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beneath you	By : agalaxyinblueeyes Category: > Buffy/Spike(William) > Buffy/Spike(William) Views: 1505 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-beneath you
- 2-One
- 3-Two
- 4-Three
- 5-Four
- 6-Five
- 7-Six
- 8-Seven
- 9-Eight
- 10-Nine
- 11-Ten
- 12-Eleven
- 13-Twelve
- 11
- 12
- 13
beneath you

part
eleven

He'd been asking for it,
really. It wasn't as if he didn't know what Buffy's temper was
like. It was that he'd forgotten what Buffy did
when she was pissed.

And currently, what she'd
done was completely staining his silky purple shirt. (Was there a
double meaning behind this? He'd worn this shirt the first time
they'd made love.]

"Bloody bitch,"
he muttered under his breath, dabbing uselessly at the sugary,
fruity concoction she'd dumped on him. He wouldn't be as pissed
off if she'd just punched him in the nose and insulted him like
usual, but instead, she'd poured her drink all over him.

Dawn glanced at him, her
lips pressed tightly together. "Quiet. You brought this on
yourself."

His lower lip popped out,
as if on cue. "But do I have to act like I did?" Spike
asked, his voice bordering on a whine. Dawn had to bite down on
her lips to keep from smiling.

"It'd be nice if you
did," she retorted. She glanced sideways at the buxom
brunette who was halfway across the room at the bar, where Spike
had been sitting until Buffy's petty little revenge tactic.
"Who the hell's she, and, what's more, what the hell are you
doing with her?" she asked.

Spike glanced toward Lilith
and grimaced slightly. Maybe he'd played up the swinging bachelor
thing too much in front of Buffy, who was currently in the
bathroom, refreshing herself. And cursing my
name by all that's holy, he thought. After all, he had wanted
to make her admit to her feelings; he hadn't meant to make her insane. Spike
sighed and looked at Dawn. "She is
Lilith, an' she would also be my sorry-ass
attempt at tryin' to make the Slayer jealous. So far, all I
managed to do was make her pissed."

The side of Dawn's mouth
curled up. "Spike, you pissed her off by daring to be seen
with another girl. Trust me -- Buffy's jealous."

Spike frowned. "Well I
was more or less hopin' she might at least fight her,
not dump her girly drink on me." His frown once more became
a pout, and his nose scrunched up. "I really liked
this shirt. I'm gonna be smellin' like strawberries an' mangos
for the next week."

He said this last part in
such a dejected tone that Dawn couldn't help but laugh. "God
forbid you smell a little fruity, Spike." It was when he
scowled at her that she realized exactly what she'd implied. Her
cheeks dimpled and she blushed. "Oops. Sorry."

He shook his head.
"Bloody hell," he sighed.

Dawn tilted her head at him
curiously, soaking another paper towel, wringing it out, then
dabbing at ends of his shirt. "So what was with the suddenly
needing to 'prove Buffy's jealousy' bit?"

Spike glanced at her,
grasping the shirt tail and spreading it across his thigh, wiping
at it desperately. "Tha's exactly what I was tryin' to do.
Prove her jealousy -- prove that she has feelin's for me. I
bloody well know she does, but your
airhead of an older sister is still keepin' mum about it. 'S
drivin' me nuts." He threw his hands up in disgust.
"Sod it, the shirt's ruined, 'Bit." He tilted his head,
gazing at her. "You wouldn't mind too much if I killed your
sister for this, would you?"

Dawn shrugged. "Sorry,
but yeah. As airhead-ed as she is, she's still family."

"Damn," Spike
said, shaking his head and sighing while Dawn giggled. He looked
around the Bronze momentarily, and almost immediately, his head
turned in the direction of the restrooms, spotting Buffy heading
through the crowd. "Oh, bugger. Here come's the Ice Queen
now."

Dawn frowned. "I
thought Darla was the Ice Queen." At Spike's look, Dawn
laughed. "Oh, right. Buffy. Of course."

Spike rolled his eyes.
"You wouldn't mind bein' a luv an' helpin' me out in my
moment of need, would you, ducks?"

Dawn grinned sneakily.
"I will manipulate and invoke craziness in my sister to the
best of my abilities," she said, holding two fingers up as a promise.

Spike chuckled and patted
leg affectionately. "Tha's my girl!" Dawn giggled
again, before she spotted Buffy and promptly reverted to Stone
Cold Dawn. "... And if I ever catch you near my sister
again..." she hissed, loudly enough for Buffy to hear as the
elder Summers barely trumped to a stop.

"Dawn," Buffy
called in the way an owner might order a beloved pet. Apparently
Dawn had been trained very well, because, after one quick wink
and grin at Spike, she went.

Spike smiled to himself.
Damn, but it was good to have such a clever, devilish little chit
on his side for once. He slowly stood up, arching his back as he
stretched, then meandered over to where he'd left Lilith.

"Ex-girlfriend,
right?" she asked, watching the blonde and brunette girls as
they left.

Spike's shit-eating grin
faltered, and he frowned, grunting under his breath. "Yeah.
Somethin' like that," he muttered.

Lilith tilted her head
sympathetically. "Poor thing. Who ended it?"

Spike shrugged. "I
screwed up. She ended it."

Lilith frowned. "Then what right does she
have to come over with jealousy and douse you like that?"

"E-every right. Well, maybe not with the
jealousy, but I did do some... nasty things to her. So she does
have every right. I think." The more he stumbled over his
words, the more unsure Spike sounded. Eventually, he shook his
head and held his hand up. "Look, it was really... bad
between us two, an' I'm bein' as polite as I can be when I ask
you to drop it." He stood up again, looking around.
"How about I just walk you home, eh? 've got nowhere else to
be, an' to tell the truth, I don't really wanna be here
anymore." Spike held out his arm to her chivalrously,
crooked at the elbow.

Lilith slid off her stool, accepting his arm.
"Okay, we can leave. But how about I walk you
home instead?"

Spike looked at her with surprised eyes, tilting
his head to the side. "You must be new in town. There's lots
of nasties in Sunnydale that you need to watch out for. This
isn't the safest place for a chit to go walkin' out at night by
herself."

The brunette shrugged. "I can hold my
own," she said simply.

After a moment's contemplation, Spike reluctantly
nodded. "Tha's a plan. Let's go."

Lilith smiled.

"Okay. How bad is it getting to you?"

Buffy looked up, her lips curled in such a deep
frown that her nose was scrunched up halfway up her face.
"How bad is what getting to
me?"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Buffy. Please. You've
been moping ever since we left. Hell, you've been moping since we
were on the dance floor. You've been moping since May! How bad is it eating you up that Spike
was with another chick?"

Buffy scoffed. "It is not...
eating me up! Nothing is getting to me, and there is no eating up
of... of any kind! This is me, not
being eaten up!"

Dawn snorted. "That much is obvious,"
she muttered under her breath. Clearing her throat, she spoke up.
"Buffy. We're sisters. And, if you wanna get technical,
we're each other. Same blood and all that? Literally? I can
practically read it all over your face. You are so totally eaten
with jealousy."

"I am not!"

Dawn nodded slowly. "Ah, so that's
why you poured your Fizzy all over Spike's gorgeous purple
shirt?"

Buffy sputtered for a moment. "Well... i-it
was dirty, a-and I didn't think it would stain all that
much, and... and he looked over-heated!"

Dawn stared. Surely her sister didn't honestly
think that... this... was a valid excuse?

Buffy flushed. "Okay, okay! So I
was..." she glanced around, as if looking to see if Spike
would suddenly pop up behind her, well within hearing range,
"So I was a little jealous! After all, it wasn't so long ago
when he was showering me with utterly devoted attention."
She caught the look on Dawn's face, and hurriedly reiterated herself. "Utterly devoted attention that I
didn't want! I just..." She bit her lower lip and looked
away. "I got kinda... used to it, is all."

Dawn's eyes softened, and she wrapped an arm
around her sister's shoulders. "Buffy... it's just me. It's
okay to admit how you felt. Not one word of this is gonna get
back to Spike unless you want it to."

"I was jealous," Buffy blurted out,
before her eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth. A
few minutes of uncomfortable silence followed as the sisters
ambled along the sidewalk. And then, Buffy spoke up again, much
calmer, much more resigned this time.

"I was jealous," she murmured again,
softly, her voice hurt. "He's always been following me,
coming after me, telling me he loved me, and anything and
everything else he could think of, and then, suddenly... I mean,
even when he was with Drusilla, he had some sort of half-blind
obsession with me. He followed me, I swear he did, and I swear
even more that half the time, all I could feel him doing was
just... watching me. That very first night when I met him?"
she questioned, turning to Dawn. Dawn nodded in recognition.
She'd heard every possible version of that night's events, and so
she had been fully prepared to meet the swaggering bleach blonde
vampire before he'd ever even been aware of her existence.

Or at least, that was what her memories said to
her.

Buffy continued. "I knew he was there. I was
dancing, I was having a good time, but all of a sudden, my senses
acted up, and all I could feel was this cold shiver running down
my spine. I hadn't even met him yet but I knew
who he was, and I knew he was watching
me. And I could feel him in every pore of my body, and I've felt
him that way ever since. No one has
ever gotten me that riled up before, not even Angel."

Dawn tilted her head. "So... you were
attracted to him even then?"

Buffy bit her lower lip, then slowly, tentatively
nodded. "Yeah. I think so." She shook her head.
"Anyway... ever since he told me he loved me -- " she
paused, then frowned, then started back up again. "No, wait.
It started before then. He's been romantically
interested in me, I think, since Willow's 'do-thy-will' spell
flopped. Anyway, ever since then, it's been so hard to get rid of
him. I thought that was what I wanted, that I wanted him to leave
me alone, to get out of my way, to let me breathe."

She glanced at Dawn again. "I grew used to
it. I expected him to be there, I expected him to pop up behind
me and snark at me, to pounce over my head and start pounding
away on the baddie of the night for me, even when I didn't want
him to, and later, to follow me around, telling me he loved me.
And then, later than that, to walk beside me, not saying
anything, not implying anything, but just... listening and
knowing the right times to make a joke and pull me out of a
brood."

Dawn grinned. "And God forbid you should
brood."

Buffy tilted her head, regarding her sister with
a wan smile. "Right." She shook her head. "But
then... last night, before he got home and told me about the
crypt... he told me he was over me. He begged me to tell him that
there was a chance between us. Practically got on his knees and
begged me. And I choked. I couldn't say anything. And I wanted
to. So badly. I wanted to throw my arms
around his neck and tell him I loved him, and that there would
always be a chance for us, and that I wanted him always... and I
couldn't. I couldn't say a word."

By this time, Buffy's eyes had blurred with
tears. She hadn't even realized that she'd stopped walking , and
was just standing on the sidewalk, her arms wrapped tightly
around herself. "And it hurt him so much. I could see it in
his eyes -- he was more than heartbroken. And then he turned
around and walked out. And he came back not fifteen minutes
later, but I was still so in shock that I couldn't say a word to
him. I just told him that he could stay at our house, and I went
to bed."

She shook her head. "So I really have no
right whatsoever to be jealous. I'm the one that rejected him,
again. So if he goes and gets a girlfriend, one that will
actually give him the amount of attention he deserves, then more
power to him. But..." She looked up and started walking
again. "I don't want him to have a different girl. I want
him to have me. I want to be with him,
and I'm sick of letting everyone else tell me what I should or
should not want or feel. I'm just sick of it."

They continued on, before arriving at 1630 on
Revello, turning up the walk and walking in companiable silence,
before Dawn spoke up. "Buffy. I may not have much
experience, but I definitely know one thing: If you want
something bad enough, you have to fight for it." The
teenager lifted her head, her brown hair draping itself over one
eye. "Fight for him. If you want him, fight for him, Buffy.
Take him back. Don't let him get roped in by a skank."

Buffy gave the girl a half-smile. "Any ideas
for me?"

A slow smile curled over Dawn's lips. "Oh...
just one."

The house was right around the corner, and for
all the times he'd been there, he'd never noticed what a
disturbing 'loom' quality it had. Hello, certain doom.

Sigh. He may as well say goodbye to Lilith now,
because as soon as he walked through the front doors, Buffy was
going to kill him, and he'd never see this raven-haired beauty again.

Spike stopped right in front of the walk, but
Lilith, who still had hold of his arm, and seemed preternaturally
strong (which, considering this town, wasn't an odd thing), led him
all the way up to the porch. Grudgingly, Spike tromped up the steps.

"So this is where you live," Lilith
breathed, looking curiously through the front window.

Spike shrugged, uninterested. "S'not really
mine. My, uh... a friend lives here. They're letting me crash for
a while. My old place was destroyed." Lilith turned to look
at him, wide-eyed, and Spike shrugged. "Eh, s'nothing
unusual in Sunnydale. Shit gets knocked down all the time."

Lilith gently touched the front door. "Could
we go inside, maybe?" she asked coquettishly, batting her eyelashes.

Spike shrugged after a moment. "Why
not," he muttered. As he opened the front door, he remembered and froze. Buffy
was why not. She was ready to kill him anyway, for even daring to
be seen with another girl in public; if he brought this girl
inside the house, no one would ever see her again. As he stepped
inside the threshold, he turned and smiled weakly. "Uh,
actually, luv, maybe it's best for you to go straight home. Since
it's not my house, I don't think my mates'll be too pleased with
me bringin' you home. Not to mention, I'm worn out as all
hell."

It took but a second's contemplation to reach the
facts. Well, that, and a keen sense of smell. Okay, and the fact that she'd been
watching him and his little circle of acquaintances since his return to this
horrid little town. But it only looked like a second's contemplation to Spike. "This is your
ex's house, isn't it?" She smiled slowly. "Come on, let
me in, Spike. We can show her the true
meaning of being jealous if we're inside the house..."

And as much as Spike fidgeted about that idea, he
couldn't. As much as Buffy hurt him from the day-to-day, as well
as lifetime, stuff, he couldn't deny that no matter how hard he
tried to fight it, he was still head-over-heels for the girl. He
just didn't want to hurt her anymore.

That didn't necessarily mean, however, that he
wasn't going to. But he was only willing to go to a few certain
extents, and no way was letting another chit in the house going
to be good for any of them. He gave her a stronger half-smile.
"Sorry, luv. It's appealin', naturally, but I don't want to
risk your hide on the burner. 'S better for me to just go in
there an' let the little wench get on with it."

Lilith fidgeted noticeably. Her hands twitched, in
fact, and she looked to be fighting against strangling something.
"Are you sure you don't want me in
the house? Spike, let me come in, please. I'll make it worth your
while, I promise."

Spike frowned. For all that she wanted to help
him get back at Buffy, she really wanted to be inside the house
to do it. "Luv, do you wanna be in the house so badly? 'Cos
I've barely known you one night an', yeah, that's not generally a
problem with me, but you sound like you want the house more'n
me!"

Instantly, Lilith backed off. "No, it's not
that. I guess... I'm just cold."

Spike's frown deepened. "It's
eighty-six degrees in California during Indian Summer in November."

Lilith shrugged. "Maybe I'm used to the
East," she joked, backing away. "Okay, Spike. I guess
I'll see you around."

Spike suddenly snapped out of his confusion and
jumped down the porch steps, running out to her. After all, she was a sweet
girl, and he didn't want her to leave on a sour note. The least he could do was
to... "Wait..." She turned around expectantly. "Don't
you wanna at least..." he shrugged modestly. "Seal the
night with a kiss?"

The dark-haired beauty -- so much like Drusilla,
and so familiar to him it was eerie -- smiled and turned around.
Placing her arms around his neck, she pulled him in for a deep,
slow, stirring kiss. Spike's eyes closed as he wrapped his arms
around her, one hand at the small of her back, one hand at the
back of her head. He wasn't so used to women being his height or
even, in Lilith's case, slightly taller than him. As much as
she'd matched him blow for blow, Dru was just the tiniest bit
shorter than him, as was Harmony, and... Buffy.

And with that thought, his inner eye switched
images quickly. He wasn't seeing Drusilla anymore. He wasn't
seeing Lilith, either. It was all Buffy. Always Buffy. Gold hair,
eager pink lips, cute little upturned nose, even if it did have a
slight bump on the bridge, hazel green eyes glittering with fire,
passion, love, hate, lust...

Holy hell, he was suffocating. And he didn't even
breath!

He jerked away from Lilith, gasping in order to
catch his breath -- which, again, he didn't need to breath. Lord,
but the effect Buffy had on him was mortally degenerating.
Putting his hand on his chest, he drew in one single breath, then
looked up at the women in front of him. "Er... maybe it's a
good idea for you to be leavin' now, yeah?"

Lilith smiled. "Of course. See you,
Spike," she said as she walked down the front walk. Her
teeth ground together in obvious fury, and as soon as she was out
of Spike's sight, she pummeled the trunk of a tree.

Stupid vampire. William was being
quite unreasonable about this whole thing. She growled to herself and
transformed, taking the shape of her current chosen animal, the leopard. There had to be
something more she could do in order to wear him down. She'd already struck once
-- her kiss with Spike had been witnessed by that short little blonde bitch from
the upstairs window. But there was something more she needed to do. She had
to get inside that house! Destroying the Slayer and all her comrades -- or
preferably having Spike destroy them -- would be the only way to free sweet,
vicious William from the spell that this harlot had unknowingly cast on him.

Now... she just needed to think of
her tactics. And she always thought better after a good hunt.

Buffy smiled to herself when Spike
turned away from Vamp Tramp, looking disgusted and distraught. Or maybe the
disgust was just her imagination? Either way, Spike looked completely confused,
but not so much that he hadn't had the wisdom to get rid of Lilith instead of
inviting her into her home.

Although she would have been even
more pleased with Spike if he hadn't resorted to kissing the living dead's
version of a walking STD.

But either way, it worked out.
Spike wasn't around Influential Possible Vampire Whore, and (thanks to Dawn's
ingenuity and quick timing), she was alone with Spike in the house. Dawn
had informed Clem, Giles and Willow that Buffy had been slightly on edge as of
late, and wished to spend the night alone, so it would be wise to go to the
local motel for the night. When countered with a speculative question on Spike's
presence in the house as well, Dawn responded (albeit very lamely) that Spike
would be in the basement, keeping to himself, while Buffy would be wiled away in
her own bedroom. Alone. By herself. As in not-with-Spike.

Which of course, she would be.
Hopefully. If this plan went off without a hitch.

Maybe it had been the urgency in
Dawn's voice that had gotten Willow to lay off and follow along.

But anyway, the point was that
Buffy and Spike were alone in the house, and thanks to an outfit she'd never
thought she'd have use for, and the sweltering evening that had crept up on
Sunnydale tonight, seemingly in Buffy's favor, the plan Dawn had provided her with in
order to win Spike's affections once again was in place. And how exactly Dawn
had known about the this thing was a question that Buffy was going to stay far,
far away from.

When Anya had first given her the gauzy red
teddie, she'd been shocked into
embarrassed stillness, because for some reason, the idea that Anya owned
anything like this in her wardrobe was more shocking than half the words that
came out of her mouth at times. The teddie was trimmed with black faux rabbit fur around the cleavage and the hem, which was
probably the only
reason Anya had worn it in the first place, since she believed that the rabbit that
had contributed to this outfit had died a most painful and gruesome death.

One
of these days, Buffy was really gonna have to get to the bottom of
Anya's rather ridiculous rabbit fear.

The teddie dipped so low over her breasts that
Buffy was amazed that the damned thing could support her so well anyway. It
was virtually backless, supported only by a few strings that crisscrossed over her skin, and the thong
portion was pretty much the same -- one thin, single string
settling between her... yeah.

And to make things more
embarrassing for her, she could not for the life of her find a way
to keep her garters attached to the damned thing. They were supposed to be
hooked to the bikini-cut hem in the front (which settled much too far above her
bikini line, in Buffy's opinion). However, the garter belt itself seemed to
enjoy loosening itself and slipping down her waist until it twisted around her legs. And
the robe Anya had bought to go with the whole ensemble? See-through, and ended
right below her ass. Go figure.
So much for at least keeping some of her body concealed. It would
do the trick, though. Spike's eyes would very likely not be returning to their
sockets when he saw her in this.

Personally, the only thing she
liked about the entire outfit was the robe. The make-up tips that had come with
the outfit were extremely helpful. She enjoyed the way that the
kohl black eyeliner rimming her eyes made them appear smoky and mysterious.

The problem was that it was very
likely that Spike would keel over and die from spontaneous sexual combustion.
She was wearing -- or barely wearing, anyway -- his favorite
colors, after all.

Self-consciously, she glanced down
at herself, appraising how she looked, and imagining what Spike's possible
reaction would be.

Snorting to herself, she recalled Anya's words, when she'd
first handed the naughty girl outfit over to Buffy.

"I read in Cosmopolitan
that sheer, racy undergarments such as these, when worn by the women in
question, were guaranteed to throw a man's hormones off balance, ensuring
heightened pleasure and longer lasting orgasms," Anya had said. Then
she'd frowned. "It definitely added stimulation, but Xander didn't like
it at all. In fact, he seemed more interested in taking it off of me, instead of
ravishing me with it on. Not that I minded, but show a little appreciation, you
know? I spent a hundred dollars on that thing!"

Buffy had merely stared,
pale-faced, at Anya, unable to keep herself from shuddering
at the thought of herself coming in bodily contact with one of her best friend's...
er... releases.

But worse still was what Anya had
said after that. "Based on the fact that Xander didn't seem too fond of
this thing, and seeing as I no longer have any use for it, and also regarding
the fact that though you're skinnier than I am by far, we're still about the
same size, I would like to present this to you to have. You aren't seeing anyone
at the moment, so you have no need to worry about wearing it in the bedroom, and
granted that you never will use it, I can take it back anytime I need to,
so long as you don't have any orgasms while wearing it." She'd grinned.
"So! Have fun!"

Oh, yeah,
Buffy had thought at the time. How can I not have fun with
gorgeous, sexy underwear, when you've made it particularly clear to me that I'm
unappealing to men, what with my skinny-ness, and the fact that I don't have
anybody....

Okay, so she'd decided to put
those thoughts on the back-burner for tonight. After all, tonight, she did
have somebody. Granted, he was half-terrified of her, not to mention being
"over" her, and he had suffered severe emotional and physical abuse
because of her, but she had SO gotten over herself! She was finally Buffy again,
she was normal, and not going through the motions, and feeling sorry for
herself, and taking it out on everyone that meant something to her (well, except
when Xander brought it on himself). And, bigger plus, she was in love
with him. And she was willing to put herself into far-too-sexy garments with her
skinny (but getting plumper) little self, just to get him back from a conniving,
whoring she-devil, so that HAD to mean something.

Of course it had to mean
something. She was doing this to get Spike back in her life. She'd never wanted
him in her life before, thanks to her friends' influences and her own stupid,
stuck-up notions about vampires and their feelings. So, yes, it meant something.
She was getting Spike back. Biiiiiig step forward.

Well, Anya had never asked for it
back, possibly because, when she'd given it to Buffy, it had been two weeks
since Darth Willow had tried to end the world, and Anya's relationship with
Xander had been the real apocalypse.

So Buffy was going to put this to
good use, especially since she still had the body needed for it to work.

And hopefully, after Spike
regained his equilibrium, he'd have her on the ground within a nanosecond. Or,
romantically, in his arms, carrying her to her bedroom, but she'd have to make
due. Just as long as she got Spike back.

Meaning something to him again was,
really, all that mattered to her.

Well, no screaming banshee Slayers
tonight. Spike sighed as he fairly keeled over onto the couch. Clem wasn't here
for some reason. Spike grunted. Floppy must've been out with the kitten poker
crowd again.

Suddenly, something caught his
attention, and he sniffed. Frowned. Sat up.

Nobody was here. He
couldn't hear a single heartbeat -- no, wait, there was one. Kinda fast-paced
beating, almost nervous, he'd say, but whatever, that wasn't the point. The point
was, he and someone else were the only ones
here. Where was everybody else? Had Buffy finally driven them insane and run them all out of the
house? Had she hinted to Giles, Willow and the others that Spike was being a
bad non-neutered puppy or something, and had sent them after him? In which case,
they were running a wild goose chase, since he so obviously lived here
now.

What the hell was going on?

Ooh. Footsteps. The
person-who-was-here was finally making their physical presence known.

And holy hell, did they make it
known.

As soon as Spike caught the
slightest glimpse of the body that was coming down the stairs, his eyes
attempted two different things at once: first, they widened to almost painful proportions
in order to get a better view, while at the same time, they snapped shut, so as not to
embarrass the hell out of himself when she made it into the living room.

He had a feeling that was going to
happen anyway.

Buffy descended the final step,
looking for all the world like an innocent angel -- okay, well, maybe 'innocent'
wasn't quite the right word. Not with what she was wearing. The
only angelic thing about her was probably her hair (which, by the way, was down,
floating around her like a golden halo, and -- oh, hell, here came the bloody
awful poet.) Her eyes were outlined in charcoal black, her lips were dyed
ruby red, and her skin, normally a healthy, golden California tan in the light
of day, was a pale, pale white in the dark of night in this house. And her
outfit...

That
outfit was so bloody scandalous that Darla would have cringed at the sight of it...
and Darla had been a whore.

Still, it did its duty,
and Not-So-Little-Spike rose up to happily salute Slayer and Body.

Buffy smiled slightly at him.
"Hey, Spike." She paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue after
that. Go with sweet and innocent, like you wear this sort of thing
every night! chorused Pro-And-Anti-Spike (who, subsequently, seemed to be merging into one, and
were apparently acknowledging Buffy again, now that her sense had been knocked
back into her). "Listen... about earlier tonight?" She moved closer to
him, the sheer red robe swishing back and forth with her movements. Spike's eyes
widened at the high cut of the bikini-like bottoms -- and nearly fainted from pure, undiluted orgasmic
overload when he saw that the soft brown hairs that had once decorated her mound had apparently been shaven
off.

It took a minute for him to come
back to earth and listen to her. "I'm sorry for the... you know... turning
you into a Sea Breeze. You have a right to see other girls. I-I shouldn't have
done that."

She knelt down so she was
eye-level with him, jarring the Anti-Nightie so much that the top slipped down
slightly, barely showing a hint of a pert, pink nipple to his eyes. He fought
off a whimper. Buffy it seemed, however, took no notice of his reaction, instead
laying her hand on his bare chest, the contact alone being enough to nearly
drive Spike off the edge at this point.

"We're still... friends,
right, Spike?" she asked, with enough suggestiveness in her voice that
easily out-innuendo-ed every quip and leer Spike had given her in the last five
years. And now she was nibbling her lower lip. The action was so enticing and
endearing at the same time that, as Spike unconsciously began to lean closer,
her nearly fell off the couch.

Catching himself before he
committed the first action to prove himself an utter ass in front of her, he
nodded quickly, affecting a nonchalant air. "Yeah, sure, Slayer. Whatever
you say."

He was nearly thrown through a
wall by the smile that exploded onto her face. She threw herself forward,
impulsively hugging him, and unconsciously rubbed her half-exposed breast
against his very much exposed, very Buffy-sensitive chest. He hastily caught the
unmanly 'eep' that threatened to emerge.

"Thanks, Spike," Buffy
said, her insides nearly quivering with laughter at the tension and desperation
in Spike's body. Over me, Glory's lopsided ass! she
thought giddily. Now all she had to do was make the tension absolutely
unbearable. Thank the Powers for that sweltering heat.

She pulled back, rubbing a hand
lightly over her chest. "God, I think I'm melting," she breathed,
frowning at the sticky sweaty-ness that coated her skin.

For his part, Spike did his best
to respond while attempting to tear his eyes away from the tiny Slayer hand
running over the delectable Slayer skin on his delicious little Slayer -- and,
yeah, he really had to stop that. Still trying not to keel over
with laughter, Buffy took pity -- at least for the moment -- and went to the
kitchen.

Immediately, Spike's eyes were
closed, and he was on his back muttering to himself.

Crosses, garlic,
sunlight, holy water, stakin', getting staked, stakin' Buffy -- no, shit,
goddammit! Beheadin', catchin' fire, burnin' up, runnin' out of cigarettes,
runnin' out of blood, killin' people, suckin' blood, suckin' people's
blood, suckin' warm, delicious human blood, suckin' warm, delicious,
powerful Slayer's blood, suckin' Buffy's blood, suckin' Buffy -- ack! No!
Okay, okay, wait -- Peaches! Think of bloody Peaches, think of Angelus, Angelus
stole Dru, Angelus embarrassed you, made life miserable, stole your woman,
shagged Dru, shagged the Slayer before you did -- DAMMIT!

Spike cringed, finally reduced to
his last resort. Think about last year, mate. Think about bein' used,
think about nearly rapin' Buffy, think of your stupid bloody mistake when you
got drunk an' shagged Anya, think of Harris, think of Stupid Git Harris, for
Christ's sake, think of bloody Harris in a cat suit and coming on to you!

Spike's eyes snapped open, and he
gave a full-body shudder. Well, that one worked.

At least it did until Buffy walked
back into the room. Even making it so that the horrid Harris image in his mind
was naked and coming on to him wasn't going to distract him from
Buffy's beauty.

Buffy, meanwhile,
knew exactly how she was affecting Spike, and the knowledge made her giddy. She
really had been hot, however, when she'd left Spike's company for the kitchen.
But the second she'd stuck her head in the freezer to cool down, she'd spotted
another method of inducing Spike-Torture.

Namely, a box of
rocket pops. Not exactly the right color (snort) and no where near
Spike's proportions, but it would definitely do the job otherwise.

Spike's eyes
widened when he saw the way-too-close to phallic shape of the Popsicle in
Buffy's hand. His jaw very nearly fell off of its hinges when she brought the
pop up to her lips and slowly, deliberately, licked the very tip with a dart of
her nimble pink tongue.

His eyes followed
helplessly as she engulfed the frozen treat, making her seemingly innocent act
of enjoying the iced sugar seem all too obscene. He wasn't positive how, but he
managed to close his eyes and begin to mutter to himself mentally. However, his Harris in a cat suit!
mantra somehow turned into Buffy
in a cat suit! -- complete with visuals, and then she wasn't in a cat suit,
she was in that scandalous little scrap of lace, and then she was naked.

At the images
fluttering in front of him from the times he had seen Buffy naked,
Spike very nearly fell on the ground, howling from the very real physical pain
that his thoughts cost him. He chanced a glance at Real-Life Buffy, thinking a
barely dressed Buffy would at least be slightly better than Naked Buffy and
would calm his erection down the tiniest bit.

Nope, that didn't work.

For one, her
popsicle was melting. Meaning that now, little rivulets were dripping down her
hand, and she was in a race to catch them before they dripped down her elbow.
Meaning that she was licking and sucking at the rocket pop like there was no
tomorrow. And for Spike, from previous experience, of course, watching the
little show that Buffy was presenting to him set his borrowed blood to boiling
in lust.

He groaned
silently. Why? Why me? I'm trying to be good, really! Why do you
bloody gits have to torture me?!

Her tongue was
trying to catch up to all the drippings (Spike cursed the imbecile who'd made
this night so goddamn hot -- er, weather-wise), and after a frustrating moment
of trying to figure out what it was, exactly, that she was going to do, she
finally deep-throated the whole damn thing. Spike's eyes bolted open, and try as
he might, he couldn't help the one tiny, unmanly squeak that shot out of
his throat and did a taunting 'nyah, nyah, nyah-nyah, nyah!' right in
front of him. Sigh. There was no other way around it. He couldn't deny it to
himself anymore.

He was hard. All
thanks to that devious little bitch.

Buffy, on the
other hand, was loving every single second of this. Obviously, she had no
problems with turning Spike on. But here was the hard part -- getting him so
riled that he made it up the stairs and right into her bed.

Which actually,
now that she thought about it, shouldn't be that difficult at all.

"Spike?"
she asked, creeping closer until she was on her knees on the floor beside him.
Spike's mind stubbornly refused to acknowledge the 'on her knees' part, while
the rest of his body was currently in the midst of a veto in attempting to toss
his brain into the clinger.

The popsicle was
still very useful, as Buffy's lips were now following its length up and down. He
knew, because his eyes had opened long enough to catch her on the upsweep. Her
head tilted to the side a bit, and she contemplated him as her tongue traced the
tip of what was now the most perverted rocket pop on the planet. Deciding that
it would be best to just point out the obvious rather than to give stupid,
long-winded statements, she leaned over him and placed her hand over his. His
body gave a very visible jolt, and he glanced at her, wide-eyed and anxious.

"Do
you--" her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. Spike relaxed a bit --
obviously Buffy wasn't all stones tonight, and was even a little nervous about
what it was exactly that she was pulling. "Do you," she started again,
"want to come upstairs and let me... handle the problem?" Her hand
moved from his to the painfully large bulge in his lap.

Spike let a hiss
escape his throat through his teeth. The searing hot pressure of her hand was so
familiar, so comforting, so, so... arousing, that it was difficult
not to just explode right there. It was then that it finally hit him what Buffy
was doing -- and why. Yes, she really was coming onto him. Why?
Because she still wanted him. But Christ, even after all the shit he'd put her
through, she still craved him?

Somehow, that
wasn't very comforting. Was she fucking insane?!

Well, at least
she'd finally ditched that evil popsicle. Right into a potted plant, but still.
No more torture. She straightened, standing up, and Spike's eyes shot closed
when he was treated to yet another view of why Buffy had chosen this scrap of
nothing to cover her tonight. Her hand reached out to cup his cheek, and he
unconsciously leaned into it, purring. She waited until he opened his eyes
again.

"No pressure,
Spike," she murmured softly, then slowly, deliberately blinked once.
"I'll be waiting."

She turned and
Spike was given yet another glimpse of her transparent backside.

He was gonna
murder the lunatic who'd given that teddie to her. It was a pure piece of evil.

Granted, the view
was pretty enticing. Not as nice as her front side, but still way up there. What
with nothing but a piece of floss between her smooth round cheeks, and the way
her hips were swaying back and forth, and the whole point that she was very
nearly naked right in front of him!

He nearly caved in
and went after her.

But then he
realized what the little bint had implied by her "I'll be waiting."
Translation? "I'm waiting upstairs for you and with the way I look,
there's no doubt in my mind you'll come after me, because you have absolutely no
self control."

She had actually
assumed that he wouldn't have the willpower to deny her something she wanted.

Something she
wanted. Of course. Once again, it was All About Buffy. It was a
wonder that the girl's head wasn't floating off her shoulders, the way her
ego was daily inflated.

Well she was wrong
for once. He wasn't going to go traipsing after her like her little lapdog
again, eager to please, more eager to get fucked, happy to just have on of her
condescending eyes straying his way. Spike was going to sit right here
on his tight little ass, while Buffy was going to be hit with the mother off
rude revelations. She could stew as much as she wanted -- he didn't give a shit.
He was staying put until she understood that he had not been put
on this earth and brought into her life in order to be bossed around.

One of these days,
she had to learn. Spike was not her personal lust-bunny.

His decision made,
he sat back and unzipped his pants.

Hey, his
realizations about Buffy may have pissed him off, but the image of her was still
stuck in his head. He had to do something to get rid of this
problem.

She was pissed. No, brassed off.

No, wait, she had one better. She
was fucking livid!

She'd been waiting for Spike to
trudge upstairs for more than forty-five minutes now -- assuming that Spike
might want to fix himself instead of limping up the stairs -- but so far, Spike
had proven to be a no show. So, she headed back downstairs.

Her jaw dropped at the sight of
the object of her affections, turned on his side, facing the couch, peacefully
asleep.

Suddenly, her anger found itself
merged with unbearable hurt, and it took every cell of her body to keep that
wailing sob that was rising in her throat from escaping. Unfortunately, she
couldn't stop her tears from dripping down both cheeks, and after a few sniffs,
she bowed her head and made her way back up to the bed that she would apparently
be occupying alone.

It was true. He didn't
want her anymore. Oh, he wanted her physically -- with the way she'd been
dressed, she had pretty much ensured that. But when it all came down to it, he
was a man, and she was a woman wearing transparent clothing that pretty much
just covered her tits. Spike probably would have reacted that way to any woman
he'd seen wearing that outfit.

But if it had been so easy for him
to just roll over and go to sleep without giving her a second thought...

"Thoughts bad," she
whimpered, sniffling. "No more thinking."

This was all Dawn's fault, she
decided. The teenager had been the one to push her into the whole Operation:
Seduce Spike thing; Dawn had been the one to encourage her to act on her
feelings for him. Therefore, seeing as how the whole sorry attempt had backfired
horribly in Buffy's face, it was Dawn she was placing the blame on.

But there was another face that
was surfacing in her mind -- another person that she knew, deep down, was the
cause of her jealousy and hurt.

No,
she
thought, straightening abruptly, her face solidifying into a hateful mask. Not Dawn's fault.
HER'S. Her tears stopped flowing, and her eyes
hardened and became ice cold. She knew why Spike was no longer interested in
her.

"Turbo-Bitch," she growled.

Practically tearing off the
now-useless teddie, she dressed dangerously in a pair of black jeans, a black
tank top, and her black, steel-toed army boots. Strapping several stakes onto
various locations on her person, she fought the urge to go down the stairs and
give Spike a good kick in the shins. Instead, she took a trip to her teen years,
and climbed out her window. Dropping nimbly to the ground, she scowled and
continued on towards the cemetery. Maybe it was natural instinct, or maybe it
was wishful thinking on Buffy's part that led her there, but something told her
to search this place for the bitch that had dared to try taking Spike away from
her.

However, after about an hour of
searching, she realized how fruitless her search was, and began wondering if her
Slayer instincts were on the fritz. The Drusilla wanna-be Slut-Bomb that had set
her sights on Spike was human (she had to be; her presence hadn't even set off
Buffy's normally accurate Spidey-senses). There was no reason Stupid!Evil!Bitch
would be wandering around the cemetery, not even this late at night.

With fatigue, failure, and
depression setting in, Buffy turned to go home.

And then she heard voices.

Normally, she wouldn't be worried
-- especially since Pro-and-Anti Spike (now merged, as she'd realized before)
had made it a habit lately of talking to her like they were old friends -- and
like they were real. But she knew right off the bat that the voices she was
hearing did not belong to her friendly neighborhood mental loonies.

Stepping into a wall of bushes and
peering through the leaves, she squinted her eyes and realized that --

Sigh. She'd stumbled in on a
make-out session.

Dammit.

But something told her to take a
closer look. And so she did.

The female (who, by the way, had
her long, skanky legs wrapped around the guy's waist) finally lifted her head
and smiled an almost bone-chilling smile.

Buffy's heart gave a lurch. It was
her! It was the Slut-Bomb! YES! she cheered internally.
The bitch hadn't even been with Spike for more than a night, and was already
playing him! And Buffy, better than anybody, knew how much Spike hated polygamy
-- he was a one-woman vampire, and always had been (which made him a bit of a
freak in the vampire world. Not that he already wasn't one). When he heard about
this, he was going to be furious!

And you'll get to
console him and be in all self-righteous indignation with him!
Pro-Spike added excitedly. Buffy's eyebrows creased.

Where the hell
have you been? she thought.

Er... visiting last
year's memories, Pro-Spike replied
sheepishly.

Buffy nodded to herself
understandingly. Gotcha. Proceed.

She nearly smacked herself on the
head when she realized what she was doing. Stop talking to yourself,
dipshit! Get home and tell Spike he's taken up with another two-timing whore!

But before she could, Slut-Bitch
did something that not even Buffy had anticipated.

Her fangs bared, her head dove
down and she struck like a viper. Her victim never had a chance to make a noise,
and her legs' tight grip on him snapped him in half. She drained the boy in two
seconds flat.

Buffy's Slayer instincts thrummed
with excitement. The evil man-stealer was not only a two-timer, but she was a
vampire.

A slow, predatory smile curled her
lips.

This night just couldn't get any
better.

________________________________________________________________________________

Author's Note: You've
noticed that our villainess's name is Lilith. According to some
pieces of vampire lore, Lilith is the queen mother, the first of all vampires. Except,
apparently, in Anne Rice's world, where the Egyptian Akasha reigns supreme. Eh,
what does she know? Think about this -- she's a bit of a looney for brooding vampires, anyway.
She had a great character going with Louis, but honestly, the brooding just
never STOPPED. She'd have a field day with Angel. Anyway, I digress. The Lilith
in this story is most definitely the same Lilith of lore. I don't
know all that much about her, but I don't think anybody really
does, unless they are an expert in the field. So I'm just gonna
go with the flow and use some of the information I pulled up about her in Giles
and Willow's inevitable research session, whenever that comes around.
- 11
- 12
- 13
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