes. "I'm surrounded by geeks. If the dog can do it, then I'm leaving."

The furry Spike looked between the vampire and Joyce, his brown eyes intent, then sat down and raised his left paw. Buffy held her breath, waiting for his little paw-fingers to form a 'V', but after a moment, he just huffed out a breath and dropped his arm. He gave them all a disdainful look, as if doing silly tricks like that was beneath his dignity, then headed for the kitchen and his water bowl.

"Thank goodness someone in this house is sane," the Slayer sighed, putting her coat and purse by the door.

"Did you have a good time?" Joyce asked, looking between the two blondes. "Where did you go?"

"Burger King," Buffy supplied hurriedly before Spike could answer, hoping he took the hint. "It's Spike's—furry Spike's—favorite, so we thought we'd start there with the 'all the cheeseburgers' mission."

"You were gone an awfully long time for Burger King," Joyce pointed out, looking at the clock.

"Well, we just got talking and you know... flying of time," Buffy supplied a tad nervously. "I wonder where that saying comes from? Who thought that time could fly? Birds can fly, and bees, and..." She cleared her throat, flushing with the unexpected direction that had taken.

"Doublemeat Palace next time, I reckon," Spike cut in.

"Spike's not all that fond of the Doublemeat Palace," Joyce provided. "I don't know why. It tastes perfectly good to me."

"Saw something called Happy Burger out by the highway," Spike suggested.

"Also, there's a sports bar over by the college that has some really awesome looking cheeseburgers," Buffy added. "Not that I've ever had one, but they looked good," she grumbled.

Spike arched a brow at her, remembering the witch saying to not take her to sports bars. "Don't reckon they'd fancy an overgrown wooly mammoth in the joint."

Buffy shrugged. "We could get it to go and, um, just eat in the car again... like tonight."

Spike turned so only Buffy could see his smirk. His eyes flashed with heated avarice, making Buffy's heart skip a beat and the memory of Spike-lips crackle like wildfire in her veins. "Like tonight," he repeated in a rumbling timbre, sweeping his tongue across his lips. "Sounds grand."

Buffy shifted nervously from foot to foot as that fire settled deliciously between her thighs. She cleared her throat again and looked up towards her room. "I think I'll just, um, make with the showering now," she squeaked before trotting up the stairs.

Spike's eyes followed her pert little ass as it swayed up and away from him, only dropping his gaze when she disappeared from view. His eyes landed on a patch of dark leather hanging over the banister and he stepped over and picked it up. "My duster," he realized, holding it up. "Good as new," he continued, swirling it around and slipping it on.

"Well, not quite, but at least the holes are mended, and the mud and blood are cleaned off," Joyce related as he settled it on his shoulders. "The woman at the leather shop is starting to give me weird looks."

Spike chuckled. "Probably wondering what type o' massacres you've been part of, eh?"

Joyce laughed. "No doubt."

It didn't smell right—too clean, too chemically. The aroma of tobacco, whiskey, and Buffy had been washed away, but it still felt good on his back, and he'd soon have those sweet scents back on it, especially if he and Buffy had more nights like tonight. Maybe he could even talk her into sleeping in it again.

"Thanks, pet," Spike said sincerely, looking up to meet her eyes. "What do I owe ya?" he asked, reaching into his jeans pocket.

Joyce waved him off. "Don't be ridiculous. I think we're still pretty deep in your debt in the grand scheme."

"Didn't think friends accumulated debts as such," Spike pointed out, the cash out and in his hand.

"No, I guess they don't, but that doesn't stop them from trying to return the favor in some small way, at least," Joyce replied.

Spike nodded and shoved the cash back into his pocket. "Ta, luv."

Joyce gave him a smile before returning to the living room. "It was lovely of you to chauffeur them. Sorry it took so much of your evening," she said as she picked up a glass from the coffee table and started for the kitchen with it.

"No worries," Spike brushed it off, following her. He cleared his throat apprehensively. "Could I have a word?"

Joyce looked back over her shoulder at him curiously, something about his tone or... his accent? Something was different. "Sure," she agreed, leading him into the kitchen. "Would you like something to drink?"

Spike considered his options. He could really use a scotch to go with what he needed to say, but thought that might send the wrong message. Blood definitely sent the wrong message—a huge reminder of who and what he was. "A mug of cocoa wouldn't go amiss," he said after a moment as he slipped onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

Joyce nodded and got to work cooking up two mugs of hot chocolate. The dog, who had collapsed on the cool floor near his water bowl, lifted his head curiously, but then sighed and flopped back down, deciding it wasn't worth the effort to get up and check for dropped goodies.

"What did you want to talk about?" Joyce asked as she stirred the powdered chocolate into the warmed milk.

"Well, ma'am," Spike began, making Joyce turn and look at him over her shoulder.

"Ma'am?" she questioned, grabbing the bag of mini-marshmallows and loading both cups up with them. "Since when am I 'ma'am'?" she asked, bringing the mugs over to the counter and sliding one across to Spike.

Spike took it, wrapping his hands—which had suddenly gone very cold—around the warm mug. He cleared his throat and steeled his nerve, looking up at her for a moment before dropping his gaze again. "Well, the thing is," he began, wishing he didn't feel quite so much like William in this moment. Even the duster wasn't helping. "That is to say, I'd like to speak to you about Buffy."

"What about Buffy?" Joyce asked, picking up her mug and taking a sip.

Spike swallowed hard and forced his eyes up to hers. "I'd like to ask your permission to court her."

Joyce spluttered warm, brown liquid all over the counter. The next moment she began coughing as some of what she'd had in her mouth went into her windpipe. She set the mug down, sloshing more over the side. She turned around to the sink as she continued choking, trying to get the liquid cleared from her trachea. Finally, with watering eyes and ragged breaths, she turned back to Spike. "I beg your pardon?"

Spike cleared his throat again and looked down at the mug of cocoa. "I'd like to... court Buffy. With your permission."

Joyce dabbed at her watering eyes with her fingertips before grabbing a dishcloth and wiping up the spilled chocolate drink from the counter. "I see," she croaked out, her throat still feeling the tickle of liquid in the wrong place. "What about that fight you two had just last night? Most, uhh... courting relationships don't start off with a knock-down-drag-out," she pointed out.

Spike snorted. "Wear our hearts in our fists, pet. The nature of the monster, I reckon."

Her head snapped up and she glared at him. "Buffy's not a monster!" she shot back angrily.

Spike held his hands up in surrender. "Know that better than anyone. Buffy's... she's the thing monsters have nightmares about. But the fire inside her, it burns just as bright as anything she battles, brighter than most. Sometimes words aren't enough to convey everything we're feeling. Know they should be, but..." He shrugged helplessly. "I'd never damage her; don't think she'd ever dust me. Sometimes we just gotta let some of the steam out, I reckon."

"You two looked pretty beat up to me," Joyce pointed out.

Spike smiled. "Nothing compared t' the damage that could've been done. Were just making sure our points were delivered and understood."

"That doesn't sound very healthy," she continued.

"Not for you, I don't reckon, but for us? Might be the healthiest we've ever been—most truthful, most open—most vulnerable."

"I'm not sure I like that—"

"Not sure there's anything you can do t' change it, pet. Buffy's the Slayer. You want her alive long enough to know what thirty feels like? Forty? Fifty? Then don't try t' change it. She needs it—needs that spark of dark fire burning in her gut to keep her alive."

Joyce locked eyes with him, not liking what he was saying, but unable to refute it. The violence had come with the Calling. She knew that. And, according to Spike, at least, it did extend beyond the graveyard to other parts of Buffy's life. She didn't like it. Not at all. But what if Spike was right—what if that would keep her little girl alive?

Spike stared her down, not giving way to the intense scrutiny. He knew he was right about this. He also knew it wasn't what a mother wanted to hear about her little girl. But it was a hard truth Joyce needed to accept.

"Okay," she acquiesced. "So, that fight... it made you decide you wanted to... court Buffy?"

Spike dropped his gaze to his cuppa, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "Partly. Realized I care more for her than just as a friend... and now I have reason to believe she might feel the same."

"I see," Joyce repeated as she tossed the rag into the sink and turned back to look at him, leaning back on the counter and crossing her arms over her chest. "And why should I give you my blessing?"

"Because I believe I can be what she needs, make her happy," he replied, bravely meeting and holding her steely gaze.

Joyce nodded slowly. "I don't have to tell you that you and Buffy are from different worlds," she noted seriously.

Spike's brows furrowed. "How do you reckon?" he asked, clearly disagreeing.

"She's a girl and—"

"Buffy's more than a girl," Spike interrupted. "She's the Slayer. In point of fact, we're from exactly the same world. Maybe different sides of it," he allowed. "But the same world. World of violence, world of darkness, world of danger, world of demons. Won't find anyone who understands her world better than I do."

"Still, she's a young woman..." Joyce began again. Spike opened his mouth to protest, but she amended before he could speak, "A young Slayer. You're a vampire. How's that going to work? I mean, if it works out between you long term? You'll always be..." she waved a hand at him, "...what you are now. Buffy will grow old and die."

Spike ground his teeth. "Slayers don't grow old and die. They just die. Young. Violently. Alone. I can... I dunno if I can stop that from happening, but I can bloody well try. Do a damn sight better than any vanilla mortal, at any rate."

Joyce cringed, not just at his tone but his words. It wasn't anything she didn't know. It wasn't anything that hadn't kept her tossing and turning more nights than she could count. But somehow hearing it spoken so clearly, so harshly, sent a chill through her. Her daughter had already died once, and likely came close more times than Joyce would ever know about. She was willing to do anything for her daughter, to keep Buffy safe. But she was just human. She most assuredly was not of Buffy's world, no matter how hard she tried to be.

"Sorry, pet. I just meant, can hold my own, yeah? Better than hold my own—can fight at her side, watch her back, keep the beasties from sneaking up," Spike explained, trying to take the sting out of his previous words.

Joyce nodded solemnly, the steel coming back into her spine. "Angel was supposed to do that, too. She doesn't need another man turning on her—another vampire taking advantage."

"I'm not sodding Angel! Why can't you all get that through your heads?!" Spike exclaimed, jumping up from his seat.

The dog tensed and rolled onto his stomach from his relaxed position as the vampire began pacing back and forth in agitation. The Guardian's worried, wary, brown eyes followed the blond's path across the floor, ready to intervene if the need arose.

Spike ran a hand back through his hair as he stalked the kitchen, letting some of the tension ease out of his body with the familiar sensations the motion produced. His duster slapped against his calves with each step, while his boots created a heavy rhythm on the linoleum, and he forced himself to breathe a few moments before continuing.

"I've no desire to take advantage of her or use her for... for anything. I care about her, I... Bloody hell, Joyce, I lo—" He stammered to a halt—words and feet—his throat closing over the declaration he wasn't ready to say aloud. He turned to face Joyce across the breakfast bar, his expression earnest. "I... I've never known anyone like her, alright? I just want to see if maybe I could make her happy, maybe even make her a better Slayer, keep her around t' grow old and die on me. Want to see if there could be more between us. Know I'm not worthy of her, I'm not stupid, but she makes me better, makes me want to be a good man, for her. Can't help dreaming... hoping that she could care about me one day as more than a friend. But if she can't, then just having that's enough. I'll still stay, still do my best to keep her safe. I'd never turn on her, Joyce. I just... I can't give up without trying for more, is all."

Joyce dropped her folded arms and let out the breath she'd been holding, stepping back over to the counter and her forgotten cocoa.

The dog seemed to sense the tension draining from the vampire and flopped back over onto his side with a sigh.

"What about what you said about not wanting a Slayer's heart?" she asked, picking up her mug and taking a sip.

Spike rolled his eyes, throwing his arms out in frustration. "Did the Slayer take out a sodding billboard with that on it?"

Joyce smiled at him over the rim of the mug. "Not that I know of, but I haven't been out by the highway in a while."

The vampire sighed. "Was a misunderstanding, is all. Told her I didn't want a Slayer's heart in a sodding box... 'cos I'm not fucking Angel. Never try to... to cage her, keep her from being what she is. She's bloody glorious! All full of light and power, and that sodding infuriatingly sharp wit. Couldn't imagine..." Spike shook his head, thinking about what Angelus had done to Dru, what he might've done to Buffy if he hadn't got sidetracked with his big world-ending rock. He looked back up at Joyce. "Never want to see her broken, see that fire she's got extinguished."

Joyce nodded thoughtfully, setting her drink down. "You know, I asked you not long ago if you thought feelings could develop between you and Buffy... more than friends. It seems to me you denied it."

"You Summers women seem to have bloody selective hearing, and a way of putting words in my mouth." At Joyce's incredulous look, he admitted sheepishly, "Didn't deny it. Just... avoided answering."

"Why?"

The word was like an iceberg—looking small and innocent above the water, but in truth, it was massive and deadly beneath. Spike was feeling decidedly Titanic-like in light of it. He turned and began pacing again, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck as he considered his answer. "Not good at havin' friends," he began after a couple of passes across the floor. "Never had many... maybe not any true friends. It sodding terrifies me to think I might lose you... you and Buffy. Bloody hell, even the little witch, the wolf, and the wanna-be carpenter are growing on me." He stopped and met Joyce's gaze. "Didn't want to cock things up with the Slayer by moving too fast and scaring her off. Both had our hearts ripped out before, haven't we? Didn't want to drive her away… lose everything, even her—and your—friendship. Doing my best here, pet. Just swimming in unfamiliar seas, dunno where the rocks are, trying not t' bloody the waters and draw sharks."

"First, you aren't going to lose my friendship, no matter what. Second, everyone's afraid of getting hurt, William, of exposing their hearts and getting them broken, of losing people they care about. But if you really want more with Buffy—or with anyone—you've got to jump into those waters headfirst and take the chance," she advised. "You have to trust your heart, and trust the other person to catch you."

"Jumped in with Dru and see what it got me—ripped up on the reef and foundering for a sodding century," he muttered disconsolately.

"Well, Buffy's not Dru, just like you aren't Angel," Joyce reminded him. "She's got her own doubts and fears, but if you both keep hiding behind these walls you've built up, then..." She shook her head sadly. "Someone has to be brave enough to drop their defenses first or you're both going to end up crashing on the rocks and drowning in those waters."

"And you think it should be me," Spike surmised, pursing his lips.

Joyce shrugged. "I'm just saying, someone has to be brave."

"Not a lotta difference between brave and foolish," Spike asserted dourly. "If it works, it was brave; if it doesn't, it was foolish."

"Maybe that's true with some things, Spike. Like… storming a castle or eating the hottest wing sauce, but you're talking about taking a chance on love. If it works, it was brave; if it doesn't, it was still brave. Putting your heart on the line and offering it to someone is brave, no matter the outcome."

"That's what I'm trying to do here," Spike insisted, flinging his arms out again. "Be brave. Take the chance. Just... slow-like. Trying not to be sodding reckless for once in my life. Don't want anyone crashing. Not me, not Buffy."

Joyce nodded thoughtfully, realizing she'd dropped as many hints as she could without betraying her daughter's confidence. "Okay, but you don't need my blessing to, um, court my daughter. She's an adult now. She can court..." Joyce made a face and shook her head. "You do know that no one says 'court' anymore, don't you?"

Spike rolled his eyes and planted his hands on his hips. 'Court' sounded a helluva lot better than 'declare his undying love and shag her into next year'. "Date then..." he amended. "And I know she's all emancipated now, just thought it was polite to ask. Didn't want to disrespect you or Buffy."

Joyce nodded. "Okay, you have my blessing, but if you intentionally hurt her—"

"You'll hunt me down and chop off my balls?" Spike suggested with an arched brow.

Joyce shook her head. "No, I'm sure Buffy is perfectly capable of doing that all on her own. I'll be disappointed in you, William."

Spike winced inwardly as he clamped his lips into a hard line and nodded solemnly. "Do everything in my power to not disappoint," he promised.

Joyce gave him another nod, her expression softening. "One other thing—I know you're both consenting adults, but I'd really rather not have a front row seat to any... R-rated courting rituals, if you get my meaning. In fact, at the risk of sounding like a prude, let's keep things respectable in my house, even if I'm not here."

Spike pursed his lips and nodded again. "PG-13 or G?" he asked, to clarify.

Joyce's mouth drew into a thin line as she considered, finally agreeing to, "PG-13 should be tolerable."

"No worries, can do that."

"I'd take it as a personal favor," Joyce acknowledged, picking up her mug again. "Now, drink your hot chocolate before it's cold chocolate."

Spike nodded, smiling, and did as he was told. He'd survived the mama bear and received her blessing! Maybe he could brave the foolishness of confessing his feelings to Buffy... someday. He didn't want to push his luck right away and risk running out just when he needed it most.

-X-

By the time Spike finished his cocoa and got upstairs, the bathroom door was open, the heady perfume of Buffy's frilly bath products wafting on the steamy air. Spike grinned as he recognized another delicious scent mingled in with the humid warmth filtering from the bath—arousal. Seems he wasn't the only one getting himself off in the bath.

Buffy's door was cracked. He started to push it open, but stopped and instead knocked on the doorframe. Buffy was standing in front of him in a moment, the door swung open wide, her hair tousled and damp, her face seeming to glow, her eyes glittering. Her body was covered in a blue sky dotted with white clouds that adorned the soft fabric of her pajamas. The long PJs weren't meant to be sexy, but no one had informed Spike's libido of that fact. "You look fetching this evening," he purred, stepping into her personal space.

Buffy's heart gave one of it's too-familiar little skips as he came close enough to touch, a grin splitting her lips. "Are you going to say that about everything I wear?" she asked coyly.

"Likely," Spike acknowledged, his eyes drifting over her face like a physical caress, pausing deliberately on her lips before moving on and settling on her eyes. "Would say that and lots more besides if you were starkers."

"Keep dreaming," she chided with a nervous laugh.

"Oh, pet, I will, believe me," he assured her huskily.

Buffy blushed and dropped her gaze. "What took you so long? Did Mom make with the third degree again?"

Spike shrugged one shoulder. "A bit... 'specially when I asked for her permission to cou—err... date her daughter."

Buffy's gaze snapped back up to his, her eyes wide. "You did what?" she squeaked, taking a step back from him in shock.

Spike smiled. "Wanted t' make sure she was okay with it."

"Oh, my God. No one does that anymore! This isn't David Copperfield. It's 1999!"

"I know it's not David sodding Copperfield," Spike retorted. "But it begs the question how you know that."

Buffy's bottom lip stuck out in a pout, and she crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "I read."

Spike arched a brow. "You read 'David Copperfield'?" he asked incredulously.

Buffy scowled. "Well, not exactly. Willow read it, but I had to listen to her practice her book report on it like a hundred times, so it was like reading by osmosis."

Spike barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

"It's not funny. It was traumatic," Buffy defended. "And so not the point. This isn't a Dickens tale. And, anyway, I am eighteen now."

"Well aware of that, Slayer. But she's your mum. It's important."

Buffy sighed, rolling her eyes. "And? What was the verdict, Mr. Copperfield?"

"She's given her blessing."

Buffy wasn't really too surprised, given the conversation with her mom the other night about Spike and Dru breaking up. "Well, that just leaves telling Xander and Giles, I guess."

"Don't need their blessing," he asserted, arching a brow at her.

"No... I know, but the keeping of secrets never goes well for Buffy. It'll be better to just let everyone know that we're..." Her voice trailed off, as she looked up at him again questioningly.

"Dating?" Spike offered.

Buffy shrugged. "With exclusivity?" she questioned shyly.

Spike grinned. "Wouldn't have it any other way, pet," he agreed, taking a step to narrow the distance between them again.

Buffy's smile returned. "Me neither."

"Well, that works out nicely, then," Spike rumbled, leaning in closer, his eyes focusing on her pink lips. "Rule number four," he continued, his mouth hovering just above hers. "Wet dream inducing goodnights."

"Mmm," Buffy hummed in agreement as she closed the space between them and captured his lips with hers.

Spike wrapped his arms around her and pulled her body against his, unable to stop his hips from shifting against her, pressing his growing hardness against her soft, warm body. He could feel the hard buds of her nipples through the thin layers of fabric between them and he longed to feel them pebble beneath his fingers and tongue, see her arch in desire beneath his touch, hear her moan in pleasure, which only made him harder. His tongue swept between her welcoming lips, dipping into the heat of her. Her tongue met his and they twirled and twined together in the wet darkness.

She was minty fresh and smelled of lavender and vanilla, but none of it could mask the taste that was his Slayer—the power and the passion and the sharp tang of woman beneath it all. The proof of her arousal was a sweet melody filling the air, surrounding him, leaving him wondering how in hell he was going to take this slow when he could tell she wanted it as much as he did.

Even with the chocolate flavoring Spike's soft lips, the only word that came to Buffy that described the taste of him was 'man'. There was a hint of tobacco, though he hadn't smoked the whole time they'd been gone, along with the sharp tang of some kind of liquor—whiskey, she guessed. A lingering trace of the onion rings and hamburger he'd eaten earlier were still there, too. And beneath it all was the salty, coppery flavor of blood with a bite of hot pepper. The blood might've been a turn-off, but it meant life to a vampire, and she couldn't be anything but grateful for it, for his life... or unlife. It made him strong and vital. It made him her least-breakable friend. It made him stubborn and shirty. It made him funny and kind. It made him smug. It made him infuriating. It made him tender. It made him dangerous. It made him a hard-rocking punk with a David Copperfield heart. It made him who he was, and who he was was someone who she might just be in love with. And Buffy wouldn't change that, wouldn't trade it for anything different.

Spike broke the kiss with a gasp that matched Buffy's, their ragged exhalations matching perfectly, as if their hearts both beat as one. Spike leaned his forehead against hers in what was becoming a familiar pose as he shrugged the duster off his shoulders. He caught it with one hand and pulled back from her with a force of will he hadn't been sure he possessed. The next moment he furled the leather around her and settled it on her shoulders.

"What's this—?" she began, automatically pulling the duster around her tighter.

Spike smirked. "Something t' remember me by in the night," he said before touching a soft kiss on her swollen lips. "Sweet dreams, pet," he whispered before turning and heading for the bathroom and whatever relief he could find in the shower.

"You too," Buffy replied before her teeth bit down on the giddy grin curving her lips.

Spike looked back over his shoulder, those blue eyes smoldering with heat, and wagged his brows at her. "They'll be featuring you. I've no doubt they'll be delicious," he purred before disappearing into the bathroom.

Buffy giggled like a schoolgirl, hugging the duster to her body, then backed up and closed her bedroom door. She flopped down on her bed, still in the duster, her mind whirling, her body just as hyped up as it had been before her shower. She looked over at her dresser as if she could see the books she'd stashed in there. She should get to the studying. The sooner she boned up (pun intended) on all the ins and outs of sex (more punning!), the sooner she could act on the impulses racing through her without fear of driving Spike away with her ineptitude.

She jumped up and grabbed the Kama Sutra for Beginners from the drawer, plopping back onto the bed with it, still in Spike's duster. She flipped it open to a random page and her brows furrowed. She turned the book one way, then the other, then completely upside down, studying the line drawing of two people doing... something unlikely and possibly painful.

"Who came up with this, the Cirque du Soleil?" she muttered, righting the book as she bit down on her lip worriedly.

Buffy snapped the book shut and shoved it into the drawer of her nightstand with a dejected sigh, then flopped onto her side on the bed. She pulled the duster around her tightly, burying her face in the soft leather which, once again, and to her utter disappointment, didn't smell like Spike.

"How am I ever gonna be able to do any of that stuff?" she whispered to the coat, all the fluttering butterflies dying and falling like lead weights in her stomach. The only person she knew who had any extensive experience with sexy-times was Faith, and she was so not gonna ask her! Faith would just laugh and call her a prude again. She wasn't a prude! She just wasn't good at... stuff. Maybe she could talk to Willow about it some more, but how embarrassing would that be? And talking to her mom was completely out of the question; she could still remember their stilted, tense talk after she'd slept with Angel.

Buffy sighed. She'd just have to figure it out on her own. Maybe the other book would be more help. Until then... Her hand slid under the elastic of her PJ bottoms and between her thighs. Her soft moan of pleasure was swallowed by the leather as her fingers slipped between her wet folds.

Until then, she'd just have to settle for Spike-shaped wet dreams and sticky fingers.


Chapter End Notes:

Spike being able to do the Vulcan Salute with both hands is based on James Marsters' ability to do so. You can see it on this (sadly poor quality) video:

James Marsters doing the Vulcan Salute with both hands can be found on YouTube by searching for: "James Marsters and the Marriage Proposal" . The Vulcan thing starts at about minute 2:50

I know I've seen him do this on other videos, but this is the only one I could find at the moment. (this is really a cute video of a marriage proposal, if you want to watch it all the way through). If you know of another one of him geeking out with the Vulcan thing, PM me!

If you're wondering where Faith and Angel are, they will be back soonish.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you're enjoying the story!