*****
Chapter 17: Once the Room Stops Spinning. . .
*****
Spike lifted Andrea's limp body out of the front seat of her Firebird and let her head fall to his shoulder. He twisted the knob to her front door open and kicked it shut when he stepped inside, flicking the lights on. Andrea was way too sloshed to walk on her own without causing serious injury to herself or him. Lots of alcohol, small woman. They were generally unmixy things. He made his way up the stairs and into her bedroom, where he laid her down on the bed and slipped the strappy heels off her slender feet. He hands hesitated at the hem of her shirt. This might be harder than he'd thought. Andrea giggled.
"Once the room stops spinning. . .let's have sex." Spike smiled and let his gaze flicker away from her, recognizing the quote from 'Never Been Kissed.'
"I don't think so, pet. You're too out of it. You wouldn't remember it in the morning and by the time I'm done with you I fully intend to be way too tired for an encore. For about ten minutes. Fifteen at the most." She smiled sympathetically at him and patted him on the head.
"Oh, Spike. You're so noble. So good." He took her hand from his blond curls and kissed her palm, smiling in amusement. He pulled away from her, opened a drawer in her dresser and rummaged through her clothing, looking for something she could wear to bed. He finally settled on a baggy old t-shirt and some flannel pants. That way, if she puked on them, she wouldn't care in the morning. He set them on the bed next to Andrea.
"Alright, love, I'm gunna head downstairs and set up the couch so I can get some sleep. You're running me ragged, woman. When I come back up here, I expect you to be in your PJs and under the covers. Okay?" She mock saluted him.
"Yes, sir." He exited the room and went downstairs to hunt for an extra pillow or two and a blanket to make his night on the couch a little more comfy. When he was done a few minutes later, he slipped silently back up the stairs and peeked into Andrea's bedroom. Just as he'd expected, Andrea had gotten about halfway into her pajamas and passed out. The t- shirt was on. . .inside out. But she was still squeezed into those leather things she called pants. Designed solely for the purpose of making him horny as hell all night. Spike sighed and approached her cautiously. He wanted to make sure she was absolutely out of it before he helped her into the pants he's selected. He wasn't too keen on discovering just how dusty he might get if she woke up and he was pulling her pants off. Especially after what that asshole James had done to her.
He lifted the hem of the t-shirt slowly and located the zipper at the back of her pants. He eased it down as far as it would go, before hooking his thumbs in the waist of the tight-fitting pants and slowly pulling them down over her hips. He artificially breathed slowly, attempting to maintain focus. But the feel of her smooth skin against the backs of his fingers. . .The pants caught at her knees and he pulled lightly on the cuffs of the pants, tugging them the rest of the way off. The next part would be much easier on his hormones. He grabbed the flannel PJ pants up off the bed next to him and worked them over her legs. Pajamas safely in place, he pulled back the covers and tucked Andrea in. He moved to the door, and paused, looking back at her.
She looked so innocent and beautiful, a tiny bit of moonlight streaming in from under the drawn shade, bathing her face its glory. Damn it. Why did it have to be so hard? He loved her. That much he knew. But she could never love him, could she? Really. Logically, rationally thinking. What chance was there of that? She was a slayer, he was a vampire.
He pushed his thoughts aside and, sighing sadly, pulled the door shut.
* * *
Andrea groaned and pulled a pillow over her head in an attempt to stifle the deafening roar in her ears. She heard a soft clink and peeked carefully out from under the pillow. Spike had set a glass of water on the nightstand. She felt the mattress give a little as he sat down near her knees. He chuckled softly and peeled the pillow away from her.
"Here," he said softly, holding two Asprin out to her. Andrea sat up and took the pain relievers from him, picking up the water. She swallowed the pills and downed the cool glass of water.
"What time is it?" she rasped.
"A little after ten. How much of last night do you remember?"
"The last thing I remember is some frat boy slapping my ass." Liar. You just don't want him to know that you remember everything. You're a huge chicken.
"Come on down to the kitchen and have some coffee." She shook her head.
"I don't wanna."
"Come on, love. You can't stay in bed all day."
"Watch me." She flopped back on the mattress and stuffed her head under another pillow.
"Oh, I don't think so." He scooped his arm around her waist and tossed her over his shoulder, then walked out of the room.
"Dammit, Spike. Put me down. And don't talk so loud. Have some respect for the extremely hungover." He laughed. Spike carefully set her on her feet when he reached the kitchen. "Oh, God. Nausea." She quickly sat down and took a few deep breaths. "Okay. I'm alright." Spike said nothing as he poured her a cup of coffee and a mug of blood for himself. Then,
"You think you can handle some breakfast, pet?" He handed her the steaming, which she accepted gratefully.
"It's possible." He nodded and began searching the kitchen for omelette supplies. "I don't need you to cook for me. I do know how."
"S'okay. I want to. Not like I have anything better to do." He had a point there. They chatted comfortably while Spike cooked her breakfast and while she tentatively ate her omelette, not wanting to eat it too quickly in case her stomach decided it wasn't ready for yummy eggs. When she was finished, she took her plate to the sink and rinsed it off.
"I'm gunna head upstairs and take a shower. I'll probably feel a little bit better once I've gotten cleaned up a little," she said, turning to face him.
"No," he protested suddenly.
"No? And why am I forbidden to wash?" Andrea raised a sleek brow. He smirked at her.
"I'm going to run you a nice. . ." He rose from his chair. "Hot. . ." She let out a shaky breath as he pulled her up against him, positioning his lips a breath away from her ear. "Bubble bath." He slowly moved his lips until they hovered millimeters away from hers. "Okay?" he asked softly against her lips, knowing she couldn't have denied him anything at the moment.
" 'kay," she squeaked. He leaned a little bit closer, but not enough to entirely close the distance between them, then pulled completely away from her, grinning smugly as he jogged up the stairs to the bathroom. Andrea gaped angrily after him. "Asshole." Jill meowed in agreement the table, where she was sitting, having watched the heated encounter and laid down, as if to say 'Oh, yeah. Won't be much longer now.'
A/T: Look, I have a serious favour to ask of my readers. Please tell me specifically, with examples, what you like and dislike about my story. I'm pretty sure I can take the criticism, but if I freak out and stop writing it because of my insecurities it's all your fault. Kay, I'm joking. Is my dialogue okay? I'd ask my friends, but asking a friend's opinion of your story is like a little girl asking her dad if she's pretty. Thanks loads, Andie.
Spike lifted Andrea's limp body out of the front seat of her Firebird and let her head fall to his shoulder. He twisted the knob to her front door open and kicked it shut when he stepped inside, flicking the lights on. Andrea was way too sloshed to walk on her own without causing serious injury to herself or him. Lots of alcohol, small woman. They were generally unmixy things. He made his way up the stairs and into her bedroom, where he laid her down on the bed and slipped the strappy heels off her slender feet. He hands hesitated at the hem of her shirt. This might be harder than he'd thought. Andrea giggled.
"Once the room stops spinning. . .let's have sex." Spike smiled and let his gaze flicker away from her, recognizing the quote from 'Never Been Kissed.'
"I don't think so, pet. You're too out of it. You wouldn't remember it in the morning and by the time I'm done with you I fully intend to be way too tired for an encore. For about ten minutes. Fifteen at the most." She smiled sympathetically at him and patted him on the head.
"Oh, Spike. You're so noble. So good." He took her hand from his blond curls and kissed her palm, smiling in amusement. He pulled away from her, opened a drawer in her dresser and rummaged through her clothing, looking for something she could wear to bed. He finally settled on a baggy old t-shirt and some flannel pants. That way, if she puked on them, she wouldn't care in the morning. He set them on the bed next to Andrea.
"Alright, love, I'm gunna head downstairs and set up the couch so I can get some sleep. You're running me ragged, woman. When I come back up here, I expect you to be in your PJs and under the covers. Okay?" She mock saluted him.
"Yes, sir." He exited the room and went downstairs to hunt for an extra pillow or two and a blanket to make his night on the couch a little more comfy. When he was done a few minutes later, he slipped silently back up the stairs and peeked into Andrea's bedroom. Just as he'd expected, Andrea had gotten about halfway into her pajamas and passed out. The t- shirt was on. . .inside out. But she was still squeezed into those leather things she called pants. Designed solely for the purpose of making him horny as hell all night. Spike sighed and approached her cautiously. He wanted to make sure she was absolutely out of it before he helped her into the pants he's selected. He wasn't too keen on discovering just how dusty he might get if she woke up and he was pulling her pants off. Especially after what that asshole James had done to her.
He lifted the hem of the t-shirt slowly and located the zipper at the back of her pants. He eased it down as far as it would go, before hooking his thumbs in the waist of the tight-fitting pants and slowly pulling them down over her hips. He artificially breathed slowly, attempting to maintain focus. But the feel of her smooth skin against the backs of his fingers. . .The pants caught at her knees and he pulled lightly on the cuffs of the pants, tugging them the rest of the way off. The next part would be much easier on his hormones. He grabbed the flannel PJ pants up off the bed next to him and worked them over her legs. Pajamas safely in place, he pulled back the covers and tucked Andrea in. He moved to the door, and paused, looking back at her.
She looked so innocent and beautiful, a tiny bit of moonlight streaming in from under the drawn shade, bathing her face its glory. Damn it. Why did it have to be so hard? He loved her. That much he knew. But she could never love him, could she? Really. Logically, rationally thinking. What chance was there of that? She was a slayer, he was a vampire.
He pushed his thoughts aside and, sighing sadly, pulled the door shut.
* * *
Andrea groaned and pulled a pillow over her head in an attempt to stifle the deafening roar in her ears. She heard a soft clink and peeked carefully out from under the pillow. Spike had set a glass of water on the nightstand. She felt the mattress give a little as he sat down near her knees. He chuckled softly and peeled the pillow away from her.
"Here," he said softly, holding two Asprin out to her. Andrea sat up and took the pain relievers from him, picking up the water. She swallowed the pills and downed the cool glass of water.
"What time is it?" she rasped.
"A little after ten. How much of last night do you remember?"
"The last thing I remember is some frat boy slapping my ass." Liar. You just don't want him to know that you remember everything. You're a huge chicken.
"Come on down to the kitchen and have some coffee." She shook her head.
"I don't wanna."
"Come on, love. You can't stay in bed all day."
"Watch me." She flopped back on the mattress and stuffed her head under another pillow.
"Oh, I don't think so." He scooped his arm around her waist and tossed her over his shoulder, then walked out of the room.
"Dammit, Spike. Put me down. And don't talk so loud. Have some respect for the extremely hungover." He laughed. Spike carefully set her on her feet when he reached the kitchen. "Oh, God. Nausea." She quickly sat down and took a few deep breaths. "Okay. I'm alright." Spike said nothing as he poured her a cup of coffee and a mug of blood for himself. Then,
"You think you can handle some breakfast, pet?" He handed her the steaming, which she accepted gratefully.
"It's possible." He nodded and began searching the kitchen for omelette supplies. "I don't need you to cook for me. I do know how."
"S'okay. I want to. Not like I have anything better to do." He had a point there. They chatted comfortably while Spike cooked her breakfast and while she tentatively ate her omelette, not wanting to eat it too quickly in case her stomach decided it wasn't ready for yummy eggs. When she was finished, she took her plate to the sink and rinsed it off.
"I'm gunna head upstairs and take a shower. I'll probably feel a little bit better once I've gotten cleaned up a little," she said, turning to face him.
"No," he protested suddenly.
"No? And why am I forbidden to wash?" Andrea raised a sleek brow. He smirked at her.
"I'm going to run you a nice. . ." He rose from his chair. "Hot. . ." She let out a shaky breath as he pulled her up against him, positioning his lips a breath away from her ear. "Bubble bath." He slowly moved his lips until they hovered millimeters away from hers. "Okay?" he asked softly against her lips, knowing she couldn't have denied him anything at the moment.
" 'kay," she squeaked. He leaned a little bit closer, but not enough to entirely close the distance between them, then pulled completely away from her, grinning smugly as he jogged up the stairs to the bathroom. Andrea gaped angrily after him. "Asshole." Jill meowed in agreement the table, where she was sitting, having watched the heated encounter and laid down, as if to say 'Oh, yeah. Won't be much longer now.'
A/T: Look, I have a serious favour to ask of my readers. Please tell me specifically, with examples, what you like and dislike about my story. I'm pretty sure I can take the criticism, but if I freak out and stop writing it because of my insecurities it's all your fault. Kay, I'm joking. Is my dialogue okay? I'd ask my friends, but asking a friend's opinion of your story is like a little girl asking her dad if she's pretty. Thanks loads, Andie.