Title: Everytime We Touch: Chapter Two.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Set in season six, Spike and Buffy find themselves in the Bronze once again. Spike wants to have 'his' Slayer relax after a strenuous night. I know, not the most original, but I needed some Spiffy(Spuffy as my bestfriend, who this is for, dubbed it.) action to write. :)
Disclaimer: I do not own anything here. Save for the storyline. All characters and the like are trademark properties of Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy and it's affiliates. Lyrics are copyrighted to Cascada and/or anyone else involved with the song, writer, artist and blah, blah, blah. Please don't sue. I'm just a poor girl. Really, I am.
Pairings: Spike/Buffy.
Feedback please!
- - -
Flashes of images came throwing her way. Buffy's mind wrapped around each of them, taking them into consideration as she remembered where it was she had been and most importantly; with who.
Like always, the Slayer found her pride that had been hidden under layers of need, and stood up. Leaving Spike grumbling and needing to shift back into his pants if he didn't want some of the other patrons to get a good look see at his shaft.
New music started to radiate. This time it didn't call to the Slayer or the vampire in ways that had them earlier acting. Instead it shed light into certain aspects of their so-called relationship.
"Figured after that dance, it've taken you 'bout twenty minutes to stand, not twenty secs." Spike grinned, peering up at the livid Slayer, "Guess I shouldn't have assumed, eh'?" Nothing but a twitch from her left eye as response to that one.
This wasn't new territory for Spike. He just had hoped tonight could have been different then all the others. He wondered now if it would ever be different? Would she ever come to her senses?
With blind fury the petie Slayer stormed away, her arms folded across her chest as she stepped over Spike and headed down the staircase.
"Oh for the love of...Slayer, would'cha stop walkin' so bloody fast?" Panting unnecessarily, Spike worked his way in front of the other blonde, his hands shooting out to place ontop of slender shoulders in order to keep her from going any further.
"If you value your hands, which I might add you should since this is IT," That was her way of once again, ending this charade, "then you'll back the hell off of me, NOW!" Barked Buffy, who halted her steps. Immediately Spike let his arms drop from over his lover's shoulder and she felt the eletricity fade.
"I was just..." Was he apologizing? Maybe. But not now. "You know what? Sodd you, Slayer! I thought you could use a nice night away from working double shifts, slayin', the nibblet and those misfits. Guess I was wrong. Go find your own fun then!" Okay, that was rash and sorta harsh, but Spike had enough at that moment with being sweetly considerate to Buffy. She was ungreatful. Spoiled prat. He'd show her one night. He'd get this chip out of his head even if he had to drill it out and scoop it out with a spork.
It was his turn to march off. His hands bunching into the deep pockets of his duster, Doc Martens slamming the ground beneath with every heavy footfall forward.
Each went their seperate ways. Buffy left clinging her light jacket to her chilly body as she headed home. At least tonight left no grass stains or bruises that she would make excuses for when asked by Dawn or Willow at home. Spike left brutally slugging his hand in the pocket of his jacket and balled into a fist against his thigh. His undead life inhaling the smoke dangling between sinful lips for all it's chemical worth.
Yet still, as infuriated as he was, he couldn't get his mind around anything other than bringing the spark back into Buffy's eyes. Tonight's ending would just have to be made up another night.
Another long night filled with pleasure.
Tomorrow would be that night.
-To be continued. :)
