Mortal Allies Series
Episode 5
War and Roses
By: Passion4Spike
Chapter 9: Your Hulk is Showing
Chapter Notes:
Sorry I'm running a bit late with this, but it's still Thursday where I am, so still technically on time.
I want you guys to all remember how, in the last story, you wanted these two to TALK MORE. Be careful what you wish for!
As always, doggie kisses to MissLuci and All4Spike for their beta magic! All mistakes are mine. Thanks also to Holi117, who brainstormed a lot of this with me early on.
Thanks also to all of you! Your 'likes', 'Kudos' and comments are Chocolate Lava Cake for my soul.
-X-
A knock on the Summers' door interrupted the Star Trek marathon Spike was watching on the telly late the next afternoon. Buffy hadn't gotten home from school yet—something about needing to make up some tests or whatnot that she'd missed. The taste of their morning goodbye snog was fading from his lips. Maybe they needed a new rule that they couldn't be apart so bleedin' long. He'd been tempted to brave the sun and travel the sewers to find her at school after last bell. Pull her into an empty classroom or a sodding broom closet, anywhere would do. Then he would cover her face with kisses to refresh the sweet tang of her flavor on his lips before she headed off to her after school activities. Somehow, he'd restrained himself, using the distraction of imaginary aliens and Starfleet officers in form-fitting uniforms.
It was a toss up to say who wore it best. On the one hand, Uhura was a knockout. He'd often fantasized about bending her over that communications board and finding out just what she was wearing under that miniskirt. On the other hand, Kirk had that confident, sexy swagger, and his trousers bulged out in a way that spoke promises of fulfillment. Since the captain fucked beautiful aliens all over the galaxy and left them all satisfied, Spike was pretty sure the confidence was well earned.
Problem watching this time was that he was distracted by visions of bouncy blonde hair and flashing green eyes, and god he missed his girl. Spike wondered if he could get her to wear one of those Starfleet dresses. He was sure they sold them year-round for Trekkies. Maybe there was a costume shop in town...
He rolled his eyes as the irritating knock came again despite his best attempt to ignore it away. He knew he was acting like a wet-behind-the-ears milksop who'd never been kissed before, but, in some ways, it was true. Oh, not literally 'never been kissed', but he'd certainly never been kissed by anyone like Buffy. Not by someone who truly cared for him—which he was still wrapping his head around. Spike had never been in love with someone like her either, though that bit of information remained firmly hidden within his undead heart.
Spike muttered darkly as the knocking started again, this time loud enough to wake the dead, or get the dead off the sodding couch anyway. He muted the TV and pushed up from the sofa to answer the incessant knocking.
"I got it!" Willow announced as soon as the door opened, waving some papers in his face as she rushed inside.
The grumpy vampire arched a brow at her. "Hope it's not catchin'," he grumbled.
"Huh?" she asked, turning to face him, her big eyes bright, her face a mask of confusion.
Spike rolled his eyes and waved it off. "What've you got, then?"
"The whole deal on the haunted house!" Willow enthused, shaking the papers again. When he looked a bit blank, she deflated a bit. "You really did want to buy it, right? You weren't just making with the unfunny jokes?"
His brows went up, realization dawning. "Yeah, was serious."
"Oh, good! I didn't figure you could go down to City Hall yourself—you know, 'cos of the sun allergy—so, ta-da! I printed everything out from the computer at school, see?" she continued, flapping the papers again, making it impossible for Spike to see anything.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled the printout from her hand. "And?" he asked as he started scanning them.
"And, they've tried to auction it off three times but never got any bidders. By law, they can't actually sell it for less than the taxes that are due on it, but I don't know if that's like a super-strict-law or just one of those we-follow-it-when-we-want laws."
"And how much are they wanting for it?" Spike asked, unable to find an actual bottom-line amount in the government gibberish.
She came up beside him, taking the printouts back and shuffling through them to the right page. "Here—see? More than pizza, but less than a hilltop burial plot at Lakeview Cemetery."
Spike's eyes widened. "For the whole place? The house, the lot it's on..."
"The whole kit and kaboodle," Willow confirmed eagerly. Then her enthusiasm waned, suddenly unsure. "Um, do you have that much?"
He looked back up at her, a smile curling his lips. "Matter o' fact, I do."
Willow's glee returned and she lifted her fists like pom-poms in victory. "This will be so cool! We'll help you clean it up, slay all the giant dust-bunnies, de-blood the floors, and get rid of all that horrible wallpaper. Then we can have a paint party and a furniture picking out party, not that I think you would have bad taste in the picking out of furniture or anything, but shopping is more fun with friends and… uh…" Willow paused for a split second as if shocked at her own words or one word in particular, but she didn't correct herself. "So, anyway, all the parties of the cleaning, painting, and picking will be had and then, when everything is perfect, you and Buffy can be like hosts and have a housewarming party and we can all bring gifts like toasters and waffle irons. It will be so cool! Don't you think it's cool? I think it's cool!"
"Practically arctic," he agreed, grinning at her little slip of the tongue. She probably didn't mean to include him as a friend, it was probably more of a collective word for all the sodding Scoobies.
"Oh! So, you'll need to go down there with your ID and the money and, I think you have to pay the closing costs too, but that shouldn't be too much, and then you'll be the proud owner of the House on Haunted Hill!"
Her enthusiasm was infectious. He'd never imagined Buffy's mates were actually going to help him muddle through this quagmire of modern bureaucracy, or guide him over the hurdles that legal home ownership would throw at him. But here was her best mate, most definitely helping.
"You do have ID right...? Um, something that doesn't say you're, like, a gazillion years old?" the witch wondered then.
"How bloody old d' ya think I am?" he demanded, scowling.
Willow took a step back. "Um... older than sliced bread?" she guessed, wincing. "B-but you don't look it... I mean, you're, um, very... uh... with the abs and the cheekbones and... uh..."
Spike arched a brow at the stuttering girl, his tongue poking out from the smile that was spreading over his lips.
She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "I mean, you're youthful for... however old you are. A-And your paperwork should match your lack of... oldness."
Spike snorted and shook his head, looking back down at the papers. She had a point. His brows knitted. He'd never needed ID before. No driver's licenses, no passports, no credit cards. "Think I know where t' get some," he assured her. He looked at the clock—going on five. "I'll check on it tomorrow," he promised.
-X-
Spike had just sat down with a mug of blood when another knock came on the door. "For fuck's sake..." he griped, putting the blood down and stomping over to fling the door open.
"Hey, blood-breath," Xander greeted him, brushing past him and into the house.
"Slayer's not here," Spike informed him, still holding the door open, expecting the whelp to do an about-face and shove off.
"I know. I'm here to see you. The morgue guys got the dead bodies out early this morning, so I went by the house today and looked around," he said, dropping a stack of polaroid pictures onto the coffee table. "Uncle Rory told me what to look for."
Spike arched a brow and pushed the door closed before joining Xander on the sofa. "Didn't know you were so keen on it."
The boy shrugged, looking up at the vampire. "I'm keen," he admitted. "I'm all with the keenness as long as that room is mine when I need it. I was thinking I could put an exterior staircase up to the second-floor veranda and I wouldn't even have to go through the house to get to it."
Spike nodded. Must be a laugh-riot at the Harris household for the git to be this eager for a place to escape... particularly given the hidey-hole would be in the house of Buffy's undead boyfriend, and hopefully, sooner rather than later, she'd be shagging said undead boyfriend loudly and repeatedly in said house. Spike certainly wasn't going to curtail those activities when his on again off again houseguest arrived.
Xander started showing him the photos he'd taken. "The roof is holding, but it's really gonna need to be replaced," he explained, showing Spike photos of something the vampire reckoned was supposed to prove that to him. Spike nodded as if he understood what Xander was showing him. "That's probably going to be the biggest expense, but the most important."
"'Cos of the wet bulldozer effect," Spike interjected, remembering what the boy had told him the previous night as they'd searched the second floor.
"Right," Xander continued. "The basement looks good, and the attic—no termites, no dry rot—it's solid. The basement has an entrance to the sewer system—it wasn't part of the original house, looks like some vamps dug it by hand. It's not very stable, and it definitely needs an actual door to keep the smell, riffraff, and rats out, and it should probably be shored up."
"Didn't see it when I was down there," Spike commented, taking the photo and scrutinizing it.
"It was hidden behind that old mattress that was leaning up against the wall."
Spike nodded thoughtfully. That was bloody perfect! He'd be able to get in and out and around town during the day with no worries of self-immolation.
"The only thing I can tell about the electrical is that the box needs to be upgraded. It's old-timey fuses and not carrying much of a current—looks like thirty amps. You should really consider upgrading it to a breaker box and at least two-hundred amps."
The blond nodded again as if he knew what the loving fuck Xander was talking about.
"I can tell more about it when the power gets turned on, same for the water. There could be leaks or shorts that need to be fixed."
"Right... so how much are we talking?" Spike wondered, looking up from the pictures to meet the brunette's eyes.
"I can't do some of this stuff, we'll have to get real contractors for the electrical and the roof," he explained.
'We?' Spike thought. It was a strange sensation. Had Spike's project really become a 'we' activity? A 'we' that included not only him and Buffy, but all her mates? It made him think Red's friend slip earlier might include him after all. "Right... so how much?" he repeated.
"And that means pulling permits with the city, which you have to pay for..."
"Got it... how much?" Spike pressed.
The handyman-wanna-be shrugged, looking dismayed. "Probably more than you made servicing lonely widows in Mexico," he reported glumly.
Spike rolled his eyes. "How bloody much, Harris?"
Xander sighed. "You're probably looking at twelve to fifteen grand... maybe more if you have to replace the appliances. And that's just for the basics—not counting painting, replacing the wallpaper and carpet, or refinishing the floors, getting new furniture..."
"That's alright, can cover that—assuming Red's right about how much the wankers at the city want for the place," Spike cut in.
Xander's brows shot up, his face lighting up with hope. "Really? I didn't know being a gigolo paid so well."
Spike smirked at him. "Does if you're bloody good at it."
-X-
Later that evening...
"I'll have the Trifecta Cheeseburger, a Bacon and Cheddar Burger... no, make that two Bacon and Cheddar Burgers, an order of cheese fries..." Buffy began as she stood at the bar, studying the 'To Go' menu at Glory Days Grill.
"Full or half order?" the waitress interrupted from behind the bar.
Buffy looked up at her, barely able to keep the incredulity from her voice. "Full," she clarified, looking back down at the menu. "An order of onion rings... no, wait." She looked at Spike who was standing next to her, looking over his own menu. "Are you getting onion rings?"
Spike glanced at her. "Had given it a thought, yeah."
"Okay, I'll just have some of yours," she decided, apparently missing Spike's own look of incredulity as she looked back at the menu. "Give me an order of Mozzarella Sticks, instead. And a Chocolate Lava Cake." Buffy smiled and looked back up at the woman taking their order, closing the menu.
"How do you want those burger's done?"
"Medium," Buffy replied, handing the menu back to her.
The waitress turned her attention to Spike. "Gimme two orders of onion rings," he began, making Buffy giggle. "Coupla' Spicy Jalapeño burgers, extra-rare, and an order of twelve boneless Buffalo Wings with Thai Chili sauce."
"Do you want to make that a basket with waffle fries?" the waitress asked.
He grinned. "Na, I'll just have some o' my girl's fries."
Buffy snorted, rolling her eyes. "You're either very brave or very stupid."
Spike laughed, handing the menu back to the woman behind the bar. "Likely both," he agreed.
"Any drinks with that?"
"Diet Coke," Buffy responded, making Spike laugh harder.
"Diet Coke?" he repeated. "You're eatin' enough to feed two dozen starving Ethiopians for a bloody year, and you're getting a Diet Coke?"
"Shut up," she muttered, her face flushing with embarrassment. "I'm not eating all that; some of it's for Spike. Plus, you just said you were stealing some of my fries."
"Trading," he corrected. "For onion rings."
"Whatever. It's my drink, I can get Diet Coke if I want," she grumbled.
Spike was still laughing as he ordered himself a bottle of Heineken.
The waitress had just headed off to put the order in when someone right behind them asked, "Amelia Earhart?"
The two blondes turned around, their eyes drifting up, and up, and up a bit more before reaching a strong jaw, a hesitant smile, and a pair of questioning green eyes.
"Iowa," Buffy said, recognizing him from the one and only other time she'd been in this restaurant.
The man's smile widened. "You remember."
"Sure," she agreed. "You were gonna do a PowerPoint presentation for my mom about all the perks of campus life at UC Sunnydale. Looks like I'll be attending after all, even without the Crayola masterpieces."
"That's excellent! I guess I will be seeing you around next fall, then."
Spike cleared his throat. "Don't believe we've met," he said flatly, taking a step forward. "Name's Spike. And you would be?"
The big man looked a little taken aback by the name, not to mention the peroxide, leather, and steely eyes that were boring into his, but extended his hand out of habit. "Finn. Riley Finn."
Spike gripped his hand, not too hard at first, but as their gazes locked and held, Riley squeezed harder, asserting dominance, or so he thought. Spike smirked and returned the gesture, tightening his grip until the big man's bones began grinding together.
Buffy laughed nervously and tugged Spike's arm back, pulling Riley's hand with it for a moment, before the vampire released him.
Finn curled his crushed digits into a fist, clearly trying to not show that he'd been out matched.
"Spike's my boyfriend," the Slayer interjected, holding onto Spike's arm, and smiling a bit too widely.
Finn hadn't taken his eyes off the other man. "Known each other long?" he asked neither one in particular.
"We actually met when I was a junior, but we just started dating," Buffy replied.
"You must've been held back a few years if you go to Sunnydale High, too," Finn said sarcastically, still looking at Spike.
Spike snorted. "Buffy doesn't much go in for lads in short pants, which is why you should run along, smells like your nappy needs a change."
"Spike," Buffy warned under her breath, shooting him a reproachful look before turning back to Finn. "No, he's, um, out of school. We met... um, on the job. You know, my after-school job, which I do after school."
Finn's gaze finally shifted back to Buffy, his eyes roving over her neck as if searching for something. It stopped on the old scar from the Master. "What happened there?" he asked indicating it with a tilt of his chin.
Buffy's hand went up to cover it. "Angry puppy... just got a bit rambunctious."
"Big puppy," Riley remarked dryly, looking back at Spike suspiciously.
She laughed again, this time a little more naturally. "You have no idea! He's actually out in the car. Do you want to meet him?"
Finn's brows went up as he shifted his eyes back to her. "I'd love to."
The Slayer gave Spike one of her wide, fake smiles. "Can you get the food? I'll just introduce him to Sp—" She stopped, realizing how that would sound—her boyfriend and her dog with the same name. "Uh, Cujo," she stammered.
Spike's eyes were like chips of ice, arctic blue, glacially cold, a freeze-ray trying to burn a hole in someone—Buffy or Riley. It looked like either of them would do. Angry vampires and fragile humans were unmixy, and Spike's icy glare was decidedly furious.
Buffy didn't give Spike time to reply. She quickly disconnected herself from his arm, and was leading Finn out the door just as the waitress was coming out from the kitchen with their food and the bill.
Spike pursed his lips angrily, watching them through the window, his eyes boring into the cornfed Iowan's back. There was something off about that one. His smell, his look, his comments—it was all just off. Spike's attention was drawn away by the arrival of their order, but he tried to commit everything about the git to memory as he turned away from the window.
"Amelia," Finn began as soon as they were outside.
"Actually, it's Buffy," she corrected.
"Oh. Right. Sorry. Look, I know we don't know each other, but if there's anything you need help with, if that guy's hurting you or..."
"Spike isn't hurting me. What... why would you even think that?" she interrupted, stopping in her tracks to turn back to face the big man.
"You haven't noticed anything... odd about him? He's kind of... cold."
"Spike? Spike's the hottest—"
"I don't mean that bad boy hair and the cheekbone thing he's got going on," he interrupted, glancing back over his shoulder to see if Spike was following them. "I mean physically cold."
Buffy sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not sure how that's any of your business."
"It's not... but with that scar on your neck paired with the cold and the strength... I just—" Riley faltered, apparently not sure how to continue. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."
She rolled her eyes, dropped her arms, and started walking again. "I told you: angry puppy," she insisted, reaching the DeSoto. Buffy pulled the back door open, and Spike bounded out, nose in the air sniffing all the yummy scents coming from the restaurant.
"Holy shit!" Riley exclaimed, taking a step back.
"C'mere, boy," Buffy called, snapping her fingers, carefully not using his name. "Riley Finn, meet angry puppy, Cujo."
Fluffy Spike pressed his shoulder against Buffy's hip and looked up at the man, his tongue lolling out, drool dripping.
"That's... what is that?" Finn squeaked, keeping his distance.
"My dog. Actually, he's still a puppy, still growing. Spike got him for me."
Finn blinked, taking his eyes off the dog, and looking up at her.
"So, thanks for the concern, but trust me, no one's hurting me. It was just an accident."
The big man opened his mouth, then closed it. He shook his head a bit, his brows furrowed.
By then, Spike was approaching with the food. Buffy motioned for Cujo to get back into the car, closed the door on him, then helped Spike with a couple of the bags and the tray of drinks. "Thanks, baby," she said in greeting, making Spike's brows pop up almost comically. "Ready to go?"
"Ready, pet," Spike replied, shooting Finn a disdainful look. "Introduce Cujo to Jolly Green here?"
"Totally introduced," Buffy agreed as Spike opened the door for her. She gave Riley a stiff smile in farewell. "Maybe I'll see you around next year, you know, during the matriculating."
He nodded, his eyes darting between Buffy and Spike. "Sure."
Spike inhaled deeply as he turned and extended his hand toward Finn again. "Might see me hanging about with Amelia. Never can have too much... matriculating."
"Guessing you'll be attending night school," Finn suggested quietly, not looking away from Spike's eyes as he shook his hand.
Neither squeezed too hard, but Spike held on a moment when Finn started to pull away. "Best be careful whose eyes ya meet in this town, Iowa," Spike warned, finally releasing the other man's hand. "Could find yourself in evening classes, as well."
-X-
Spike got in the DeSoto, started the engine, and pulled away from the gawping man. "Something wrong with that bloke," he said quietly, watching Finn in the rearview mirror. "You get his scent, Cujo?"
The dog sneezed explosively, rattling tags, and sending his big ears flopping.
"Is that a yes or a no?" Spike wondered, glancing at Buffy, who was looking pensive.
Buffy shook her head, peering over the seat at the dog. "He might've been distracted by cheezeburgers." She looked back at Spike. "He, Finn, I mean, knows about vampires... he knows you're a vampire."
Spike snorted as he turned the car onto the road and headed for their dining spot above the city. "Figured that out, did you?"
"That's kind of wiggsome," she continued, pursing her lips in thought. "Most people in Sunnydale are of the ostrich persuasion, as in, head in the sand."
"Where d' ya know that wanker from, anyway?"
"There—that bar. I met him when I was on a date with another guy, and just kind of ran into him—literally. We just talked a little about UC Sunnydale and..."
"Talked enough t' ask him about Amelia Earhart," Spike spat bitterly. "Snog him too?"
"What? No!" Buffy shot back, her expression morphing into annoyance. "What are you, jealous?"
"Pffft! Jealous? Are you daft? 'Course I'm not—"
"You so are! Geez! I can't talk to a guy without you going all caveman?"
"Me? What about you?" Spike retorted hotly.
"I'm not jealous—"
"Oh, please! Remember you accusing me o' sniffing up the Council bird's skirt and doing god knows what with the little custard tart. Could see the green bubbling in your eyes."
"My eyes are green!" Buffy huffed.
Spike rolled his eyes as he turned onto the road that wound up the hills at the edge of town. "Metaphorical green—completely different shade."
Buffy snorted. "Now you're some kind of an expert on all the shades of green?"
"Bloody right, I am!" he snapped as he turned onto the dirt path, guiding the big car up the final incline and out onto the overlook.
"And just what shade is this metaphorical green?"
"Char-fucking-treuse!"
"Chartreuse? That's... that's pink!" Buffy argued.
"It sodding well is not! Puce is pink; fuchsia is pink. Chartreuse is bloody green—a bit of a yellow-green, all radioactive-like."
"Radioactive, huh? Well, you better look in the mirror, cos you got nuked! Went from Banner to Hulk in .08 seconds!"
Spike slammed on the brakes, making Buffy put an arm out to keep all the food from sliding into the floorboard, and put the car in park. "Don't need a sodding mirror, all I gotta do is look at you!" he declared, turning and doing just that.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"Means, you're right, you daft bint. I'm bloody jealous, but you are too."
Buffy opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again. They sat glaring at each other in the dim light from the dash and the lights filtering up from the city below for several long moments.
Finally, Buffy sighed, her tense shoulders slumping. "There's nothing for you to be jealous of," she told him reassuringly.
"Nothing for you to be jealous of either," he replied, just as calmly.
"So, why are we jealous?"
He shrugged and looked out at the twinkling lights of Sunnydale. "Reckon it has t' do with how our hearts are held together with spit an' bailing wire."
Buffy nodded, and turned to look out at the view, as well. "We should probably try to not be so jealous. It's..."
"Exhausting," Spike suggested.
"And destructive," Buffy added.
"Rule number six, keep the green-eyed monster leashed an' muzzled?" Spike asked, looking back at her.
Buffy bit down on her lip, meeting his eyes as she nodded. "And if it gets out, be able to call each other on it without getting into a big fight?"
He bobbed his head in agreement. "Just say, 'Hulk's out buggering Cap' and..."
"What? I'm not saying that!"
Spike chuckled at her indignation. "Don't think there was a bit of buggery going on between those two, pet?"
The Slayer shook her head in disbelief, covering her eyes with one hand. "How about we just say, 'Your Hulk is showing', instead?" she suggested after a moment, looking back up at him.
Spike looked at his crotch, his hands moving down, checking his zipper, before looking back at her. "Might take that wrong... think something else was on display."
She rolled her eyes. "Please don't tell me you've named your dick 'Hulk'.
"I'll leave the naming of my dick to you, pet. Once you two are better acquainted. As I recall, you've already ruled out 'Little Spike'."
Buffy flushed, but her eyes couldn't help landing on Spike's zipper, which seemed to be under constant strain lately. Thank goodness for the rigorous 'two horse test' Levi Strauss employed on their jeans. A one horse test might not have been enough. She cleared her throat. "How about 'You don't look good in green', then?" she suggested, looking back up at his eyes.
He shrugged a shoulder. "Not as fun as mine, but I reckon it'll work."
By the time they'd gotten that settled, a huge fluffy head was hanging over the seat, sniffing madly at the bags of deliciousness he'd been promised.
"Okay, okay," Buffy sighed as she and Spike began doling out the feast.
"Reckon ya got enough cheese with yer chocolate tonight, pet?" Spike wondered as he handed her cheeseburgers, cheese fries, cheese sticks... "Anything cheesy ya didn't get?"
"Macaroni and cheese remained un-ordered," she informed him haughtily as she started feeding the dog his bacon-cheezeburgers, bite by bite. "Why, do you have some objection to the way I eat?"
If tones of voice could stake, Spike reckoned he'd be dusty just about then. He held his hands up in surrender. "Not a one, just wondered what brought on the hankerin'."
Buffy frowned, pulling off another piece of sandwich for the dog. "I told you I met that guy while I was on a date with someone else," she explained.
"Yeah," agreed as he popped an onion ring into his mouth.
"Well, he—the date guy—decided my food choices were less than stellar."
"Did he, now?" Spike stole a few of Buffy's cheese fries while she was occupied with the dog.
"He started spouting off about clogging arteries and... and gluten and GMOs or some shit, I don't know..."
"And you let him bully you into eating rabbit food?" Spike guessed, grabbing one of his hot wings next.
Buffy sighed and looked up at him. "It didn't even have any cheese on it," she admitted, still frowning.
Spike snorted. "Sounds like a right prince of a bloke."
"You have no idea," she muttered dourly. "Thus, the talking to tall, not-so-dark, and mysterious. I ran into him as I was walking out of the place, finally deciding that I needed to save a little of my dignity and go get a freaking pizza."
"Sounds like a solid plan, if ya ask me."
Buffy nodded, opening the second of Spike's burgers as he slobbered and drooled and panted enough for ten dogs. "The funny thing is, I knew if you'd been there, you wouldn't lecture me or judge me about my food. You'd... you'd buy me all the cheese and ask for extra if I wanted it."
"Too right." Spike gave her a cheeky smile. "Were thinking about me on your date?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, kinda like you were thinking about me when you ordered cheesy Mexican goodness for Dru."
"Touché." Spike shrugged.
"The point is... he didn't get it... didn't get me. He didn't get that I don't have to worry about clogging arteries or whatever gluten is supposed to do you, or any of that. He could never get it... never get that I'm the Slayer and my expiration date is shorter than most of that cheese." She stopped and looked back up at Spike as the dog wolfed down the last bite of bacon. "You do. You get it."
Spike's expression turned serious, his smirky smile gone. "You're right, pet, I do get that. I get you and everything that comes with your bloody, beautiful Slayer form, but I'd like to test that theory... 'bout the clogging arteries and what all," he told her. "See just how long a Slayer can live if no nasty thing comes along and takes a bite out of her. Think that expiration date could be a right long time off… think Twinkie instead'a chicken mince."
She scoffed. "Maybe you don't get it after all."
"Oh, I get it, Slayer. I get it perfectly. I wrote the sodding book on it... or a few chapters at any rate. Just think together—you and me and the mutt—could even the odds, throw that sodding theory under a rock and crush it. I'd like t' see just what a Slayer's lifespan is without the untimely, critical blood loss."
Buffy pursed her lips, looking into his eyes in the low light coming from the dash and the blanket of streetlights below. "I'm not immortal, Spike."
"Don't know that, do we?"
She rolled her eyes. "I think we kinda do. Human here..."
"More than human."
"Maybe, but..."
"Want to find out, pet. If you'll let me help."
"Spike, we've been dating, like, three days..."
"Four, counting today."
"You could get tired of me next week!"
"Are we gonna do this again? Telling you, I'm not gonna get tired of you, Buffy. Not next week, next year, next century."
"And when I'm old and wrinkly and all my teeth have fallen out and my bladder is all leaky and I smell like 'old lady' and..."
"Not even then."
Buffy blew out a breath, shaking her head. He had no idea what he was saying—but he just kept on saying it. He'd said it that night... that horrible, wonderful, amazing night. The night everything changed. And he just kept on talking like... like he'd never leave. And they all leave. Eventually, they all leave. "You don't know that."
"It's you who doesn't know, luv."
They sat in silence for a few moments as the dog turned around three times in the back seat, slapping them both with his tail with each rotation, then finally flopped down, his tummy full of bacon and burger and cheeze.
Finally, Spike spoke. "Wanting you t' be in this world long enough for all that to happen doesn't mean I don't know you, Slayer. Just want to... test a theory."
"You're doing this for science?"
Spike shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, yeah. For science."
She pursed her lips to keep from smiling. They were both doing their own sciencing, apparently. "Okay, fine," Buffy agreed. "But if you stick around and I turn into Grandma Moses, don't say I didn't warn you."
"Be the sexiest grandma in the world," he declared, bobbing his brows at her.
"You're demented." Buffy laughed, rolling her eyes as she retrieved the wet wipes from the glove box to clean up the slobber from the seat and her hands.
"Guilty," Spike agreed, his eyes glittering with hope. Hope that between himself, the mutt, and her faithful, if hapless, friends, they could find out just how long a Slayer could live.
Spike stole a few more of her fries while she was distracted before asking in as nonchalant way as he could muster, "So, noticed the use of an endearment earlier. That for the benefit of the corn-fed mountain or...?"
Drat! He caught that. Buffy reached over and took two of his onion rings. Apparently, she hadn't been so distracted that she didn't notice the reduction in her cheese fries ration. "Do you want it to be? I probably shouldn't have. I mean... is it too soon? We've only been dating for three—"
"Four," Spike corrected.
"How exactly are you getting four? I count three." She held up a finger as for each day she counted them off. "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday—three."
"Forgot Sunday."
"Sunday? We tried to kill each other on Sunday!"
"Yeah, was brilliant... especially the snogging at the end. Definitely counts."
Buffy huffed out a breath. "Fine, four days. Mucho soon-ness," she agreed, looking down as she opened the Styrofoam container that had her burger in it, very pointedly not looking at him.
"No," he said in a soft voice.
"No, not four days? You just said..."
"No," Spike repeated gently.
Buffy looked up at him, that same hope that had been in Spike's eyes earlier sparkling in hers now. "No, you don't want it to be? Or no, I shouldn't do that again, or..."
"No, I don't want it to be for the wanker's benefit."
"Yeah? No?"
"Yeah. No."
"Not too soon?"
He gave her one of his butterfly-inducing, boyish smiles. "You've had my prick in your hot little hands, darlin'. I don't reckon it's too soon for endearments."
Buffy puffed out a little laugh even as her skin prickled with heat and those butterflies fluttered wildly in her tummy. "I suppose that's true... baby."
Spike's smile turned into a wolfish grin as his heart flip-flopped beneath his breast. The spit and bailing wire that held it together became that much less necessary as her words filled his chest, wrapping around his heart and holding it in a tender embrace. He leaned over, closing the distance between them. Even though she was leaning in too, it seemed like it took an hour to cover the mile of take-out-container-laden-leather-seat before their lips met. Softly. Gently. Full of unspoken endearments. Full of hope. It was a lingering, tender kiss that tingled all the way to their toes, only breaking when the dog huffed from the backseat, almost as if he was clearing his throat, reminding them of their audience.
Spike rested his forehead against hers, both their eyes closed in a pose that Buffy had begun to think of as 'theirs'.
"Jesus, Buffy, you're bloody... you're magnificent," he murmured into the silence.
"You're not so bad yourself," she whispered, pulling back to look at him, to see what shade of blue those eyes were now. There wasn't much blue there, his pupils were wide with arousal, but still she decided they were the color of Forget-Me-Nots. And if he kept looking at her like that, with those eyes full of adoration, she was gonna forget that no one stayed; she was going to let herself fall into the dangerous waters of dreams... dreams of a future she'd been afraid to dream of for too long.
He stroked her cheek lovingly, his head canted to one side as he drank her in. She didn't believe him, he knew that—didn't believe he'd stay forever, that he'd love her forever. Too many tossers had made that promise and broken it, betrayed her trust. Spike knew of three just in the last year… Peaches, the sodding Watcher, and her no-good father. Of course, she didn't know he loved her, not yet. Four days of dating was too soon for such declarations to someone who'd been lied to before. But she'd find out in time—he didn't break his promises, or not willingly, not if he could help it, and he loved her beyond the telling, even if it had only been four days.
Buffy cleared her throat, letting her eyes drop to the containers of food on the seat between them. Spike sat back, the spell between them broken. Probably for the best, that. He'd been considering kicking the dog to the curb with the rest of the food, and seeing about quenching a completely different hunger. But he'd promised to let Buffy lead, and as noted, he didn't break his promises, even when he really wanted to.
"Now that we've got all that settled, reckon you should eat your cheese and gluten and chocolate, and drink that bloody Diet Coke, so we can see what happens to a Slayer's arteries after a few dozen decades of abuse. All in the name of science, o' course."
The Slayer flashed him one of her radiant smiles then picked up her burger. She didn't need to be told twice.
-X-
Buffy hadn't been on a lot of dates in Sunnydale, and even fewer of them had ended with the boy escorting her to her door, and ending the evening with a goodnight kiss. Since Spike was living in her house, and sleeping in the room right next to her, saying goodnight on the front porch would be of the strange. Like, what would they do? Kiss goodnight, then both come inside and... then what? So, by some silent, mutual agreement, their parting had migrated to her bedroom door, instead.
The rule was that 'goodnights' were supposed to be 'wet-dream-inducing', but the goodnight kiss in the hallway outside Buffy's room had eclipsed any wet dream she'd ever had and was turning into body-melting. She wanted to touch all of him. Her hands roamed, starting around his neck, but then sliding down to his strong arms, feeling his muscles bunch and flex as he pulled her body against his. She couldn't keep her hips from reacting to the feel of his erection as it pressed against her and she wished, not for the first time, that he'd shed his jeans and just... just... just everything!
There had been some heavy petting and much kissing in the car after their meal, but because of their back seat driver, that was as far as it had gone. Basically, they'd done enough to get Buffy worked into a state of utter frustration. Judging by this blood boiling, knee-wobbling, panty-dropping, finally-chaperone-free goodnight kiss, Spike had been in the same frustrated zip code. She prayed her furry friend didn't hear them; he'd collapsed like an over-stuffed cheezy burrito in the kitchen when they'd gotten home, and was hopefully snoring next to his water bowl at this very moment.
Buffy's legs must've finally succumbed to the fire that burned inside her and melted, because she felt herself falling. Her back hit the closed door to her room, which wasn't as closed as she thought. They both tumbled through as the latch gave way, turning in a crazed dance to keep their balance while not breaking the kiss or the contact of their bodies. Suddenly they hit the bed and Spike's weight was pinning her down and she needed to touch more of him. More. More. Her hands tugged his tee free from his belt and began to wander wantonly over the hard muscles and soft skin she found beneath as she moaned into his mouth.
Spike swallowed her moan and returned it with a rumbling growl of pleasure and desire. Her hands were blazing against his body, her mouth an inferno devouring his. God, was she saying 'yes'? Yes to... to what? He didn't know, he could barely think, he wanted her to devour her. All of her. Every flicker, every flame, every ray of deadly sunshine that burned inside her.
His hands were traveling, as well. Beneath the soft fabric of her top to cup her firm, eager breasts. Though he enjoyed the feel of her frilly underthings, he certainly wasn't going to complain when she went braless. Spike could feel the gooseflesh on her body, and her nipples were perfect pebbles when his fingers closed around them. Buffy arched against him, a gasp replacing the moan, which he swallowed eagerly. Was that a 'yes'?
He couldn't stand it another moment. He had to dip his fingers into the heat of her, feel the intoxicating scent of her arousal against his skin. The elastic waistband of her pants and lacy panties were no barrier to his roving hand as he slipped it down her taut, flat belly, over the curly bit of hair covering her mons, gently parting her folds, trailing lower, heat nearly burning his fingertips as he reached her molten core.
Buffy turned her head as another strangled gasp escaped her lips, lack of air becoming an issue. Spike never faltered, his lips just moved along her jaw to her neck, to that sensitive spot behind her ear he'd discovered, which, if he nuzzled and suckled just right, made her whimper with pleasure. And this time was no exception. There were whimpers. There was writhing. There was clinging to him as his fingers slipped between her thighs and found nirvana. Hot and slick and flowing like manna from heaven.
"God, Buffy... so wet, so fucking hot," he murmured against her ear as his fingers flicked lightly over her clit.
Buffy's hips jerked against his hand, bliss exploding from her core like a fireworks factory struck by lightning. "Spike... god... oh, god..." It was all she could croak out as tremors shuddered through her. It was too much. And not enough. So much more than anything before. And he hadn't even... hadn't... "Oh, god!" Now he had! One finger pressed inside, and her pussy convulsed around it, begging for more. He must've known what she needed, what she wanted, because then there were two, and they were pumping into her, and his thumb was tapping down on her clit and then his mouth was over hers again, muffling her cries of pleasure as she flew apart like rockets of red flame shooting into the heavens.
And suddenly she couldn't breathe, but it didn't matter at that moment because nothing mattered. Nothing but this feeling. Nothing but Spike. His body, his fingers, his lips, his rumble of desire. Then she was floating, and she had to breathe. He released her mouth so she could draw in a shuddering breath of cool, blissful air.
"Bloody amazing, you are, my beautiful Slayer," Spike murmured against her overheated skin, his fingers still teasing her, slipping in and out in a slow, gentle rhythm. "So much fire inside you."
"Spike, god... I... that... was..." she gasped, unable to find words to convey what that was.
"Does my Gilded Goddess want another?" he asked, looking down at her, his blue eyes intense, burning with passion, his fingers never stilling.
"I... want..." she began, but was interrupted by a loud bark from downstairs.
"Bloody hell," Spike cursed, turning his head to listen, to try and hear something other than Buffy's thundering heart. "Your mum's home," he announced, swirling his fingers around her clit again, making Buffy's eyes flutter closed.
Spike pulled his digits from her throbbing opening slowly, teasing her sensitive folds and her engorged clit, urging her back toward the edge of reason, before slipping his hand out from under her trousers, which had slid down during their interlude. He lifted his fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply, the aroma alone nearly enough to make him cum in his jeans. When he slid them into his mouth and tasted her, there was no stopping the surge of release from his balls that flooded the front of his pants. He covered his crotch with his free hand and squeezed, imagining his Slayer using her own hand in its place. When he opened his eyes, Buffy was watching him with a mixture of horror and curiosity.
He smirked as he pushed off the bed and up to his feet. "Never tasted yourself, luv?" he asked, flicking his tongue out to make sure he'd gotten every drop. "Better 'an cheese fries and lava cake, I can tell you."
Buffy shook her head, her mouth gawping open stupidly as she lifted up onto her elbows, staring at him and his resulting reaction to her most intimate flavor turning his slightly faded jeans a deep black with obvious wetness.
Spike curled his tongue against his teeth as he backed away toward the door. "Dunno what you're missing. Try it sometime, Sunshine," he suggested, letting his eyes drift down to the damp spot between Buffy's legs. "Sweet dreams," he purred, pulling the door nearly closed.
He could hear Joyce starting up the stairs, the mutt close on her heels. What had happened in Buffy's bed was definitely not PG-13, and neither was the wet stain covering the front of his jeans. Spike reminded himself of the promise he'd made to Joyce and vowed to at least try to keep it. But what was a vampire to do when his girl was writhing against him and so full of passion and heat and, bloody hell, she tasted like ambrosia. He wondered how long it took to buy a house, and if they could put a rush on it if he paid cash. He slipped into the bathroom and had the water running in the shower before Joyce made it to the landing.
He shook his head in amused dismay as he started to strip out of his cum-soaked jeans. Buffy had reduced him to a pimply-faced, hormone-addled teen, unable to hold back. He wasn't all that surprised, of course, but it was still a bit embarrassing. Still, who could blame him? The way she responded to his touch, her back arching, pressing her soft tits into his palms, then how her cunt squeezed his fingers, throbbing around him, so fucking hot and slick and eager. Then there were the sounds she'd made—the moans and gasps of pleasure—not to mention the heat and passion of her, topped off by the musk of her cum on his tongue. She had unraveled any semblance of control, as he'd suspected she would.
His dick was already hard again, just thinking about Buffy. The heady scent of her arousal and completion, mixed with his own spendings, had been picked up by the steam coming from the shower and filled the small room, engulfing him in the intoxicating blaze of their combined fulfillment. When they finally came together it would be sodding glorious.
Spike shifted his gaze to his left hand and sighed. "Looks like you've got a bit more work ahead of you, mate."
-X-
Buffy flopped back on the bed when Spike closed the door, her body thrumming, her mind whirling. He was so good! This was bad, so very bad. She'd never gotten herself off like that before, and he'd done it on the very first time! With just his fingers! She was doomed. So much with the doom. How could she ever hope to do that for him? To make him feel... she didn't even have a name for what that felt like. Heaven?
But... she had done something for him, hadn't she? That wet spot on his jeans had to mean... well, he certainly hadn't peed himself. And the look in his eyes, it seemed... awestruck. By her. By what she'd done, even though she hadn't actually done anything. He'd been the do-er, she'd just been the do-ee. But apparently, he'd liked the doing that he'd done with her. A tiny spark of hope blossomed in her chest, a glow of confidence that maybe she wouldn't drive him away with her badness with the sexy stuff.
Smiling to herself, Buffy closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her body, letting herself get lost in the hope that she'd not drive Spike away, that his pretty words wouldn't crash and burn, that she would be enough.
Then a scoffing, derisive voice filtered up from her past, from the place her darkest fears lived, filling her head, 'As if you'd ever be enough for what he's giving up, lover. As if he'd want to stick around after he finds out how little you really know about satisfying a man.'
Buffy clenched her jaw against the voice, Angelus' voice. 'You... you were just trying to hurt me, manipulate me,' she argued silently. 'You were lying. You're lying now.'
Angelus' malicious, sarcastic laugh echoed through her mind. 'Right, sweetheart, you just keep telling yourself that. You'll see soon enough.'
'Spike got off on it... I got him off... he...'
Another sarcastic snort. 'Don't flatter yourself. Spike would get off humping a dead squirrel.'
Tears burned behind her closed eyelids and Buffy fought them back, just like she was fighting the horrible voice in her head back, but she'd heard that voice in her nightmares so often, felt the acerbic words slice into her heart so many times, they seemed to be a part of her now, a festering wound burned into her soul.
"No," she rasped aloud, shaking her head, and opening her eyes. "No... I can be better. I can be... enough," she asserted, clinging to that little flicker of hope and confidence, trying not to let it snuff out.
Buffy had been spending every minute she could spare with Spike, so she'd barely begun reading 'The Joy of Sex', but it was time to get serious. She wanted him in the worst way, and she knew he wanted her. She just needed to make sure she was ready when the time came... which, based on the throbbing need she was feeling, she thought would be soon.
Assuming she could get Spike off better than a dead squirrel, then all she'd have to worry about would be the PTB tossing an apocalypse or two at her for her sacrilege.
Easy.
Buffy was digging the book out of her panty drawer when her mom gave a perfunctory knock and pushed the door open, letting her furry roommate-cum-chaperone in.
"Have a good night, honey?" Joyce asked, leaning against the door frame.
Buffy didn't jump guiltily, but it was a near thing. "Yeah, it was all of the good," she agreed with a smile, leaving the book half-hidden and hoping her mom didn't see it and ask what she was hiding. Trying to explain why she had a copy of sexual joys and another book on athletic placement of certain body parts, would make Spike's desire for theory testing moot. She'd die of humiliation with her hand in her panty drawer. "We ate all the cheese and burgers and managed to keep Spike out of the onion rings, so I won't be driven from my bed during the night by the passion—passing of noxious gas.
"How was your night?" Buffy inquired quickly, praying her mom hadn't caught that small slip of Freud. Spike went over to his bed in the corner, performing his ritual of turning around three times before flopping down like a rock.
Joyce shrugged. "I think I would've preferred the burgers and onion rings. 'Tedious' doesn't begin to describe these Chamber of Commerce meetings, but..." She sighed, giving another small shrug. "What are you gonna do? If I don't attend, it's been made clear that they'll take the gallery off the 'places to visit in Sunnydale' brochure."
"Are you sure they aren't demons?" Buffy wondered.
Her mom snorted. "Honestly, nothing would surprise me." She pushed off the doorjamb and backed up, pulling the door closed. "Goodnight, honey. Sweet dreams."
"You too, Mom," Buffy called back as the door clicked softly closed. As soon as she was sure her mom had headed to her own room, Buffy grabbed the book and climbed back onto the bed, prepared to learn all the secrets to good sex. Except, she was too wound up to concentrate on any of it, especially when she knew there was a very naked, very wet Spike a few feet away. How long was he gonna take anyway? He better not use all the hot water. She wondered if Spike was touching himself while the water ran over every inch of his perfectly sculpted body. Was he thinking about her… or dead squirrels? Buffy gritted her teeth and shook her head. 'He wants you, you know he does… just like you want him,' she assured herself silently.
She set the book aside, got undressed, resumed her place in the bed, and closed her eyes. She let her hands roam and tease like Spike's had, over her breasts, down her stomach, between her thighs. She imagined his lips on her neck, his rumbling voice, that little purring growl that vibrated every cell in her body, desperate for another release. Maybe, when she was done, she'd have a taste... it was weird and a little gross, but the look on Spike's face when he'd sucked his fingers between those luscious lips... That was the look she wanted to be able to give him when they finally did it. Maybe there was some secret she could discover here on her own... and she desperately wanted to know the secret. She wanted to believe his pretty words, wanted to believe in a future that included growing old, clogged arteries, and Spike doing whatever it was he'd done earlier, only with other body parts as well.
A sudden image of Spike's face between her spread thighs while his tongue drank directly from the source, her made her pussy clench around her own fingers. One quick flick of her thumb against her clit and she tumbled over the edge, biting her lip to keep from crying out his name.
There were absolutely going to be dreams of the wet variety in her immediate future.
Chapter End Notes:
Thank you again! More on Sunday.
