It meant nothing, Buffy repeated internally as leaden feet carried her to Giles' place for the third time that week.
It meant nothing.
The events of the previous night had been playing on an endless loop. She tried to pull away from them, to think of something else, but she was stuck tight. Could only conjure up that blackout moment, that freefall sensation when he'd broken loose from whatever final tether to sanity he'd had inside him. Visions of that split-second before he'd crashed into her fizzed like champagne in her mind. White noise replaced everything but the grip of his hand in her hair, his lips over hers hard enough she could feel his teeth.
The twenty-four hours since had passed in an unregistered blur. There had been classes, and lunch with Will, and probably some sort of slayage since she was holding a stake tightly in her hand, but it was only once late-evening had descended that she'd come back into herself.
Although she clearly hadn't snapped back to full reality yet if she was pondering the way Spike kissed with anything less than all-out revulsion.
Revulsion would hit soon. Count on it. She was just all headspun. From all the twirling round and around. It had been a momentary lapse of concentration (that had yet to lift) and she'd been really, really angry. And sure, yeah, that anger had flamed into an unexpected wildfire, but (and sue her if she was becoming a one-track record) It Meant Nothing.
It was so so all different types of nothing.
Totally nothing, she added, trying to make the mantra more persuasive even as her face felt like it could blister from the heat in her cheeks.
She couldn't stop running her fingers across her lips as her heart rate beat itself into a fever pitch, reliving the feeling of the plump tenderness they'd swelled to. Like they'd been stung. The numbness lingered...
Stop it!
She forced her hand back to her side, trying to block out how it had felt to have his wrist flexing uselessly in her hold even as he dragged her in by the back of her neck, neither one able to get away from the other. Chaotic yet immovable, just as his presence in her head had become.
Oh God, what am I gonna tell Riley—
Nothing! cried the voice in her head as the word started to lose all meaning. Um, hello!? We're not even telling him about the dance lessons tutored by his recent science experiment! This is not in the bounds of telling...ness! Silence is golden here, right!?
Buffy nodded to herself. Right…
Although, in honesty, she was sick of that song.
And here she was striding (however slowly) back onto the battlefield.
It felt like only seconds had passed since she'd left it. Since she'd hauled Spike back into the bathroom and shoved him with full force back into the tub. Her rough handling had done nothing to dampen the heat in his gaze.
"Don't I get a goodnight kiss?" he'd purred lecherously as she'd finished shackling his wrists. She'd given him the only comeback she'd had in her repertoire, considering all words were clogged uncomfortably between her lungs and her throat.
But even the bloody nose hadn't wiped the grin from his face.
Buffy took a calming breath as she crossed the courtyard to Giles' door. It would be alright. Giles would be there this time so he could pull them apart if things started to go south again.
Really, really south…
She cleared her throat, and pushed through the front door.
"Hi Giles! I'm here!" she called out, and melted slightly in relief to spot him in the kitchen.
One buffer: check!
"Wonderful," he called back as he finished rinsing a plate in the sink and placed it on the drying rack. "I'll be off."
Buffy blinked.
"What?" she blurted out as he dried his hands on a towel.
"Since you're Spike-sitting for the evening, I'm taking the opportunity to attend a lecture at the college," he explained, crossing the living room and taking his suede coat off the coat rack.
"But I need you here!" she cried. "You're my buffer! My Buffy-buffer!"
"As nice as it is to be needed, the fact that I'll be out of the way for the majority of your dance lesson is, admittedly, the main draw," he replied. "Best of luck," he added as the front door closed with finality.
The clack of the front door caused the waiting silence to swarm in, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck.
Buffy bit her lip. And then very carefully un-bit it since the sensation was far too similar to ones she'd been on the receiving end of last night.
She pouted. She was losing her grip on her mantra of denial. It had been something. A really, really, really stupid something that had been pulled out of her from too much proximity to Spike. Having him intruding so deeply in her personal space was fraying her nerves. He brought out the worst in her, but she hadn't realized how far down the worst went.
Argh! Nothing! It meant nothing!
She'd only done what she'd done because it was that or rip his head off and get vampire dust all over Giles' furniture, and plus he'd started it so it wasn't even her fault!
She paused, taking a breath. Forcefully pushed down the abrasive feeling of frustration that was threatening to breach her bloodstream. That wasn't a safe feeling to have here. Cool, calm, unbothered, nothingyness. It would be fine. It was the last night of Spike tutorage. With or without a Buffy-buffer it couldn't get any worse than the worst it had already gotten, and that was almost a comforting thought.
One more try, she thought, tightening her bottom lip in determination. I feel like I'm so close, I just need one more… spin.
She rolled her eyes at herself, relieved she hadn't said those words out loud in front of anyone.
This whole stupid wedding thing better earn me major girlfriend points, she thought bitterly. All the points. Big, supreme, jumbo-scoreboard, gold-medal achieving points.
…To make up for Spike's tongue in your mouth, sneered the voice she'd really started to hate.
She sighed and hung up her jacket, heading for the bathroom.
It's not going to happen again. That was a fluke.
We hate each other… that's the whole… point.
She froze in her tracks as faint humming started from the other side of the door, crooning like a siren ready to dash her brains out on the rocks, making her heart beat frantically.
"Oh, don't it hurt deep inside, To see someone do something to her. Oh, don't it pain to see someone cry—"
She pushed open the door and caught Spike mid-chorus, eyes closed in apparent melodic rapture.
Oh for God's sake, she huffed.
"Oh, especially when someone is her…" He tilted his head towards her as if only just noticing her coming into the bathroom. His gaze met hers. "Hello, Bambi. Couldn't keep away?"
"I said I'd be back tomorrow," she said, keeping her tone bright and unperturbed.
He grinned vindictively. "Counting the minutes, were you?"
"You're so full of yourself," Buffy sighed, breaking eye contact long enough to reach for the shackles' keys.
"Yeah?" His eyes sparkled as he watched her bend to unlock his wrists. "Climb in here with me, pet, it could be a shared affliction."
Buffy felt her eye starting to twitch but she fought it down.
Fought it down until it was a twitch far more south.
God, stop it!
Get a grip!
It's just dancing with Spike, the feeling you're reaching for is disgust and exasperation not… not…
She cleared her throat sharply.
"No thanks," she replied with acerbic brittleness, letting the shackles clatter against the porcelain. "Let's go. Dance time," she commanded, and rose off her feet, turning to the door.
"Can't keep her hands off me," she heard him chuckle to himself and the sound burned across her shoulder blades.
Nothing.
It means nothing.
But a shivery heat bristled up her spine.
xXx
Leaning lazily against the antique bookcase, Spike watched as Buffy cleared the furniture off their rug-lined dance floor. He'd heard the scrapes of the living room being put back into place the night before—followed swiftly by the front door slamming—and had decided to get a good vantage point this time around, enjoying the way Buffy bent down, both hands planted on the edge of sofa cushions, before she pushed it back out of the way.
Nice view…
Buffy straightened up. And caught him staring. He let his gaze rise ever so slowly back to hers before smiling at her in just the way he knew drove her insane. He could see it in the way her jaw clenched.
After a moment to savor it, Spike cocked his head, considering the rest of the room. And then crossed to the sofa.
He bent down, and pushed both sofa and desk as far towards the opposite wall as they would go.
"We're doing it properly," he answered her questioning look. "No more tripping over each other's feet."
"Fine," she huffed, still obviously a little riled up as he crossed the room to the CD player. He extracted Disc One from the CD slot. He was sick of Silence Is Golden, and he'd pull a Van Gogh on both ears rather than suffer through Unchained Melody ever again.
He flipped the case and perused the track list of the second disc as it slid home in its tray.
No… no… no…
…Hm.
He tapped the case against his fingertips, a mean smirk stretching across his face. That'll do.
He skipped to the fourth track, and turned into the frosty glower the Slayer was leveling at him as the intro to Needles and Pins by The Searchers strummed in the air.
The first verse crooned out of the speakers and she frowned at his song choice, searching his face for the ulterior motive, her shoulders stiff with suspicion.
"I saw her today, I saw her face,
It was a face I loved, and I knew,
I had to run away and get down on my knees and pray,
That they'd go away but still they begin.
Needles and pins…"
"Ready, Slayer?" he asked, extending his hand, and after a brief hesitation she slid her palm against his, locking their hands together. Warm fingers splayed the top of his shoulder, and he held down a shiver as memory surged. How she'd pinned him there, fingers digging in like a vice over his collarbone and the slope of his neck.
Bet I can bring the tiger out of her cage again…
He pulled her flush against him. The first step she managed without even a hesitation. The second. The third. Her attention on the music and not on him yet.
"Because of all my pride,
The tears I gotta hide."
He started humming it under his breath. Practically absentmindedly, but the tips of her ears turned red. She still didn't miss a step even as he started singing, low and lazy as if to himself.
"I thought I was smart, I'd won a heart,
Didn't think I'd do. But now I see,
She's worse to him than me…"
"Let her go ahead. Take his love instead…"
Buffy stiffened as his singing became more direct, low and purred into her ear. She turned her head to face him as he sang the next line looking straight into her eyes.
"And one day she will see just how to say please." He grinned, letting his gaze drift down to her lips. "And get down on her knees—"
Her hand shot up from his shoulder and had him by the neck, squeezing so hard her thumb bit into the muscle by his artery, fiery contempt scorching the green in her eyes.
"Yeah, that's how it begins…"
"What are you doing?" she growled.
He leaned closer, the splayed hand at her back keeping her flush with his pelvis. God, she felt gorgeous, all shivering anger trembling against him even as the heat sank into his bones.
Oh, to get her on her knees…
"Haven't you figured it out yet, luv?"
Her brow creased even as she gripped harder, but he shrugged lightly, happy not to make her work for the answer.
"You dance better when you're a little hot under the collar."
Always have done, he added in the privacy of his own head as he let the pressure drop from his arm, causing Buffy to fall momentarily out of his grip, dipping low before the flat of his forearm brought her back up again. "Stop thinking about the moves, honey... just feel it."
He was feeling it. Christ, how he was feeling it, their kiss reigniting into psychosomatic tingles across his lips as he brought her close, breasts heaving against his chest as she caught her breath, eyes flashing with a dangerous light the way they had before they'd collided.
"Why can't I stop and tell myself I'm wrong, I'm wrong, so wrong,
Why can't I stand up, and tell myself I'm strong…"
But he didn't want to anymore. Didn't want to break away, the way Dru had pleaded with him to. Maybe all this was inevitable, and fighting it was just making him sink deeper, like being stuck in quicksand.
I am covered in her, he admitted to himself. The thought didn't come with any kind of anger this time, feeling almost comfortable, settling onto the bed of nails of wanting her. It didn't matter. A little bit of lust would make her blood taste sweeter when he finally got the chip out of his head.
He could see her warring with herself, trying to maintain a foothold on her indignance, but she was impressed—with him and herself—and it was such a simple thing to twist her into another spin.
"Because I saw her today, I saw her face,
It was a face I loved…"
He wasn't hearing the song anymore. White noise filled his ears as an almost-smile flickered at the corner of her mouth as she spun back into his arms in a twirl.
Minx, he thought as she shot him a smug look, holding a grin of her own back even as her hand settled just slightly too high on his neck, thumb resting in the dip over his windpipe in a light warning. Minx with claws.
"And I knew, I had to run away,
And get down on my knees and pray,
That they'd go away but still they begin,
Needles and pins…"
They were dancing for real now. No half stumbles, no glances down at their feet, just an effortless box-step that led them in a wide, sweeping circle.
"Oh, needles and pins,
Needles and pins."
More than a little intoxicated with the feeling of her hot, warm body pressed against his, Spike spun them, relishing the closeness the sudden movement required. A flurried, dizzying blur as every step of hers was split with a step of his between her feet. She managed to keep her back straight, an elated squeak escaping her lungs as she gripped his shoulder tighter as just the tips of her shoes touched the floor.
"...Needles and pins."
"Oh, atta girl, Bambi," he purred when he brought them to a stop and she twirled beneath his hand and back into his arms as if she'd been dancing all her life.
"Shut up," she admonished, but hell if she wasn't grinning herself. Clearly couldn't help it from the sound of blood pounding in her chest, heart beating triple time.
The song stopped, but they didn't. Still moving around each other as With A Girl Like You began.
"I want to spend my life with a girl like you…
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba, ba-ba-ba-ba…"
Buffy glanced up to his face, smiling curiously, and he realized he was humming to himself again.
"And do all the things that you want me to,
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba, ba-ba-ba-ba."
She raised an eyebrow as he ba-ba-ba'd, stepping easily around his feet as they twirled again, instinctively knowing when he was going to stop, but she didn't ease her grip this time.
"'Til that time has come…" he sang, since that smile was making him dizzy even without the spinning, and fuck but even though he loved her scowl he thought he might actually love that unimpressed smirk more. "That we might live as one… Can I dance with you?"
"Not after tonight," she said, answering the song's question.
Spike smirked, even as an unexpected feeling of disappointment hit him squarely in the chest, making him blink for a second. He pushed it down.
"Whatever you say, luv," he purred. "You'll be begging for another spin."
She stiffened in his grip momentarily, eyes darting up to his, as though he'd hit a nerve.
"Dream on," she hit back even as he brought her almost off her feet in a turn. "It's easier than I thought it'd be, though," she added as he settled her into a sway.
"Told you it's better when you get a bit close," he murmured, and she nodded.
"Girl, why should it be,
That you don't notice me?
Can I dance with you?"
"Always thought we moved well together," Spike said, and Buffy watched him back cautiously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Would rather be fighting you anyway," he added, and her mouth twitched into a half smile of acknowledgement.
"Yeah," she murmured.
"Baby, baby, is there no chance,
I can take you for the last dance?
All night long, yeah, I've been waiting
Now there'll be no hesitating…"
Her stomach was practically flush with his at this point, and Spike had to assume that no matter how open-minded her new beau was, this would be past the point of rational explanation.
Buffy seemed to realize that and leaned back, reinstating some distance, even if it was only an inch.
"I'm still fighting you," she said quietly, her hand squeezing his slightly, and Spike caught the pulse at her neck twitching harder.
He walked forward into her, reclosing the distance, keeping down a leer when she didn't protest. "Not that hard."
She huffed. A sound that could be either exasperation or amusement and gave nothing away. "No, not that hard."
She swallowed, her eyes sliding to his mouth as her lips parted slightly, and Spike thought if it had been Dru in his arms—or Harmony, or some bint from the Bronze, or literally anyone that wasn't fully capable of twisting his head clean off his shoulders—he would've had his tongue practically in her throat by now.
"What does it matter, though?" he asked. "If it's the last time anyway?"
"So, before this dance has reached the end,
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba, ba-ba-ba-ba,
To you across the floor, my love I'll send,
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba, ba-ba-ba-ba…"
She stared at him, complex calculations flitting through her eyes as she visibly tried to assess the situation, but he wasn't going to give her the chance to overthink her way out of it. Not when she felt so soft and so warm in his hands. Not when her breath kept fanning against his neck and making the nerves stand to attention, begging for her touch there.
He dipped her low. Lower and lower, and so low her leg came up to his hip for balance.
"I just hope and pray,
That I'll find a way to say…"
"Spike," she whispered.
He moved to kiss her, but she met him in an uprise, soft lips over his, and then a gasp as he squeezed the air from her lungs with his arm around her ribs.
"Buffy…"
Can I dance with you?