It turned out that 'frosty distance' was much harder to accomplish effectively whilst simultaneously achieving Buffy's 'in my sights' directive.
The frat house was beyond crowded but even as Spike settled himself on a balcony overlooking the mass of partygoers, Buffy's eyes found him out every few minutes from wherever she'd moved to. By the unlit fireplace as she swayed to a song she liked, keeping her glances towards him perfunctory and uninterested. Near the stairs, chatting to a group of students she knew from classes, another lingering look to make sure he was still in place.
She moved out of sight briefly to grab a drink from the kitchen, reappearing with a red cup in hand, before finding her way to the dancefloor for a handful of songs, dancing with effortless grace, but noticeably by herself.
Spike reached into his duster for his flask and took a nip as the sway of Buffy's hips caught the attention of more than a few college boys, raising his hackles—much to his annoyance—as their eyes slipped down her pert figure.
He wanted to be down there with her. Hands on her waist. All those soft curves pressed against him. Didn't matter that the music was fucking dire, as long as it had a rhythm they could move to. He was barely even hearing it as it was, and when Buffy flicked a glance up over her shoulder to him, he practically went deaf at the knowing smile that curled across her mouth.
He sighed, gritting his teeth. Get. A. Grip.Slayer can do what she likes. That's the point. It's all pretend, even if… even if…
Even if what you're feeling isn't quite pretend enough.
Another shot of whisky chased that thought away before it could topple him to the ground. Things were getting out of hand. A little bit of jealousy and a little bit of lust and he was tripping over every crumb of attention she tossed his way, it was ridiculous.
Focus up, he coached himself, screwing the cap back on the flask and vanishing it into a pocket. You're here with a mission, remember?
His gaze scanned the crowd, on the lookout for crew-cut hairlines and rigid postures. Nothing yet, but it was still early.
Something caught his eye though. Dark, floppy hair and a face that was definitely familiar, a way off down the landing.
A sadistic grin curled one edge of Spike's mouth.
Parker.
Unsurprisingly, the drip was chatting up some bint in a sweater so tight it was practically a cashmere mammogram, big watery eyes glistening as Parker laid it on thick with a dopily affectionate smile, only just managing to keep his gaze on her face.
Spike sniffed and straightened his coat. If recon was going to be a bust, at least he could be a good old-fashioned thorn in someone's side for an evening. Work off some of the aggression he would've usually rid from his system with a nice bit of violence.
Honestly, he considered as he made his way through the throng, getting the chip out would do the Slayer some service. What's a toothless vamp to do except make a nuisance of himself?
"Parker!" he shouted too close to the boy's ear, causing a flinch mid-sentence as Spike's arm landed heavily on the boy's shoulder. "Glad to see you back on your feet, mate."
Parker turned to face him. "What?"
"Heard you pulled a muscle shagging some gymnast. Bit too bendy for you, eh?"
Parker sputtered, his eyes darting to his new prey as she blinked in shock. "That's… I didn't—"
"What does that make the score now, forty-something?" Spike continued, rooting in a pocket for his cigarettes. "Still on track to fuck your way to fifty or what?"
He raised his eyes to the girl, fluttering his eyelashes in faux-shock as if just realizing she was standing there, her face a white sheet of revulsion while Parker's mouth opened and shut like a fish.
"Oh deeear," he drawled as he flicked the lighter to his cigarette. "Haven't gone and put my foot in it, have I?"
"Cynthia—" Parker started, before taking the entire contents of Cynthia's drink cup to the face.
"Oops," Spike smirked as the chit barged past him, blowing out the smoke as he leaned back against the wall.
"Thanks a lot," Parker growled, wiping his face dry with the hem of his t-shirt. "That's two hours of conversation totally wasted."
Spike chuckled and fished out his flask for another nip. "Christ, you don't move fast, do you, college?"
Parker paused, taking Spike in properly.
"Oh," he said as cogs visibly whirred in his head. "You're uh… Buffy's friend, right?"
"Not how I'd describe it," Spike replied with a wry smile around another drag of his cigarette.
"No?" Parker prompted, his eyebrows knitting together.
Spike chuckled darkly and ran his tongue over his teeth. "We're definitely not friends," he muttered and blew out the smoke.
"Ooh." Parker nodded sympathetically as though some sort of a realization had dawned on him.
Spike glared.
"What?"
"Nothing, it's just—" Parker chewed his lip, seemingly debating whether to voice whatever thought had entered his head, before he cleared his throat. "Look, you've got nothing to worry about with me and Buffy," he said, running a hand through his still-wet hair. "It was a one-time thing and honestly, if I'd known you were in—"
"In what?" Spike growled, squaring his jaw and cutting Parker off mid-sentence.
It barely seemed to phase him as he offered Spike a half-smile of consolation.
"It's cool, dude. Seriously, she's all yours," he said with a pat on Spike's shoulder before heading off into the throng.
Leaving Spike grinding his teeth practically down to the gums.
So much for working off a little aggression. It had, in fact, gone and tripled on him.
The goddamn twerp thought he was—
That he was in…
Spike's nostrils flared, his hand curling into a fist, needing to hit something. Needing to inflict some pain.
"Right."
He gave Parker a bit of a head start before following after him, keeping an eye as the boy picked up a drink from one of the tables and made his way down the stairs before setting sights on a girl in a blue dress swaying to the music. She smiled welcomingly at him, and Spike waited until they were deep in conversation before stalking off on a hunt.
It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. A big, mean-looking idiot with a drink in one hand and a girl tucked under his arm.
Spike smiled.
He'll do.
The music wasn't half bad, and Buffy had managed to unwind more than she thought she would, even with Spike's continuous gaze burning into her shoulders whenever she turned her back on him.
He was keeping his promise though. Staying in sight, and maintaining a healthy still-enemies distance up on the balcony. Watching with a detachment she was certain he wasn't feeling. She could sense the glares dig in whenever anyone of the male variety got a little close, or smiled a little too widely.
She smirked to herself. So what if she was teasing him with it? He was evil, after all. Teasing was like… the least amount of vindictive she could be.
Besides he took teasing super badly, and it was so fun to watch him squirm.
Maybe on the way back to the dorms he'd say something smirky and cutting, and she could parry with something equally smirky and cutting, which would maybe get him sputtering indignantly until he shoved his tongue in her mouth just to shut her up.
Buffy checked herself.
Not that she liked that. Definitely not, that was… that was probably not uber-progressive at all.
Professor Walsh would for sure have some super long-winded words to say that would ultimately amount to calling Buffy anti-feminist for dwelling on the way Spike bit her just hard enough to make her blood boil.
So she absolutely, in no way, enjoyed it.
Especially not when he tangled his hand in her hair, pulling as hard as he could without setting off the chip in his head. Turned out pretty damn hard, as long as she liked it—
Which she DIDN'T. Full stop. The end.
She swallowed a gulp of her drink to suppress a shiver.
Okay, she liked it a lot.
It was nice to be wanted. To be fiercely wanted. Even if it was all fake. After all, the 'fake' was the safety net.
No heartbreak lurking on the horizon. No awkward chosen-one, super-strength, destiny-called-I-answered should've-let-it-go-to-voicemail conversation waiting to ruin everything.
Buffy smiled to herself.
All the relationship pros. None of the cons.
She was chatting amiably with one of her classmates from Computer Sciences when she noticed the tingle between her shoulder blades was missing.
Her head jerked up to the balcony.
No Spike.
God, he's such an ass! she thought, scanning the crowd. Why did I think I could trust him to stay in one place—?
She heard the crash a second later, her head whipping to the stairs where Parker was sprawled at the bottom, a huge jock in a football jersey towering over him.
Buffy grit her teeth.
Okay, this has Spike written all over it in permanent marker.
"How's that for 'gormless berk'?" Football Jersey sneered before leveling a kick into Parker's gut as the crowd winced sympathetically (or unsympathetically, depending on levels of acquaintance with either Parker or the alleged gormless berk).
There it is. Buffy rolled her eyes. Pretty sure that meathead isn't minoring in British Nonsense Speak.
She craned her neck, looking for platinum hair and black leather.
"Anyone catches you creeping on my girl again, I'll be fullgorm, fucker," the jock added before stalking off through the crowd, which parted seamlessly around him.
Parker groaned, struggling up weakly into a sitting position, and a snort cut across the various murmurs of gossip spreading like a ripple.
Buffy turned and spotted Spike leaning over the balcony railings, taking in the scene below as he sipped from a flask.
She darted up the stairs—inadvertently stepping on Parker's hand—and Spike's grin widened as his eyes met hers.
"What are you doing?" she hissed, grabbing him by the lapel of his coat before he could answer.
"Catching a show," he answered flippantly, barely blinking as she dragged him down the hall.
"Don't be cute. I know you had something to do with that!" she growled, ignoring the knowing smirks from less-than-sober students as she pushed him into the bathroom and locked the door behind them.
"I have an alibi," Spike retorted, smiling as he leaned against the sink. "Of the oh-so-fun semi-lobotomizing type."
"Right, and I'm sure that quarterback picked up the phrase 'gormless berk' from the sports channel," bit back Buffy, crossing her arms.
"Ah, caught that, did you?" Spike chuckled, not even attempting to appear innocent any longer, grinning in delight as her scowl deepened.
"I cannot believe I thought bringing you here was a good idea—"
"Well, to give you your fair dues, luv," he said, pushing himself off the sink, "I think 'good idea' might be putting rather a shine on what you thought—"
"Shut up!" she snapped as he moved closer. "You couldn't just behave for a couple of hours?! You are so—hey—what are you—?"
She yelped as he bent to grab her legs, slipping her skirt up to her thighs as he hauled her into his arms, pulling her off her feet. On instinct, she wrapped her calves around his hips, cursing herself even as her ankles locked over his ass without prior consent, her hands gripping his shoulders.
"Spike, put me down!" she demanded, thumping him on the arm in warning.
"Kiss me," he demanded as he pushed her against the door.
"What?"
"I said kiss me," he repeated. "Your tongue, my tongue, lips moving, why the bloody hell am I explaining?"
"We're having an argument," she stated like that should've been obvious.
"And you're so lovely when you're pissed off," he purred. "Especially when you're trying so hard at being all goody two shoes, but I reckon you liked seeing Parker take a tumble."
"That's extremely untrue," she growled.
"Oh, he had it coming and you know it," he said, squeezing her thighs in his hands. "Besides, I didn't see you rushing to save the poor boy."
"I was busy looking for you," she argued.
Her gut somersaulted as Spike leered. Obviously, that hadn't been the winning riposte she'd considered it to be.
"Is that right?" he asked, his eyes lowered and lingered on her lips, moving closer as her heart did an annoyingly loud double beat. "Did you wish it'd been me delivering the blow?"
"Okay, you're a caveman, and I'm very much not condoning that behavior," she answered, squirming in his grip in an effort to reach the floor without raising the skirt's hemline any higher in the process.
"You wriggle so nice," he chuckled, holding her tighter.
"Spike—"
Her head clipped the door as he kissed her hard enough to grind teeth. Hard enough to part her lips almost immediately, and despite herself, she groaned as his tongue slid over hers.
Anger morphed into a different flame as she gripped his neck, dragging him closer as her legs re-wound tighter.
He's such a jerk.
God, but he tastes so good…
"Gonna tell me off, Slayer?" he purred as she broke for air. He jolted her upwards, undoing the progress she'd made at climbing out of his arms. "Know you've got a good set of chains at home."
"Stop it! I swear, Spike, if I catch you doing anything like that again—" she growled, but the venom had gone out of her voice. Whatever the other half of the sentence had initially been was choked off as he buried his face at her neck. With blunt teeth, he pulled the neckline of her top down to reveal the only just fading mark over her shoulder.
His body pressing into hers kept her pinned in place, his fingers dug into her flesh and she gasped, winding a hand into his hair. He sucked hard, his canines leaving dimples in her skin, and her spine bowed, a low moan escaping her.
He growled back—low and dark and greedy—and she felt the reverberation of it in her throat.
Oh, this is so not with the progressive…
"Spike," she whispered, shuddering as he moved higher, licking a spot below her ear that would be near impossible to hide later if he chose to bite down.
"Maybe I'll behave next time," he murmured, catching her earrings on his tongue. "If that's what my girl wants. It'll be worth it to watch your saintly heart melt."
"Why do I have serious trouble believing that?" she asked.
Just as a deafening crash and screaming sounded from downstairs.