Something Real

Total Chapters: 19

Buffy is a single woman empowered by her sexuality yet detached from human connection. She’s never had a real relationship, never slept with the same guy twice, and never had any intentions of doing either until she goes to a party in downtown NY and meets a mystery man who changes everything. This is an angsty ride, so please read the A/N’s on Chapter 1. (This is based on the film Lie With Me but with my own twists and turns.)

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Author’s Notes: SOME WARNINGS: This is not, I repeat NOT a fluffy story. If you read my story “Corruption” and could handle that…then multiply that by about 5 and you’ve got the angst level of this story. The point I’m making is that I’ve tried very hard to stay true to these characters, develop them according to the plot, and have them react/respond in realistic ways. And that means angst, drama, conflict and sadness. If this is something you cannot deal with, then please find another story to read because I’ve already got 15 chapters written and edited with no intentions of changing a thing.

The Spike/Other and Buffy/Other are minor side-notes in the story and nothing to get in a snit over. This story focuses solely on Spike and Buffy’s relationship, so have no doubt that this IS a Spuffy story. I truly hope you enjoy this and if you’ve seen the movie Lie With Me, you won’t be spoiled as I’ve gone completely AU from THAT story line into my own thing. It’s just loosely based on an idea in the movie with similar scenarios that have been severely altered to fit the context of this fic.As always, these characters (except for my own) are the property of Joss Whedon and his cronies of supreme excellence. I only use these names for fun and sexy shenanigans. My pocket remains empty of money, as I do it for free.

Chapter 1

Buffy got out of bed and searched the floor for her discarded panties. Finally finding them shoved beneath her pillow, she slipped them up and over her hips. She cast her hands through her hair as she slid her shoes on, glancing behind her at the man who was still sleeping. She grabbed her purse and slipped her dress on, quietly tip-toeing out of the bedroom and closing the door behind her. It was still dark outside and she was exhausted. By some stroke of luck, a cab came down the street at that time and after hailing it, she got in the vehicle and gave the driver directions to her flat. Sighing and looking out the window, a small smile played on her lips. Whatever that guy’s name was, he sure was a screamer.

She wondered what he would say when he woke up that morning. Would he wonder where she went? Would he even care? Daniel. No, it wasn’t a D-name. Rick? She’d definitely remember if it was Rick. Jason?

She’d never been in love before, never had that sweet, tender moment with a man that transcended all emotions, and frankly, she didn’t think it existed. All Buffy had ever felt was an orgasm and gratitude for their time. She was careful, though. It wasn’t like she’d just have sex with anything that moved, oh no. They had to have a certain something to lure her in or the whole thing was just pointless.

Sex to Buffy was about pleasure, not conquest. So she danced with them first and if they could move on the dance floor, chances were, when the clothes came off, they could move there too. And that’s why Buffy went dancing every weekend, looking for a good time, to get off, to feel…

Here’s the thing. There wasn’t some sad story in her past where a scary uncle felt her up in the back of a pick up truck, she’d never been raped or violated, and she certainly wasn’t looking for attention as her friends so sweetly mentioned time and time again. Buffy was sexual. Buffy liked having sex. Buffy liked having multiple partners. It was high time for society to catch up and quit calling her a whore. If a guy could fuck a multitude of women and get praise for it, what was the difference if a woman did the same? She used condoms, took birth control and had check ups regularly…so what was the problem? And that’s exactly it…there wasn’t a problem, at least none that she could pin point.

Michael! That was his name. Michael the screamer.

In some ways she wished she could have that connection with another person, that constant knowledge that he would always be there. But as she thought of her parents who were trapped in a thirty year marriage with absolutely no sex at all yet claimed to love one another, she scoffed at the idea and decided to stick with her routine. It started years ago back in high school when she’d given her first blow job. Angel. He was the typical boy-next-door, football captain, blah blah blah…and Buffy gave him head at some girl’s party. The thrill of it, the pure power she felt from getting him off became addictive. He called her the next day, a call which she never returned. He’d tried to get close, wanted to take her on a date, go steady or something cheesy like that. Buffy wasn’t interested. She’d gotten what she wanted out of it. Knowledge. Sure, he was cute and kind of dorky and probably would have bought her flowers and taken her to prom, but then she wouldn’t have met Riley. Or Parker, or James, Owen, the guy with the glasses, that other guy who had the gigantic dick, Stephen who claimed to be fantastic at giving head and wasn’t lying, Matt, or any of the other boys she’d screwed. High school was…like they say in the yearbooks, a blast. The girls called her a slut and the boys who’d never had her called her a whore. It bothered her at first until she realized that they simply didn’t understand. She wouldn’t be so arrogant as to say they were jealous, because that probably wasn’t true. She knew some people truly needed stability, needed that normal life of monogamy.

Life was too short to tie yourself down to one person, in her opinion. Too short to let someone in, let them see, let them feel only to take it away. Why go through that when the best part about a relationship was the sex, anyway? She’d fucked a lot, enough to know that it wasn’t anything special. Sure, she’d come so hard she’d passed out, had guys who could do things with their tongues that most women had never experienced before…but anything other than that was a fairytale. Not once did she think to see them a second time. These men were nothing more than their cocks, which she greatly appreciated, though it was only a few steps above masturbating.

Michael the screamer hadn’t done it for her tonight. She dropped her purse by the front door as she came home for the evening, sat on her couch and shoved her hand down her panties. In minutes, she got herself off and curled up on her side, allowing sleep to take over.



Stephanie…or was it Sarah? The girl with the quirky glasses. She’d asked Buffy to come to some party down town when they ran into each other buying coffee. Buffy had only met her a few times before and she seemed nice. She was one of those arty girls who always had an eight-ball in her purse, casually offering it in the bathroom and daintily snorting it up her perfect nose when Buffy always said no. But Steph-Sarah-Stacy, whatever her name was, like it mattered, threw amazing parties. Buffy wasn’t about to turn down the live music, free bar, finger foods and hot guys…even if it was a bit of a rougher crowd.

Buffy slipped on a short pleated mini skirt and a barely-there halter top, her favorite six inch spiked heels and a leather cuff bracelet. It had been so hot outside that if she wore anything else, she’d be dripping in sweat.

By the time she arrived, the place was already packed. Loud bass boomed through the room, multi-colored lights blinked on and off lighting up the mass of bodies dancing off to one side, and finally, the bar. She made a bee-line to it to get herself a drink before she started pretending to like all of these people that she’d met time and time again. Not that they ever made a point to hang out with her outside of these little shin-digs, but she tried to be polite for the sake of courtesy. As she placed her elbows on the bar and leaned forward to grab the bartender’s attention, she turned her head to the left when she felt someone watching her. Scanning the crowd, her eyes failed to make a target. She frowned and turned back to the bar, gasping when she realized the bartender was looking at her expectantly. She smiled and asked for a vodka tonic, looking behind her again as she waited for her drink. She knew someone was watching her, she could feel it…but every time she looked for it the feeling vanished.

Buffy stuffed a dollar into the tip jar and turned around, leaning her back against the bar as she sucked down her beverage. Some guy with dreadlocks was talking to her, talking about his band or something equally unimportant. Buffy smiled politely and continued to look out at the crowd, bouncing slightly to the beat of the music as he droned on. He was staring at her tits. She let him. Didn’t matter, she’d be leaving the bar in a second anyway. That feeling came back again, more intense this time like someone’s eyes were boring a hole in her back and it was really unsettling. Ignoring the guy with the bad hair, she set her empty glass down at the bar and made her way through the crowd, lifting her arms in the air to shimmy through them, wincing as elbows prodded her ribs. She stood on her toes to look over the mass of heads for the nearest bathroom and as she turned around, her eyes made contact with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, highlighted by smudged kohl-black eyeliner. The owner of these eyes had stark white hair that was tousled and spiked atop his head, amazing cheekbones and a noticeable Adam’s apple that bobbed as he sucked on a cigarette, staring intently at her. His face was expressionless, though his head tilted to the side and he narrowed his eyes. She couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t stop staring even as he exhaled a puff of smoke from his full lips and then he smiled. At her.

Buffy turned around quickly, wondering why her heart was pounding and why her cheeks were hot. Her fingers were tingling and she shoved her way past the crowd when she located the bathroom. She knocked on the door and waited when she heard someone flush the toilet, tapping her foot nervously and tried to control her breathing. Something about that guy made her feel uneasy and she didn’t like it. Perhaps it was an instinctual reaction because maybe he was some kind of serial killer. Whatever the reason, she’d never experienced something like that. As a cute girl stepped out of the bathroom and smiled at Buffy, she darted past her and ran inside, not even bothering to close the door. She turned on the faucet and gasped when she felt hands on her shoulders, sweeping her hair out of her face. She couldn’t look. She knew it was him. Leaning over the sink, she began splashing water on her flushed skin, allowing him to hold her long blonde hair out of the way for her. Buffy cut the water and propped her hands on the edge of the sink and closed her eyes, willing him away.

But he wasn’t leaving…and now she could smell him and he smelled way too good for any man to smell. He was so close she could feel the heat pouring off of him like waves, hear his steady even breaths. And then she felt a towel sweeping down her cheeks and she opened her eyes. She took the towel from him and dried off her face, staring him down. He tilted his head, sucked his bottom lip into his mouth…and left.

Buffy looked at the ground in confusion, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips. It was time to dance.



She loved this song. Didn’t know the artist or the name, but it didn’t matter. She loved it. There was a guy in front of her and a guy in back of her, grinding against Buffy’s hips as she danced. Their hands were everywhere, hot sticky breath wafting over her sweat soaked skin, her hair clinging to her neck and that burning need to get off building inside her.

He was watching her.

As the guy in front wrapped his arms around her waist, Buffy lifted her arms in the air and turned her head towards her voyeur. He was sitting at the bar, his fingers circling the rim of his beer bottle that he had propped on his knee, cigarette dangling from his lips and a skinny brunette rubbing his chest. But he wasn’t looking at the brunette, he was watching Buffy. Buffy smiled at him and leaned her back into the chest of the man grinding into her ass and pushed the guy in front of her away.

He set his beer down, grabbed the brunette and walked her to the dance floor, pulling her back against his chest and shamelessly ran his hands over her breasts, down her stomach, and finally to her hips as they started dancing, never taking his eyes off of Buffy.

As Buffy’s dance partner slid his hand beneath her top and cupped her breast, she bit her lip and wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting her peeping tom to get an eyeful. He smiled coyly at her and licked the brunette’s neck as he took one of her hands and shoved it down the front of his pants. The brunette turned in his embrace to get a better angle at her prize, and in turn, he continued his assault on her neck with his mouth and teeth, breathing heavily as he watched Buffy dance with her partner.

Buffy felt a hand slip beneath her skirt and rub her over her panties, she moaned, and smiled when the blue-eyed watcher cocked an eyebrow. As both of their dance partners fondled them, they continued to stare at one another, their breath increasing, expressions becoming more intense as they got closer and closer to climax. And then he mouthed the word, “Come,” and Buffy moaned, jerking her hips backward into her dance partner who’d successfully fingered her on the dance floor. When she opened her eyes again, both he and the brunette were gone. She brushed her hair out of her face and scanned the crowd in search of them. When she saw a flash of white hair and a brunette walk out the front door, she turned to face her dance partner and asked if he brought any condoms.


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