Chapter 3: One Time Giveth, Part 2
“Have your wicked way with me.”
Instead of doing so (and – the hard on that had become increasingly less hard during all that namby-pamby emotion sharing had jumped back to life again at the prospect of the Slayer inflicting all sorts of wickedness onto him, by the way), Buffy tensed. Typical enough. “You’re wrong,” she insisted, though the small tone of her voice told him he was cracking that self-righteous shell of hers.
“Interestin’, ’cause the tip tap of your heart’s tellin’ me I’m not.” His eyes gleamed as he searched her over. He openly appraised her, his eyes drifting up and down the length of her appreciatively. “That little rosey hint to your cheeks – you, bein’ all flustered, makes me feel sorta right.”
“I’m not that way,” she forcefully denied. “What you said… I don’t feel those things.”
“Yeah, real believable,” he agreed sarcastically. “‘Cept for the fact that we both know it’s not true. It’s why you’re here. It’s why you haven’t got up and left. You want me as much as I want you, knowin’ just as well as I do that it’s wrong.”
He watched her jaw clench, and bit back a snicker as she clung so desperately to her argument. “I don’t,” she denied.
He nodded once, dropping his hands back to her knees. “Yes, you do .” He smirked, leered – gave her his best sexy smile that he knew penetrated even her prim and proper ways. “Last poke with the frat boy, what’s-his-line – wasn’t too fulfilling, was it? Seein’ as it lasted the once before he moved onto greener, wider pastures.” He paused, mockingly reflective. “Well… maybe not wider .” Her glare had him continuing, dropping the smirk just a bit so as to ensure his safety when she did finally get up and leave. “You can’t tell me that was good for you– he was good for you. Bet you had to play nice, didn’t you? Maybe hold back a bit, not wantin’ to break the boy. Kept those Slayer muscles perfectly in check as he wriggled about on top of you? An’ don’t get me started on your goodbye shag with the Poof. First time, all nice and slow as the Ponce gave you the most romantic minute of your ideal little life.”
She put on her brave face as she shook her head, flinging a few strands of hair behind her shoulder (they were getting in the way of talking, apparently). “Are you trying to get me to stake you? Because this whole seduction thing you’re working? Severely lacking.”
Spike’s eyebrow shot upwards at her suggestion. “Seduction?” he purred. Hmm. Good point. Playfully, his fingers walked their way up her thigh, and he watched them as he did so. He bypassed the part of her he was aching to touch the most, and instead went to her waist. Pushing his bound hands under the thin fabric of her top, he continued his movement beneath it. Up and up, his fingers grazed her warm skin, propelled by the way her heart started thumping in his ears, faster and louder the farther he reached. When his fingers brushed against her bra, his eyes jumped up to her face. She was looking down at him, eyes wide, her mouth clamped shut. Scared, looking ready to bolt any second. He gave her a soft smile, both reassuring and smug, as he continued up and over. His two hands molded to her breasts, the feel of his palms on her seperated only by the bra she wore. Gently, he squeezed, and her entire body shuddered on top of him. He nearly lost it there, impressed with her response. He tried it again, for experimental sake, and her eyes snapped shut as she let out a low moan, encouraging him on.
Contrary to her body’s reaction, she breathed out his name in an attempt to get him to stop.
“Nah uh-uh, pet,” he told her, his thumbs starting to move in a slow caress. “Line’s already been crossed. No goin’ back, so why stop now?”
With a forced swallow, she nodded her head, opening her eyes again. They were glossy, filled with passion, and looking all sorts of dazed. When he made no effort to continue, she groaned. “More,” she begged, arching her back into his touch.
He couldn’t help but grin at that. From bitch, to bitch in heat – in two bloody seconds. Amazing. Still though, he had other things planned. He leaned in close, his hands releasing their hold on her as he let them fall back down her body, teasing her along the way as his fingers brushed along her skin. He pulled them out from under her shirt, grinning inwardly at her whimper of protest. “Turn around,” he murmured, one of his hands grabbing a hold of her knee.
“W-what?”
“Turn. Around.” The look she shot him let him know she knew what he said, she just wanted an explanation. He obliged, speaking softly. “Gonna get you out of them pants.”
The ‘deer caught in the headlights’ look was back as she tensed on top of him. “No,” she whispered frantically. “No taking off my pants!”
He smiled patiently, starting his fingers up again, taking the same path from her knees to her waist, this time with more intent. “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice low and dripping of sensuality. “Know I can’t hurt you. Got this chip in my head, and a migraine isn’t exactly what I had in mind right about now.”
Her eyes fluttered shut as he explored the taut skin of her stomach, her heart picking up in speed as his fingers teased. After a few seconds, they flickered back open, and she pushed his hands away from her. “I hate you,” she told him stubbornly. “I really, really hate you.” She pulled her legs free with a grunt, paused to glare at him, and then turned herself around.
His immediate response was to thrust up into her like some horny, pimply teenager getting his first peek at a naked girl, but he resisted, keeping his hips still. Doing that would result in no amount of good, except for maybe the bit of pleasure he’d get out of it as he rubbed himself up against her. Wouldn’t be worth it in the long run, seeing as he’d rather have all of her than a cheap feel.
Okay, in a perfect world, he’d like to have both, but – technicalities and all that rot.
When she’d fully turned around and stopped on top of him, obviously uncomfortable and amusingly embarrassed, he pulled her to him so that her back touched his chest. She protested (of bloody course) his movement, but stilled all the same when she realized what it was he was doing. Her legs stretched out on top of his, and he groaned at the feel of it. The Slayer was on top of him. Directly. Bum perched over his groin, warm legs covering his, back pressed into him, her hair in his face. His mortal enemy. The bane of his existence. The voice in the back of his head that hadn’t stopped sreaming, whispering, and groaning her name since the first day he’d sought her out.
And she was on top of him. Willingly. And to shag .
The Powers that Be, whoever and whatever the fuck they were, had a truly sick sense of humor. One that he could openly appreciate, but sick all the same.
Once he’d spent enough time reveling in what had to be equally the most amusing and arousing moment of his unlife, he lifted his clasped hands from behind her back, brought them up over her head, and lowered them slowly around her. He was careful not to get the chains caught in her hair (and he had to stop for a second, because the visual of that was pretty hilarious) as he brought them down over her face. He kept his hands off of her, never touching her, as they slid lower. She was motionless under him, her entire body tight with her hands clasped in her lap. He ignored all that, moving his hands down the length of her until they floated inches above her stomach. When he finally brought them down onto her, chains and all, she let out a sharp breath, and pressed her body into his. Again, he ignored the overwhelming urge to jerk his hips upwards. Leaning forward, he peered over her shoulder. He couldn’t help but take in a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the scent of her hair, of the sweat starting to form along her skin.
The top button on her pants was still undone from his earlier efforts, and he grinned at that. Couldn’t help it. Feeling all sorts of cocky, he reached for her zipper, ignoring her as she went rigid. As slow as he could, he pushed it down, gradually exposing her to him. White cotton panties. He immediately started to throb, a new rush of blood flowing in the direction that most definitely wasn’t his brain. Her heart pitter pattering in her chest echoed in his ears, and he could practically taste the blood creeping to her surface. He inhaled, taking in a deep breath as the scent of just how much she wanted this fully hit him.
“Mmm,” he breathed out. His mouth went to her ear, and he lowered his voice. “You smell good.”
“I… it’s Herbal Essence,” she said distractedly.
He chuckled. Not exactly what he was talking about, but okay. Motivated by the fact that her reactions had nothing to do with A) redundant threats, B) prudish behavior, or C) any bit of defiance in the sake of denial – he gripped the open top of her jeans with both hands. “Lift up.”
There was some hesitance before she did so, but not enough to annoy him. Already impatient, and having spent enough time as it was being nice, he roughly pushed her pants down. He could only get them so far, seeing as there was that fun lack-of-movement the chains provided. He’d got them to her knees, before he gave up. Smart little thing that she was, the Slayer got the hint and sat up. There was the obligatory groan on his part as she wiggled on top of him, but she ignored it all the same as she pulled her jeans down.
After a few seconds of her struggling, her jeans rolled down to her ankles, she stopped, straightening. “Uh, shoes,” she told him, looking back dumbly.
He couldn’t help but snort, amused. “And? Take ’em off.”
“Right.” She ducked away embarassedly, and went to the task of taking them off. “Of course.”
His eyebrow quirked upward, and he couldn’t help but smile. It was almost kind of… cute . In an evil, I-hate-you, wish-you-were-bloody-dead sort of way, of course. Annoyed with that particular thought (cute?), he sighed impatiently. “Difficult task, untying the laces?”
Hunched over, the huff she let out was muffled. “There’re no laces . The zipper’s stuck.”
He could feel the pout in her words, knew that her lower lip was stuck out because of it. Could perfectly visualize it jutted out, begging to be taken in his mouth, between his teeth, wanting to be sucked on. “Need for me to help?” he asked, suddenly inspired.
“I think I can handle taking off my own boots, Spike.”
Great. Bitchy Buffy was back. Good thing he knew how to get her to disappear. He leaned back and rolled his hips, his own eyes slamming shut at the immediate burst of pleasure that shot through him, nevermind the way she reacted on top of him.
“Spike!” she cried out breathlessly, snapping him out of his own happy place. He opened his eyes just in time to catch the glare she was tossing him, it made considerably less harsh by the red tint on her cheeks.
“Been waitin’ for bloody ever here, Slayer. Gonna toss you off and do this myself if you don’t hurry up.”
Her blush deepened and she quickly twisted back around, tugging at her boots. She pulled them off easily, and then shimmied the rest of the way out of her blue jeans before she started to turn around. He watched her with growing amusement, keeping quiet as she carefully hung the jeans over the side of the tub. She stopped when she caught his amused look. “What?” she asked defensively, glancing away self-consciously.
His eyebrows shot up, and he eyed the nicely folded jeans intently.
“It’s just incase my friends….”
Well that was pretty obvious, now that she mentioned it. His response was cut off as the realization that there was a nearly naked Slayer on top of him hit him. Hit her just about the same time, both of their attention immediately going to the thin bit of material covering her up. His gaze was hungry, hers anything but. Right. So. His pants needed to be off, right bloody now. Quickly, his clasped hands popped the top button, peeling open his jeans in one fluid ( oi , wrong word to use) motion, and he immediately sprang free, sucking in a shaky breath as cold air hit overly-sensitive flesh. If Buffy’s face wasn’t red before, it was now. He didn’t even have to look at her to know. He could feel the blood as it rushed to her face, could hear as her heart picked up in speed, as it thumped in her chest, and just knew where her eyes were zeroed in on. Skipping the part where he showed off his manly bits to her, proud as she blushed and sputtered ( wrong word, bloody hell), he bucked his hips up and started to push his jeans down.
“Spike…”
Oh, fuck. No. No bloody way, not now. He ignored the reluctance in her voice, his eyes shooting upwards to look at hers. “Slayer?” He froze, fully erect, pants pulled half-way down his bloody hips, the Slayer straddling the lower part of his legs, and waited.
“I can’t do this. This is just…” She drew in a deep breath, letting it back out slowly. “Okay, you’re naked. Well, sort of. And I’m sitting here… almost , too. And – it’s you .”
He nodded slowly. “Yeaaah.”
“It’s you, Spike. This is just–”
“Wrong,” he agreed lightly, pushing again at his pants.
“More than wrong,” she said emphatically, her words once again stopping him. She quieted her voice, her eyes widening with urgency as she looked at him. “My friends are in the other room, Giles… They all think I’m getting information out of you, and guess what? This? Really kinda not the type of information I’m supposed to be getting.”
“An’ your friends are never gonna know, not if you keep stallin’. So, what’s the problem?”
She sputtered (groan), at a loss for words. “It’s you !”
“An’ it’s you,” he said in agreeance. “Now… be a good Slayer and help me out here.”
She grimaced, but he could feel her slowly giving in. “I’m breaking rules, I know it. There’s gotta be some rule in that Slayer Handbook Giles is always telling me to read about this. Rule Number One, in big, bolded letters: Thou Shall Not Sleep With Thy Mortal Enemies.And I’m breaking it. ”
“Quit bein’ so bloody dramatic. An’…” he paused, frowning. “You’ve got a handbook?”
She ignored him, instead threw him a pointed glare, and grabbed a hold of his pants. Her eyes immediately darted away from him, and predictably enough, she blushed. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered, pulling on his pants.
He smirked, pleased with her helpfulnes. “So you’ve said.”
She got his pants down to where she sat, before stopping and letting go. “Chains,” she explained off his look.
He sighed in frustration. Of course. “Right, then.” Things got quiet as the seriousness of what was happening set in. Except, right – he was evil and literally couldn’t give two fucks about anything other than wanting to shag, right now, and particularly with her, so bugger the big moment of contemplation. “Slayer,” he moaned, his eyes closing as he bit down the impulse to grab her and violently pull her up and on to him.
There was another moment of hesitance on her part, and he opened his eyes again, staring at her, silently encouraging her. Slowly, she started to move. She inched her way up his body until she was straddling his waist, the very real and very hard evidence of his arousal nudged between her thighs. He gasped at the feeling, staring at her with wide eyes as he waited to see what she was gonna do. He wanted her. God, he wanted her. The wrongess of it, of wanting the Slayer, of wanting to do something to the Slayer other than snap her neck and drain her dry, of painting the town red with her blood, only made him throb harder, only made him want her more. And hell, if she didn’t do something in the next two seconds, he might rethink the death-by-chip option and snap her sodding neck for toying with him.
His bonded hands went to her waist, his fingers curling into her curves, and in return her two strong hands rested against the broad part of his chest. Slowly she started to lift up, her eyes locked with his, and before he could utter a smug word about how she should prepare herself for the feel of a real man (vampire), she’d settled right over him. Right over parts of him that were straining for her touch.
“Slayer,” he groaned, his voice thick with need when she made no move to continue. She was gonna be the death of him. Death by sodding cocktease, dust in the wind, end of his bloody story. He realized then that she still had on that tiny scrap of fabric that passed for panties, covering her, keeping her from continuing. Should probably just push ’em aside and pull her down onto him, all nice and proper-like incase one of the Scoobies in the next room came knocking, but ‘nice’ and ‘proper-like’ had officially been sod to hell the second she agreed to this tryst of their’s. He let go of her waist, his hands skimming her skin as they slid downwards, and he took hold of the thin bit of material between her legs, purposefully brushing his knuckles against her. With a predatory smirk, he gave it a good tug.
The Slayer gasped, looking down in shock at her torn underwear in his hand, before raising her head back up and glaring. Ohh, he was in trouble now. Ripped her pretty little pair of panties, and now she’d have to go commando. That thought immediately sent a wave of imagery over him. Mental pictures that all had the Slayer naked in her tight jeans, fighting and wet, sweating and hot as she moved, and – fuck. The panties got tossed to hell knows where, and he grabbed her thighs, muttering outloud in frustration at the little leverage he had thanks to the chains. She got the hint, and, nibbling on that bottom lip of hers, she started to lower herself onto him. He gasped as he felt his tip pressing against her entrance, but despite his own needs, he wasn’t quite prepared to give in. She’d prolonged this all night, with the talking and her just generally being a bitch – now it was his turn. He rolled his hips, teasing her, and her eyes slammed shut. He watched her jaw flex and her throat tighten, and it took everything in him to not thrust up into her.
“Dammit, Spike,” she complained, frustration dripping from her voice like her hot, tight little… nah, that was too easy of an innuendo.
He smirked in return, liking very much this annoyed version of the Slayer on top of him. The one that was spawned from sexual frustration and not… well, sexual frustration. But sexual frustration of the desperately-in-need-of-some kind. She wanted him, just as much as he wanted her. “Somethin’ you want, pet?”
Her eyes flew open, and the sparks he saw swirling in them only added to his amusement. “You dead?” she asked in a falsely sweet tone.
Denial. Fun! And still making with the quips as she hovered above him. Admirable. “Already dead,” he informed her matter-of-factly, leaning in just so. Her lips were so close to his, and he felt himself being pulled towards them. “Besides… you wouldn’t like that, now would you? Leave you all… frustrated.”
“You wish,” she muttered.
The next thing he knew, he was buried. The Slayer dropped down with a moan, and her grip on him tightened painfully. Both of their eyes widened, and her breath exploded into a sharp gasp as she came down all the way.
Fuck , was the first coherent thing that came to mind. And then some stream of babble along the lines of bloody fucking hell… so bloody tight… feels so good , followed by a grunt or two.
“Spike,” she panted, releasing her grip on his chest and moving instead to clutch at his shoulders.
Christ, she was hot. Scalding, and burning, so bloody tight, and he was lost already. Two seconds in, and he was unraveling. Just feeling her around him, wet and soft, surrounding him, and the ponce within stirred. Lines of poetry echoed in his head, and praising words like ‘velvet’ and ‘satin’ came to mind, things that he rightfully brushed away and pushed down. He hated this girl with everything in him. Hated her on account of who she was, nevermind the fact that she was a bossy, bitchy, annoying chit who’d made the previous two years of his existence hell. Hated her on pretenses alone. But nevermore had he felt this good, in this position. Not with Dru, never with Harmony. Nothing compared to the heat, to the way he fit her, to the way she held onto him and her weight settled on top of him. It was perfect.
And then she started to move. Oh, fuck . Whatever he said before, whatever poetry she’d inspired, whatever unraveling he’d done and incoherency the feel of her had reduced him to – this was a hundred times better. Her eyes were shut, but he couldn’t take his off of her, transfixed by the sight of her moving on top of him. She was biting down on her lower lip, looking so focused, and it took the feel of her sliding against him to not start laughing at the sight of it.
Spike knew he wouldn’t last long. Not with the way she felt, tightening around him. Not with the way her fingers curled his shirt into her fists, gripping him close and quickly pulling him towards her. He started to rock his hips in time with her, thrusting upwards as she slid down. With a gasp, her eyes flew open, immediately meeting his. Tightening his grip on her, he sat up, and they both groaned at the sudden change in position. He leaned forward, pulling her to him, and his mouth went to her neck. He could hear the blood rushing beneath her skin louder than then could hear her pulls for air, louder than the beat of her heart. She tensed immediately when she felt his teeth scrape up against her as his mouth widened, but quickly relaxed, groaning in encouragement when she felt his tongue on her skin. Gently, he began sucking on the side of her throat, the pull of his mouth matching the rise and fall of her hips as he tasted her. He kissed a path along her neck, up to her jawline, back below her ear; his lips brushing over her lightly.
She hissed when his dull teeth nipped at the bottom of her ear. “Spike,” she whimpered as his mouth slid back down her neck.
He pulled back a little, grinning knowingly. “Like that, don’t you?”
With an annoyed grunt, she pushed him away from her, her fists curling his shirt up even more. He was gonna protest about the fact that – he bloody liked this shirt (and it was the only he’d had, at that), but then she started pulling it up off of him. Spike obliged, lifting his hands from her waist and bringing them up in the air, when the reminder that his hands were chained together hit him. By then the shirt was already over his head and being pulled down his arms by a very intent Buffy. She tugged impatiently at the shirt when it came into contact with the chains and wouldn’t come off, and he chuckled, pulling her with him as he leaned back against the tub.
“Chains,” he reminded her.
“Stupid chains,” she muttered, forgetting about the shirt and settling back with her hands on his shoulders again. This time there was no shirt to numb the feel of her holding on. This time it was skin-on-skin, and the feel of it lit something inside the both of them. Her nails dug into him as their movement became more frantic, her head ducked down and held level as she stared into his eyes. Faster and faster he pumped, colliding with her as she slid down, sending them both closer to the edge.
“Harder,” she gasped, the word instantly sparking something inside of him.
He willingly obeyed, forgetting about the t-shirt dangling from his arms as he grabbed her waist and helped her along. Seeing her on top of him, naked from the waist down, wearing nothing but that small top of hers, looking all sorts of flushed, quickened his pace.
Her eyes slammed shut as he thrust deeper into her, and immediately he reacted. “No,” he told her roughly, clutching at her sides desperately. “Open your eyes.” She did so, just as soon as the words left his lips, and he nodded his head slowly, hungrily. “Yeah, that’s right. Look at who you’re fucking. Not your precious Poof, not your little college boy. It’s me you’re on top of, Slayer. How does it feel? Do you like it? Like the way I make you feel?” His words came out tight as he continued rocking below her, hitched by unnecessary pulls of air.
She made a big show of swallowing, sucking in a deep breath as her movement slowed some. She didn’t answer him, instead kept her gaze locked with his. With a smile that only promised of impending pleasure, she clamped her thighs together and squeezed the hell out of him. He let out a strangled groan as his head lolled back against the top of the tub, but still he kept up with the thrusts, increasing in intensity as he pumped into her, despite the feel of her contracting around him, despite the waves of pleasure that wracked through his body. No way the Slayer was gonna come out of this thinking she got the best of him. Was gonna be the other way around, he was bloody well sure of that.
They were making as little noise as possible, and Spike kept his ears open for any sign of Impending Do-Gooders. Honestly, he wouldn’t give a piss if the Whelp walked in and saw them. Hell, he wouldn’t even stop, maybe speed up a bit and give the boy a good show. But he knew Buffy’d wouldn’t react so amiably… to put it mildly. And contrary to her self-imposed belief, he didn’t particularly fancy a dusty ending just yet. Especially not now, not when he knew what things could be like between them.
Leaning forward, he ducked his head, his mouth immediately latching onto the sweat-coated skin exposed above her top. He sucked and kissed, starting from the small swell of her breasts, and made his way down, teasing as he gently nipped. His mouth glided over the thin fabric of her halter top, and he kept with the wet kisses, knowing that it was driving her wild. In response, she unlocked her arms from around his neck, and one of her hands grabbed at him, pulling him closer. The other snaked its way up the back of his head as she grabbed a hold of his hair. Her heavy breathing burned against his neck, and she started to kiss his jawline. Moaning, liking very much the feel of her hot mouth against his skin, he lowered his head and bit down on her hardened nipples as she bucked on top of him.
Yeah, that’s right, he grinned inwardly, feeling parts of him (some a bit literally) swell with pride.
His eyes lighting up, he growled. “Buffy.”
“Spike,” she cried out softly, thrashing on top of him as he bit down again. She started to move faster, wilder, drenching him each time she buried him again, and his eyes rolled shut from the feel of it. Releasing her grip, her hands slid up to and around his neck, and she locked her arms together, drawing him even closer as she pulled him against her. He took her not-so-subtle hint and complied as he nipped and teased her covered breasts. He could feel her start to flutter around him, and knowing she was close pushed him towards his own release. His insides burned and tightened, his muscles starting to clench. He held off, not wanting to be the first one to let go. Still sucking at her chest, he reached his hand between them. His fingers found her her clit, and he started to tease her, twisting and rubbing until her movements became wild. Knowing that she was close, he pulled away from her, his hips jerking upwards as he pumped faster, harder, not caring anymore that the sound of the chains hitting the sides of the tub could probably be heard through the walls . He cut off the loud cry he knew was coming from her with his mouth, swallowing it with a kiss that lacked any sort of gentleness to it as she whithered on top of him. When he felt her inner muscles clench around him, he knew it was it for him. Hell, he was surprised he’d held out as long as he did. Pulling away from her mouth, he shuddered, thrusting upwards once, twice more before he emptied himself into her with his own cry of pleasure.
Boneless, he fell back against the tub, bringing her with him. They sat there in silence, his hands still holding onto her with his shirt tangled up between them as she lay against him. After a few seconds, her breathing evened out, and almost immediately her embarassment set in.
She sat up a little, slowly, and looked down at their bodies still joined. “Oh, god,” she croaked, snapping back as she pushed up and away from him, effectively unjoining them as he slipped out of her. Both groaned at the sensation.
He watched her for a few seconds as her eyes darted around the room. “Lookin’ for something?”
A humorless laugh escaped from her mouth. “Yeah, my pants.”
He frowned, immediately not liking the implications of that action. She was looking to leave already? She was the Slayer! Her stamina matched his, and he was ready to give it another go. Besides, he’d went on and on about ‘rough’ and ‘primal’ and instead of giving her that, he’d lasted about as long as the Whelp and his demon girl usually did. There were things he still had to prove, different places to taste, other fun to be had. “Stay,” he told her playfully, adding a roll of his hips to the offer.
She paused just long enough to glare at him. “One time, that was the deal.”
He grabbed her arms, then, stroking them with his thumb softly, notching up his proposition. “Stay.”
She pulled out of his grasp irritably. “God, will you stop? I’m not staying. Once was… bad enough, there is no–” She shook her head hard, looking disgusted. “–No. Just, no.”
Immediately he turned cold, a bit hurt and more than annoyed, and instinctively he reverted to sarcasm. “So, what’s this make for you, then?” he asked, mockingly interested. “Three different times, three different blokes. One time shag. That make it a hat trick?” His face hardened as he sneered. ” Congratulations .”
Before he even saw the blur of that flawless skin, her fist had shot out, connecting all too typically with his face.
“You bloody bitch!” he cried out as he clutched his nose.
She found her pants (the ones that were draped over the tub, exactly where she’d left them) and climbed up and off of him, over the side of the tub, her embarassment temporarily forgotten. Not even the sight of her scampering away, clad in nothing but her top, lessened his anger. She stumbled into a standing postion as she pulled on her pants, glaring at him, that look of mutual and absolute hatred back in her eyes. “Go to hell, Spike.”
His hand fell from his face, and he nodded ironically. “I’m chained to a bloody tub, with you playin’ warden – think this is hell.”
“You’re an–” She cut off her own words in annoyance, and gestured towards him. “God, can you pull up your pants already?”
“What’sa matter, Slayer?” he drawled sarcastically, purposefully shifting against the tub. “Can’t properly play the self-righteous routine with my dangly bits all out in the open?”
“If you like your dangly bits dangling and not painfully seperated from your body,” she warned lowly. “you’ll pull your pants up.”
He glared at her. Threatening to decastrate the Big Bad, was she? Well too bloody bad – he already was. Been so the first sodding day he came back to this bleeding city. Still though, he’d rather not have it be literal. The look in her eyes had him scrambling for his jeans, and he growled as he fought against the sodding chains to pull them back up. Bitch was forgetting she was the reason they were down below his knees in the first place. Pointedly, he thrust his hips upwards, getting a nice bit of satisfaction out of the way she glanced away with that ever-predictable blush, and he tucked himself back in, too pissed off to point out the fact that he was sticky with the combined result of what they’d just done. Ignored the discomfort as he zipped up, all nice and slow-like, carefully re-buttoning them. Lifting his hands up, he easily slid his black t-shirt over his head and back down onto him, unrolling it down his stomach as he lazily fell back against the tub.
“You can stop staring at the toilet now, Slayer.”
His words sparked more fury in her, and she whipped her head back towards him. “If you tell anyone– anyone — about this, I willstake you.”
“Ohh, with the blunt-tipped stake, and you’d make it all slow-like?” he mocked, rolling his eyes. “Sing us another one, Slayer – that threat’s gone stale.”
She backed away from him, her cold eyes locked with his. “I mean it, Spike. This never happened.”
He shifted in the tub uncomfortably, slightly offended and royally pissed off. Placing herself back up on that pedastol of hers already, not two minutes after she’d just scurried naked off of him? Bloody figures. “You don’t have to convince me otherwise. Who would I want knowin’?” He tilted his head, his eyes lighting up. “Ohh, aside from Angel . Think I can get in my one phone call now to call him up? Be all complimentary towards you.”
“If you ever –”
“Oh, sod off,” he muttered. “Like I’m gonna tell him. The Poof’d probably come prancin’ back to town on his white horse, an’ I’d have to watch your made-for-TV romance play out. Could really do without all that, ‘specially seein’ as I know from personal experience – it doesn’t take much to get you into bed. Little serenade on his part with some Manilow, hair finely gelled, not a strand out of place, and you’d be falling back with open… arms , straight into Cap’n Glower and his oversized rectangular body.”
Hurt flashed across her face, but she quickly covered up with disgust. “After this, I want you gone–”
“Bloody unchain me then, you stupid bint!”
” After you tell us what we need to know.”
“An’ how many bleeding times have I said I’ve told you all I know?! It’s not my fault you lot won’t listen.”
She took a deep, calming breath. “Spike–”
“Just go . Turn the telly back on and go, alright?” He leaned back then, folding his arms in front of him as best as he could, and stared intently at the TV.
“Spike–”
“Yeah, let’s not. Telly.”
She sighed, but gave in and walked over. And he absolutely did not watch her out of the corner of his eye as she neared. She paused beside the tub, grimacing down at it, and he rolled his eyes. Was the poor Slayer now replaying their shagging in her mind? Guilt-inspiring regrets kicking in? Bitch.
She tried one more time. “Spike…”
He straightened then, staring up at her. “Let’s get this straight, Slayer,” he started, his tone emotionless. “We shagged, end of bloody story. Hormones, and all that rot. It’s what it was, and nothin’ more, so stop tryin’ to find some deeper meanin’. Do what I’m gonna do and just hope to God that that Watcher of yours is inclined to sharin’ his scotch.” When she made no effort to click the TV back on, he conceded a bit more and sighed. “I’m not gonna tell your Watcher, alright? Not even gonna write about it in my pretty pink diary. Gonna forget it ever happened, same as you.”
“That’s… that’s good.”
He rolled his eyes. “We done?”
She answered by turning on the TV, and he relaxed at that. Ohh, and that show with the lions killing other bloody stupid animals was still on. Good. He hadn’t missed much, then. She was backing away slowly, staring at him all guiltily and apologetic, and he suppressed the urge to sigh. Was there a reason she was drawing this out, aside from further annoying him? They’d had their heart-to-heart, said all that was needed to be said – and besides, she had a group of Scoobies she’d been away from far too long for them to not send up an emergency flare if they didn’t hear from her soon.
“I’m serious, Spike,” she finally said with her back against the bathroom door. “If you tell anyone…”
“Told you the first time I wouldn’t.”
“Okay,” she said, relieved. “Just… don’t.”
He ignored her, instead focusing back on the TV. More interesting things to be seen, anyways. He waited until she turned around, until her hand was on the doorknob and she was unlocking the door before he looked back over at her. With the most disinterested tone he could muster, he called out, “Gonna maybe wanna pick up your knickers before you leave.” She turned around at that, blushing all a’new. Just once, and subtly mocking, he glanced over at where he’d thrown them. He smirked, his head swiveling back to the TV as she skittered over to collect them.
“Would hate to have had to explain that to your Watcher.”
The End.