"Ego much, Will?" she glared, still not moving out of his embrace.
"Oh, come on, Summers. If you were lost at sea, I'd be heartbroken," he said softly.
Buffy couldn't help but smile a little. He'd be heartbroken? Good.
"Mmm... good for you, then," she told him as she wrapped her legs around his waist and laid back.
If William Giles wanted to play the slow-death torture game, she could play it, too.
His eyes widened as she closed her eyes and let her hair fan out around her. Looked like a bloody angel, she did. What the Hell was she trying to do?
"What are you doing?" he rasped out.
She didn't bother to open her eyes or move. She continued to lay on her back with her thighs gripping his sides in the waist-high sea water.
"Pet?"
"Shh... I'm dead," she whispered, fighting back the tremendous urge to giggle.
"What the Hell--"
"Shh!" she reprimanded him again. "I'm giving you a visual. And, I've got to say, Will. Doesn't sound like your heart is breaking."
He continued to watch her, fascinated by how lovely she was. He admired the expanse of golden skin laid out before him. He bit his lip as her breasts bobbed in the gentle waves. And then he unmercifully started wiggling his fingers towards her rib cage, knowing that Buffy was extremely ticklish.
"Well, then. Since you're dead, guess you won't mind me doing this," he smirked as he began tickling her sides in earnest.
She shot up immediately, eyes wide in horror, and began begging him to stop between loud laughter and huge gulps of air.
"Oh, God, Will!" she gasped. "Stop! I'm not dead! Stop!"
"And you'd be heartbroken without me?" he insisted.
"Heartbroken," she agreed, still wriggling and gasping in his grasp.
His cocked his eyebrow and pulled her close to him.
"Wouldn't be lying to ol' Spike, now, would you, Pet?" he teased her. "Because someone had the brilliant idea to tell the truth all day and I'd hate to see her lose at her own game."
As quickly as she'd caught her breath, she'd become breathless again. There was something about the way he was looking at her, about the way he was weaving his words.
"Nope," she told him honestly. "Not lying. And since we're all about the honesty, I can honestly say that if you ever tickle me like that again, I will pee on you. You're so lucky I didn't... and it wouldn't be my fault. Tickleage and bladder control do not go hand-in-hand for this girl."
He released her and grinned wickedly as he ran his hand through his wet hair.
"Some might find that a real turn-on, Kitten."
"Euw, Will," she grimaced. "A world of euw."
"Didn't say I might, you daft bint," he told her, wading back toward the shore. "Just said some might."
She squeezed the water out of her hair and began following him. That was just too weird. Too much naked skin touching. Fingers wriggling too close to her breasts. Her crotch way too close to his. She mentally thanked God for their being immersed in the cold water. She was positive that she was quite wet without the help of the water.
She had only dreamed about being that close to Spike since she met him. Something about him exuded sex... not that she had any experience in that department. She hadn't even had her first kiss yet. All Harmony and Cordelia talked about was how many times they'd done it. And how big Angel's dick was. And how Gunn had nearly gagged Harmony the first time she went down on him.
The only boy she had ever thought of in that way was Spike. Her Will. He was perfect in her eyes. Smooth skin stretched across firm muscles, bright blue eyes, silky blonde hair that she wanted to muss every time she saw him with it slicked back. He was absolutely beautiful. Man-pretty, she thought.
Then there were the layers. He had layers. He was funny and charming. He was smart. Street-smart as well as educated. He got her jokes, which was a definate rarity among her peers. He was passionate and talented. He mesmerized her when she watched him play with Red Rain. She loved watching his fingers glide gracefully over the neck of his Strat. Her spine would tingle when she thought about how good his fingers would feel gliding over her body.
He sat on the beach towels and stared out at the sea. What the Hell was he doing? This was Buffy. Cordelia's little friend. She sat next to him and began rummaging through her bag for something.
"You're gonna burn to a crisp, Will," she told him, snapping open the cap to a tube of sunblock. "Turn around and let me get your back before you start sizzling from overexposure."
He turned and immediately tensed up when her hands began moving on his back.
"What?" she asked, stopping. "Are you already a little burnt?"
He was burning up, but it wasn't from the sun.
"No, just... your hands... " he stammered. "Still a little chilly from the water."
"Oh, sorry about that."
She went back to her task and he relaxed as she rubbed the lotion into his skin. She took her time, enjoying the feel of his sleek muscles under her hands. She was chewing nervously on her bottom lip as she dipped her hands to cover his lower back. His skin was beautiful. Pale, but creamy smooth. Unmarred perfection. Not ready to stop, she rubbed a little more lotion between her palms and ran her hands down the length of his arms, starting at his shoulders. She loved how he was built. He was lean and strong. Not bulky like Angel, Cordelia's boyfriend. Michelangelo couldn't have sculpted a more perfect David than God had when he created Spike.
He cleared his throat, startling her out of her reverie.
"Oh, sorry," she apologized, handing him the tube of sunblock. "I was... uh, I..." No lies. "Just daydreaming. Didn't mean to..."
"'s'alright, Kitten," he said turning to her. "Wasn't complaining."
He squeezed some of the lotion onto his hands and rubbed it into his chest. He really wasn't complaining. Her soft, little hands felt much better on his body than his own. Just what had she been daydreaming about? He thought about asking and putting her on the spot. He had the feeling that it just might have been him. And if it was... well, what then? What was he going to do with that? It's not like she was a little kid any more. She was practically a grown woman getting ready to graduate high school and move onto the same college campus as him. What was going to stop other guys his age from hitting on her? Me, that's what, he thought tersely. Don't need some undeserving dink hooking up with my girl, he thought. Shit! There it was again. His girl. If anything, Buffy was her own girl. Not his. Gratefully, not anyone else's either.
"Bet you're dying to get out of high school so you can start living your own life, yeah?" he guessed.
She furrowed her brow.
"I do live my own life," she said just a little too defensively.
"I just meant--"
"I just happen to be more interested in doing well in school than screwing everything with a penis," she continued in an overly huffy tone.
"I didn't mean--"
"And if that means I'm not living my life, then you're just sadly mistaken, Bub. Because I do plenty of living. Tons. I'm the life of the fucking party!"
"Pet. I just--"
"I mean, if I had a party, that is... and I could. I could have parties every weekend while my mother is off in New York forgetting I even exist. And people would be lining up at the door," she said determinedly just as her lip started to quiver. "They would," she whispered as the first tear fell.
Aw shit, I made her cry, he scolded himself. He turned to her and couldn't stop his thumb from moving to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He narrowed his eyes on hers and smiled.
"I didn't mean anything by that, Kitten," he said softly. His hand was still stroking her cheek. "Was just making conversation. Seems like you might have some things on your mind, though."
She nodded, feeling completely humiliated. She couldn't figure out why she'd felt the need to be defensive with him. Too much was bubbling just beneath the surface. Too much anger. Too much pain. Too much disgust and self-loathing. She tried so hard to be Happy Buffy all the time. She tried to fill her life with student council meetings, the next audition for Pippin, studying for SATs and working at Double Meat Palace. She just couldn't fill the hole in her heart. She didn't want Harmony to fix her up with one of her leftovers. She wasn't interested in making out in the woods at some party with a guy she'd just met. She wanted Spike. And no one else would ever do.
"You need to get out more," he told her cautiously. "And don't go getting shirty with me. I'm just making an observation. Every Friday, I come home and you're sitting there studying and playing secretary for Cordelia. When you're not doing that, you're slinging hash at the Double Meat. I mean, thank God you're such a talent that you land leading roles in all the school musicals. What I'm saying, Pet," he sighed. "Is all work and no play is making Buffy a dull girl."
She knew he was right. The clouds were starting to move through the sky, swirling puffs of greying white. Storm clouds were on their way.
"Look at that, would you? You're sucking the sun right out of the sky!" he joked. It earned him a smile and a soft slap on the knee. "Christ, Woman! A storm's a-brewin' all in your honor."
He ducked his head down to catch the wide smile she was trying to hide.
"Be a good girl and pick up here and I'll go get the car and meet you at the road," he instructed her. "Do it quick and I'll buy you lunch."
"Where?" she asked quickly.
"Anywhere you want so long as you don't break me for the week," he told her, offering his hand to help her up.
She was thoughtful for a second.
"Waffle House."
"I say anywhere and you pick Waffle House," he said, shaking his head. "Good to know you're a cheap date, Summers."
She laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. This so was not a date. As much as she wished it was, it wasn't. It made her wonder what a date with Spike would be like, though. If she didn't know him as well as she did, she'd guess that he'd be the type to take a girl to a loud, chain restaurant where the servers wore obnoxious buttons all over their uniforms and you had to yell in order to hear each other. Then, off to an equally deafening rock club to take in a raucous night of punk music or grindcore.
But she did know him. All too well. She finished shaking the towels out and folded them before sticking them into her bag. She slipped on her cut-offs and t-shirt and then headed up to the road. Spike was already pulled up to the curb when she got there.
He leaned across to open the door for her and she threw the bags in the backseat before sliding in front beside him. Once she latched her seatbelt he nodded and took off.
There was a Waffle House halfway home. She knew it well. It reminded her of happier times when she was in junior high. When Cordy and Harmony had actually wanted to hang out with her. When her mother and father were still married and would take the carful of girls to the beach for the day and then out to eat when the day was done.
The Melting Pot. He'd take a date to the Melting Pot, she thought. And he'd order a bottle of really good wine. He'd consult with her and then order for both of them. She had seen men do that in movies. And he looked like the kind of guy who would do that on a date. Then he'd feed her fondue from his own plate. His eyes would twinkle as he complimented her because he'd mean whatever he said. And then he'd take her to a little outdoor cafe for coffee where an acoustic duo was playing. He'd sit close to her and hold her hand, stealing little nips at her neck and cheek when he thought no one was looking. He'd breathe in her scent and tell her how beautiful she smelled and then he'd...
"Buffy? You there? You keep spacing out on me today, Pet," he told her. She realized that he had already pulled into the parking lot and had turned off the engine.
"Must be the sun," she lied. No lies. "Or something... I'm probably just hungry." That wasn't a lie. It was, however, a diversion.
"Alright then," he smiled as he got out of the car.
And he'd open her door for her, she thought as she opened her door being sure to lock it before closing it again. If he was on a date. That's what he'd do. Which made this very much nothing like a date. She did notice that he held the door for her when they entered the diner. She thanked him quietly before setting her sights on the back booth she always shared with her parents and her friends.
She looked at the familiar laminated menu and smiled. Nothing had changed. Same bright pictures of various waffle and melt platters. And hash browns. Her father had always ordered them scattered, smothered, covered and chunked.
"Know what you want already, Pet?" he asked when he saw her look up.
"Same old, same old," she smiled. "Chicken melt and hashbrowns, scattered and covered."
He noticed that she seemed more at ease. Something about the greasy spoon was making her happy. And that made him happy, too.
Their waitress appeared behind the counter next to their booth with pen in hand. Buffy read her name tag... Molly. She looked like a Molly.
"What can I get you kids today?" she asked, pen poised and ready to write.
Buffy went to open her mouth when Spike ordered for her.
"The lady would like the chicken melt and hash browns, scattered and covered," he began. "What do you want to drink, Love?"
"Coffee, cream no sugar," she eked out, surprised that he'd taken the liberty of ordering for her.
"And I'll have the pecan waffles with a side of bacon," he looked across the table at Buffy as if he was remembering something. "Make that two sides of bacon. And orange juice," he finished.
Their waitress, Molly, disappeared to bring their drinks.
"I seem to remember someone who can't keep her fingers on her own plate when there's bacon involved," he smirked at her.
It was true. Whenever she stayed at Cordy's and they all ate breakfast together, she would manage to rid Spike of the bacon on his plate before he even noticed it was gone. Molly set their drinks in front of them and then went back to preparing their food.
"Caught that, huh?" she asked, stirring the creamer into her coffee. "And here I thought I could blame it on Cordy or Harm."
"Love, you're the only one who eats. Those two just sit there bitching about calorie this and fat gram that. Bloody annoying trying to share a meal with them, it is!" he groused.
She looked like she was starting that self-doubting thing again and he knew he'd better throw a compliment her way and fast.
"Nice to actually be able to sit and eat with someone who doesn't blot her pizza with a napkin... someone who isn't afraid of death by chocolate," he added. "Besides, a girl like you doesn't have to worry about cheeseburgers going straight to her ass. Bloody perfect is what you are, Kitten. Could stand to eat a little more, in fact."
"Uh-huh," she smiled dumbly as Molly set the plate of hash browns and her sandwich in front of her. Spike began pouring syrup over his waffles when he saw her looking around the table.
"Molly," he called to the waitress. "Could you be a love and bring my girl some ketchup and mayonnaise?"
Molly smiled and ducked under the counter. She returned with several packets of mayonnaise and a bottle of ketchup.
"Thank you, Pet," Spike told her as Buffy stared at him.
He returned to drowning his waffles in syrup and cutting them into little squares. She was staring.
"Something wrong with your food, Kitten?" he asked, not looking up from his plate as he speared a couple of waffle pieces and stuffed them into his mouth.
She shook her head slowly to indicate her food was fine and then proceeded in squeezing several packets of mayonnaise over her hash browns. She poured on a hefty amount of ketchup and smeared it around with her fork before taking a bite. Just as good as she remembered them when she was a kid.
They ate in relative silence. He knew that she was still wondering how he knew about the ketchup and mayonnaise. It's not so much that he knew as that he guessed. One thing he noticed was that if it was some sort of fried potato -- be it a french fry or a tater tot -- Buffy was covering it in mayonnaise and ketchup.
The little things. He noticed the little things, she realized. He noticed the little tattoo. He noticed every time she'd done something different with her hair. He noticed how she ate, things she said... he always took notice. Nothing escaped him.
She polished off her sandwhich and hash browns and then snuck a piece of bacon from his plate. He didn't call her on it. Instead, he ducked his head to try and conceal his told-you-so smirk.
"You about ready, Love?" he asked when she set down her empty coffee cup.
"Mmm-hmm."
"Why don't you go out to the car while I settle up then. With any luck, we'll make it back home before the rain moves in," he told her, handing her the keys.
"You kids be safe," Molly told them from across the counter. "It's supposed to get pretty rough tonight. Weather man's talking thunderstorms and hail and some twisters here and there."