"Well you did a really good job patching yourself up. Considering the near impalement of vital organs. Impressive, as always."
Buffy pulls back a wince. From the feeling of Riley's hand on her bandages and the lie she's agreeing to.
Oh boy... Although... not a lie lie. Just a... omission type lie.
Ugh I hate those.
"Yeah...well, you know. It's all part of the Slayer training."
She smooths her shirt back into place. The black paisley shirt is hidden deep at the back of her closet. It doesn't seem to matter that it's buried down underneath a pile of her own clothes, she keeps casting an eye to the heap.
Riley hands Buffy a cup of coffee as she leans back against the pillows of her bed.
"So what are we dealing with?"
"Oh... definitely vampire."
"How many?"
Here we go...
"Just one." Buffy fidgets, picking at the lid of the coffee cup.
"So what, he was some kind of super vampire?"
Shoulda saved that 'here we go'.
"No. He was the regular kind. He just beat me."
Riley takes a long uncomfortable pause, and Buffy fills it her end with a long slug of her coffee.
Ooooh I could really do with someone breaking this moment. There's very few times I wish Dawn was home to burst in and do some quality interrupting.
"That ever happen before?"
"I'm in the best physical shape of my life. If you're asking how it happened I'm as much in the dark as you."
"You were out patrolling alone?"
"Yes." Buffy replies, betraying a hint of warning. "As is my job."
"Maybe you should... be patrolling with a team? Like the other night when we were-"
"I don't need a team-"
"I'm just trying to help-"
"I don't need help!"
"Alright, ok, let's just calm down."
"I am calm."
Riley raises an eyebrow and Buffy takes a deep breath trying to come back from the edge of a near tantrum.
"Ok I'm not completely calm. I need to talk to Giles about last night, maybe work on some extra training, or- or research..."
"I can take patrol tonight-"
"Riley-"
"Just a sweep. Ok?"
I gotta give him something, Buffy thinks as her abdomen throbs sourly, making it difficult to sit. The hole has already started to close over but the accelerated healing is far from comfortable.
"Then do me a favour? Take the gang along with?"
She can see the resentment starting to bubble under the surface, but he purses his lips and gives her nod. A somewhat excessively military-ish nod.
"Here's another one. Early 18th Century Slayer."
Giles hands her dusty Watcher diary volume, and Buffy adds it to the ever heightening heap of ex-Slayer research.
"Good. Let's hope she'll be more helpful than this last one."
"Why? What does it say?" Giles picks up another one from the pile, flicking through it.
"Same as all the others. Slayer called... blah, blah... great protector... blah, blah... scary battles... blah, blah... oops! She's dead. Where are the details of the Slayer's last battle? You know, what made that fight special? Why did she lose?"
"You didn't lose last night, Buffy. You just-"
"Got really close. I slipped up, Giles. I've been training harder than ever and still I... And there's nothing in any of these books to help me understand why. I mean... look, I realize that every Slayer comes with an expiration mark on the package. But I want mine to be a long time from now. And there's just nothing!"
Giles blinks, fighting the urge to polish his glasses.
"Yes, well, the problem is after a final battle, it's difficult to get any... well, the Slayer's not... she's rather..."
"It's okay to use the D-word, Giles."
"...Dead. And hence not very forthcoming."
"Why didn't the Watchers keep fuller accounts of it? The journals just stop."
"Well, I suppose if they're anything like me, they just find the whole subject too... painful."
"Oh... I guess that makes sense... doesn't much help though. I need something. Some account of the last moments."
"Yes well, the last fight between a Slayer and her vanquisher is often just that. A last fight. Only the Slayer and her foe will ever know what truly happens in those final moments."
Last foe... Oh God. That's not what I wanted to hear. If I'm going to find this info there's only one undead nuisance mouth that can give it to me.
...Ugh. There's got to be a better way to phrase that.
"Oh geez..."
Giles looks up from the book on the counter.
"Everything alright?"
Absolutely not.
"Giles... Can you deliver a note? I've got to go back and see mom at the hospital in an hour..."
"Of course. Though I feel compelled to remind you I'm your Watcher, not USPS."
Spike taps the note slipped under his door, turning it between his fingers, taking a long swig of beer from the bottle in his hand as the TV drones on.
Bronze tonight at 9 - Buffy.
Drinks. With the Slayer.
Interesting. Strange.. but definitely interesting.
I'm not delusional or anywhere near drunk enough to think this is a date... Besides she got old Rupes to deliver it, note's got his excessively soapy smell all over it. So not exactly a love note. And if it's not a date it's probably some Slayer related demon bollocks.
Or she wants to talk and she'd rather have witnesses...
Hmm.
He starts to pick at the beer label, scratching long lines down with his thumb.
Demon's don't usually go by a schedule. Not something you can set a watch by.
So. Girl wants to talk, but doesn't want to be alone with me.
He smirks, taking another slug of beer, thumbing the handwriting on the note. Pretty, if a bit scribbled.
Well. I'm not playing ball. She wants to talk, she knows where to find me.
His gut twists a little, begging him to reconsider, and he drains the last of his beer. His treacherous mind joins up with his gut and throws up countless possible scenarios. Drinking at the Bronze together... maybe an arm around her in a dark corner as the liquor flows. Fingers slipping underneath shirts, touching skin. Edging closer to one another until she's sitting in his lap, letting his hands roam up those long shapely legs. Dip under the hem of her skirt...
His fingers spasm, thinking about the sweet wet warmth of touching her there. Live and twitching... clamping down on him as she pants in his ear.
Maybe they could find a quiet spot... Somewhere under the stairs perhaps where there's a little bit of privacy. In this extremely unlikely layout she'd still be wearing his shirt. Would let him unbutton it... slowly from the bottom to the top, looking up at him with those big doe eyes that she usually reserved for Riley.
Spike unzips his jeans, releasing some of the tension that's crushing against him. Languidly stroking his cock in one hand, slowly, letting the thoughts of her do most of the heavy lifting whilst continuing to turn Buffy's card between his fingers of the other.
Fuck's sake she's driving me mad...
Things would get a little hot and heavy, letting the Bronze melt away under the heat. Biting at those pretty pink lips, tasting her tongue in his mouth again, hear her moan in his throat. Her pulse under his fingertips. Tasting more of her. Biting her neck... her breasts... her breathing would start to hitch... properly so. Gasping from need, not from habit. Dru gasped, but he could tell she wasn't there with him. Wasn't thinking of him. Was probably not even thinking of sex, or what he was doing with her, just off somewhere else entirely. Somewhere off in the depths of her brain with Angelus, probably. God how that hurt.
Harmony would moan, but she moaned like a porn star. All breath and unsubstantial swooning. Fake. Too wrapped up in herself and her ridiculous performance to actually enjoy it. It made the whole thing feel passionless.
Didn't realise before how much of a difference there is between a dead girl gasping because she knows she's supposed to and a living breathing girl panting because you're making her.
Knowing you're the one causing that accelerated heartbeat. That ticking heat underneath the skin, climbing ever up. That's addictive. Painfully addictive. So easy to play up to when that little tell-tale heart spells out everything she wants in a deafening rhythm.
Spike's stroking has become more urgent, harder. Bordering on desperate. He's uncomfortably hard, and thoughts of Buffy choke him entirely.
S'all I need. I could get her out of my bloody head if I just had one night like that again. Get one little piece of her. Could go back to hating her, if I could just get her out of my system.
She was so easy to read. So open with what she wanted even when she had fury in her eyes he could hear her heart pounding away. Begging for it. That night in Giles' chair, they'd barely done more than kiss, a bit of petting that had left them both burning, but he could taste how much she wanted it. Wanted him. Each time he'd touched her she'd melted against him, dragging him down with her.
Want that again... Bloody HELL I want that again.
Sex twisted up in love. Deeper than just need. The way she'd move underneath him, look at him the way she did then. Like she adored him. Tugging at his heartstrings, knowing she had him wrapped around her little finger. And in return she'd be his. Belonging to him as much as he belonged to her.
The way she'd laughed, smiling up at every word he said. Making him glow on the inside.
Could I make her happy? I'd do anything to see her smile at me like that again. I'd do anything-
STOP. Don't think about that... it's not love, it's just lust. You can get her out of your system if it's just lust...
Thoughts of Buffy start to twist and writhe out of control. On her knees, stroking his cock with her tongue as he fingered those long blonde locks. Warm silk slipping through his fingers as she takes him deeper. Looking up at him with those fiery green eyes... Buffy pinned against the wall. Inside the Bronze or outside in the alley where she could scream from the feel of him between her legs. What those hot tight Slayer folds would feel like clamping down... How many scratches would she leave on his back? Would she bite him when she came?
Thoughts of Buffy's legs gripping him by the waist, dragging him further in as she screams, send Spike past the edge in a heaving heady moan. He catches his breath, feeling suddenly bitter and lonely.
But she's not mine. She's off shagging Captain Cardboard.
The thought of him on top of her, pawing at her pathetically, mechanically like some bumbling soldier on leave burns him hard.
Pull yourself together. You don't want her. He lies to himself. Things have just got... just got messed up in the head is all. Just a passing bout of lust.
It's not love.
It's not.