Chapter 2
Was he fucking loony? Clearly Rupert had lost his mind because there was no way in hell Spike was going to work for him. No fucking way.
“Wanker!” he cursed at the closed door in one of Rupert’s spare bedrooms where Spike would be staying for who knew how long. First of all, lace everywhere, lace bed skirts and coverlets and curtains. Spike couldn’t sleep on that shit and somehow maintain his dignity which is why he set up a bed on the floor. A grown man didn’t have lacy, frilly bed skirts.
Then again, Rupert was not a man; he was a priss in men’s clothing. Even that was a questionable assessment, and perhaps a bit too kind. Elbow patches had been out of style for decades and he could have sworn his uncle had pleats in his trousers. What purpose did pleats serve, anyway? Spike may never understand it.
His uncle had forced him to listen to that tinkly shit on the radio for the entire three-hour drive around Los Angeles. Rupert pointed out sights that Spike could just as easily have seen on a fucking post card.
Of all the people to live with in the world, he had to live with Rupert Fucking Giles. He should be grateful, because if it weren’t for his uncle, he’d be in prison right now. He’d be in prison, getting his ass handed to him and a few other things involving his ass that were probably far worse than sleeping on a lace coverlet. But the fact was, he hated his uncle, he was old enough to take care of himself, and he didn’t need that twit breathing down his neck every waking hour.
As if things couldn’t get any worse, Rupert told him he’d have to work with him at that stupid antique whatever shop. Told him he’d have to do it to earn his keep or he’d toss him back to London and wish him the best of luck. Spike had tried to sneer at him for as long as he could. He had narrowed his eyes, folded his arms across his chest and stared the old man down when he told him the news, trying to intimidate him. To his surprise, Rupert patted the corners of his mouth with his dinner napkin, started humming a song, and then he simply smiled at him.
Spike would find a way to break that prick down. He would.
However, he wasn’t thinking about anarchy and revolutionary ways to seek revenge at the moment. He was thinking about that bitch, the one with the legs and the smart mouth.
Motherfucker, those legs!
Spike was used to girls being shits to him, rough lot that he ran with back home and all, so Buffy’s remarks hadn’t done his ego any damage. In fact, he couldn’t wait to see her again just to piss her off some more. She’d just kept at it, too. Soon as he walked back inside after he’d finished his smoke, she had an array of insults at the ready for him.
“Thought about me while I was gone, did you?” he’d said. “I’m flattered.”
“Get bent,” she’d said, cramming that lollipop in her mouth like she’d never sucked a cock in her life, or if she had, then she was fucking with him on purpose. Rolling it and twisting it between her lips, getting it wet and as shiny as her pretty pink lip gloss. He was still having trouble breathing recalling that memory.
Unfortunately, he could not retaliate with a comeback of his own, because Rupert had tugged him out of the shop and said something about seeing a Queen Mary, which turned out to be just a boring old ship that Rupert simply drove past and pointed to with an eager smile.
“Spike, would you like to come and watch the telly with me?”
Spike stared at his new bedroom door, picturing Rupert standing on the other side of it with that idiot grin on his face, probably still wearing the tweed coat. He snorted, tried to get comfortable on his makeshift bed on the hardwoods, and grumbled beneath his breath how everything in the world was so unfair.
“Spike?”
“Piss off!”
He threw a pillow at the door as hard as he could but those damn things never went as far as you wanted them to, and it barely missed the door handle, landing safely and quietly on the ground. At least he had the common sense to lock the door. That’ll show him!
He heard Rupert sigh and walk away, making Spike’s shoulders sag in relief. The footsteps almost immediately returned, there was a sort of scratching, clicking noise, the doorknob rattled, and then Rupert pushed the door open, smiling like a schoolmaster who adored whipping his pupils.
“Oh, look what I did.”
Spike leapt to his feet, scowling at him, and he squared his shoulders in case things got ugly. “The fuck you do that for? I locked it for a reason!” His biggest reason was the bulge he’d worked up in his jeans thinking of that Betty chick with the legs.
“I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you my house rules. Amidst your petulance and temper tantrums, I must have forgotten all about it. Shall I list them off on my fingers as well? I have to admit, it was a nice visual aid.”
Spike stared at him, pushing his lips out in an angry pucker.
“Number one, you are to keep this room in the same condition you found it in. Keep it clean, make your bed…which is on the floor now.”
“Like it better there.” He sniffed harshly and folded his arms, standing with his legs wide and nonchalant.
“Well, see that it’s tidy. Number two, you are not to go anywhere or do anything without my approval first. You have a nine o’clock curfew until I feel that I can trust you on your own.”
Spike tsked, and then his mouth suddenly closed around the retort he had prepared. Rupert had somehow gotten very close to him and Spike didn’t like arguing when his space was invaded, so he looked to the left, unsure of the scary glint in his uncle’s eyes.
“Did you have something you wanted to say?”
Spike shrugged.
“Then I’ll continue. Three, that door remains unlocked at all times. Ut-tut-tut,” he said swiftly, holding up a finger to silence Spike when he tried to object. He stared at him head-on then, his eyebrows lifting authoritatively. “At all times. If you lock it even once, I’ll take the whole bloody thing off the hinges.”
“How am I supposed to get dressed? You pervin’ out on me, Rupes? Take a look at your nephew’s bits for a hoorah?”
Rupert charged forward and poked him in the sternum with two pointed fingers, and his eyes were fierce as they locked with his. Spike’s mouth dropped open in shock, and he hated to admit that he was feeling slightly nervy.
“I will not tolerate your trash mouth in this house, you understand?” Rupert rammed his fingers hard into Spike’s chest on the last word, and Spike swatted his hand away.
“Got it,” he said brusquely, adjusting the collar of his shirt.
“I know that you’re angry, but I can only handle so much of your sarcasm. You keep pushing me with comments such as those and you will not be happy with the end result.”
“Fine, I heard you! Get to the point.”
Rupert’s jaw clenched but he managed to keep whatever anger he had at bay.
“Finally, you are to pitch in around the house. Take out the rubbish, clean the dishes and sweep the floors and so on. If any of these rules are broken, you will no longer have the comfort of staying in this house. Are we clear?”
It was impossible to make his eyes any narrower, but boy, did Spike try. “Yeah. Loud and.”
“Good.” Rupert inhaled and clasped his hands together in front of him, smiling. Spike relaxed a fraction. “Assuming you can manage to abide by those rules, I think we’ll get along just fine. Who knows, you may even like it here.”
“Fat chance,” he said, snorting and falling back in an uncaring plop on the bed, knowing full well his boots were still on. Rupert’s eyes went right to them, his warning eyebrow coming up to say hello. Spike groaned and took his feet off the lacy, girly bed.
“Thank you.”
Spike’s eyes had been closed for a while now, hoping that Rupert would take his leave, but when he opened them, he saw that he was still standing there, looking pensive about something.
“What is it, man?” he said exhaustedly.
“I only wanted to tell you that,” he said, pausing to clear his throat and fidget with something in his pockets, “that if you want to speak about what happened back home, it’s all right.”
Spike sat up, flinging his arms to drape them over his legs and look indifferent, though he felt anything but. “It’s none of your business and don’t act like you care. I know you don’t, so save the act.”
“That’s not true, of course I care. What makes you think I don’t ca—”
“Get out!” Spike’s hands were balled into fists at his sides and he’d somehow managed to be standing in front of Rupert, breathing heavily through his clenched teeth. Sometimes it scared him how quickly he could move when he was feeling emotional.
Rupert, thankfully, didn’t say anything right then. He pursed his lips and nodded, backing up a few steps before he dropped his head in defeat and turned around to leave.
Spike cursed beneath his breath and said, “I didn’t mean it like…”
Rupert paused, probably waiting for him to finish his sentence, but Spike couldn’t think of what to say.
“When you’re ready,” Rupert simply said after a long pause, sparing a glance at his nephew before he shut the door behind him on his way out.
Spike exhaled, the tension rolling off his shoulders, down to his fingers that had been digging into his palms, and he sat on the bed, rubbing his forehead, wishing he could just chill the fuck out. This was exactly why he’d gone to jail in the first place, his inability to control his rage. The bit about the arson certainly helped, too.
“Need to clear my head,” he said aloud, just then realizing he was lying down on that frilly bed that was actually quite cozy when he got past the lace. “Just need to think of somethi—ahhhh.” He was smiling, closing his eyes and imagining that girl again.
It was tricky to masturbate knowing that he couldn’t lock the door, but luckily for Spike, distractions such as those didn’t keep him from the task at hand. He was a determined sort of fellow, especially when it came to wanking, and it wasn’t long before Betty’s imaginary legs were up in the air and his face was buried between them, his tongue lapping at her pink, shiny pussy. Then her mouth was on his balls, sucking on them like a lollipop, her mean eyes locking with his and silently scolding him for being a pervert, and then she hiked up a gigantic pink tutu, crawled over him and sank down on his cock to ride him into fruition. All these images aided his rather pleasant orgasm that had him curling his torso forward as he hissed and came. He collapsed, smiling and licking his lips as he panted for air.
“Thank you.”
* * *
“It’s Buffy, you dumb ass. And you are so completely rank and gross,” she said to Spike the next day, pushing him away when he’d cornered her by the register.
He sighed happily as he followed her to the backroom, watching her plump little ass switch from side to side beneath her ruffled—and short—dancer skirt. She had to have worn that just for him.
“Are you following me? God, you’re lame.” She hopped up on a counter near the wrapping table once they got into the back room and rolled her eyes.
“Not following you,” he said with a smile, bending over to pick up a box. He flexed his arms when he caught her staring at them. “Got work to do, remember?”
“Uh-yeah?” she said, smiling and crossing her legs. “But I’m not doing any of it.”
“That right?” He stood up with the box in his arms. “And how do you plan on killing time, love?”
“Not by talking to you,” she said, inspecting her nails. “I have a recital to rehearse for.”
“Isn’t that sweet? Daddy going to take you out for ice cream after?”
She glared at him, but he saw a flicker of something else too. Something she immediately covered up by saying, “At least I can do something other than soak up the atmosphere and irritate everyone.”
“Ooh, three syllable words. Was that hard for you? Need an aspirin?” he said, really feeling the burn in his arms now from holding the box, but he’d get over it. She looked really sexy when she was feeling insulted.
“Why are you so obnoxious?”
He shrugged a little and took a step backwards. “Because you like it.”
She sighed in boredom and looked at the ceiling. “Are you still talking to me?”
His smile widened. He stomped past her into the adjacent room where Rupert had instructed him to start stacking boxes.
“I can hear you grunting in there,” she shouted to him.
He laughed to himself as he finally hoisted the box up on the highest shelf. She was just too easy. He walked back into the other room and picked up another box.
“Oh, so now you suddenly don’t have anything to say,” she was saying, grasping at straws, really. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep quiet and walked past her once more.
Spike heard her huff and hop down from the counter. He could feel her standing in the doorway behind him. He turned his head slightly, just to get a look at her. Her hair was down today. She had the top bit pulled back into a tiny barrette on the top of her head and the rest of it fell in loose waves. She had on another leotard today too, a grey one with a black skirt over it and a sexy pair of pink and black striped leg warmers over her dance shoes. Maybe she was going to perform for him later. Christ, he hoped so.
When his eyes met hers, she tilted her head and folded her arms, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe.
“Do you have a tattoo?”
Spike smiled and turned back around to deal with the boxes. “No. Do you?”
“Yeah.”
So she was trying to impress him now. “Neat.”
“Aren’t you gonna ask me where?”
He slowly turned his head over his shoulder, giving her one of his never-fail, panty-wetting leers. “Why, you gonna show it to me?”
She rolled her eyes, clearly unaffected by his charms. “You’re so foul.”
“Only foul if you’ve got it someplace naughty.” He set the box next to the first one and faced her, dusting off his hands. “Considering only a small fraction of your body has clothing over it, I’d wager I’m on the right track.”
“It’s on my ankle.”
“Big fucking deal!” He started laughing, moving past her and eating up the sight of her rage.
“It hurt! And I had to get a fake I.D. to get it.”
“Why?”
“Uh, hello? I’m only seventeen.”
“Oh, right. You rebel.” He pulled out his smokes.
“At least I didn’t go to jail,” she said, thinking she was brilliant, smiling evilly.
He returned her smile with one of his own and slowly walked towards her. Spike was impressed she didn’t budge, not even when he was only an inch away. She was really making him use all his best moves.
“Maybe so,” he said softly, letting his eyes flit over her face, breathing on her. God, she smelled good. He leaned forward, one corner of his mouth lifting into a smile when she gasped, and he said into her ear, “But you don’t see me bragging about it for approval, do you?” Then he popped a cigarette into his mouth, winked at her, and walked past her to the door.
“I do not need your approval,” she said as he continued to walk away.
He waved at Rupert once he passed the registers. “Whatever you say, Betty!”
He heard her stomp and huff and he wondered how much longer it was going to be before he could get her naked. Four days?
“Nah,” he said, pushing open the front door on his way outside, “two max.”