Title: Lottery
Summary: Spike hits the jackpot and wins a few million dollar.
Genre: Humor
Timeline: This starts a few days after Once More with Feeling. Giles had left Sunnydale by the time Buffy died and hasn’t returned, leaving Buffy’ financial problems in her own hands.
Author: Darynthe
Thanks to my best friend ana_christina for her beta powers and constant support. You are the best!
Feedback much Appreciated as this is my first Buffy fanfic. :) Hope you enjoy!
Lottery
1.
“No. I refuse to hear another word.” Buffy plugged two fingers into her ears to interrupt any further flow of unwanted information from reaching her seemingly addled brain. Oddly enough, she felt on the point of curling up in fetal position although she was standing against the counter.
“But, Buffy! It’s true. Like totally. Can you believe it? We know a millionaire. A new millionaire. And those are the best. Do you think he resents the past enough to prevent him from investing in the Magic Box? You know we’ve been thinking of opening a franchise. I was making numbers and three stores in L.A. wouldn’t be too much. Business down there can be extremely lucrative given the witch and demon activity,” Anya continued, now totally lost in her musings about profit forecasts. “Anyway, I am sure you can convince him. I have never considered Spike as a stingy person and he is even very generous for a vampire. He has enough money for everyone now, why would he say no? You could punch him into signing a reasonably big check in five minutes tops.” Anya smiled widely and nodded emphatically.
“Anya, I don’t think Buffy would consider asking Spike for money. Even if she was broke. And she would never beat Spike to make him give her cash… would she?” interrupted Willow, looking towards Buffy in a quest for a confirmation. She was worried seeing how upset Buffy had been left with the news that Spike had won a big fat prize in the lottery, amounting to three million two and hundred thousand dollars.
“Buffy doesn’t think that. She can make him do her bidding. He is in love with her, isn’t he? What sort of man in love can refuse such a tiny little thing?” continued Anya, slightly miffed at Willow’s intromission. “And Buffy *is* broke. Bankruptcy and hunger are two words that can prompt some good assertive healthy attitude change.”
Buffy had dropped to the floor by now, and was sitting against the counter hugging herself. Her eyes were closed and she murmured something to herself.
“Besides, he is not exactly bad looking,” Anya added as an afterthought.
Buffy opened her eyes and directed an accusing glare towards her that spoke volumes about what she thought of Anya’s not so subtle hint.
“This is not happening.” Buffy let her head hit repeatedly the wooden surface behind her.
Anya took advantage of the short silence to produce a cell phone and speed dial 1. Xander seemed to pick up the call in less then three seconds. She repeated her bit of gossip over the line, just as she had not five minutes ago with Buffy, not being physically able to wait for Xander to get home from work. She regretted it immediately, upon realizing that the phone had gone dead. What was the point of sharing such juicy piece of gossip if you were denied the most basic right to enjoy the expression, be it verbal or facial of the interlocutor? Certainly Xander was a very petty person to deny her such small pleasures. She frowned, bothered.
“What did he say?” asked Willow.
“Not a word. He just hanged up on me!” replied Anya, still heated from the news herself. “I suppose he won’t take it well. You know how those two get along, but I hope he realizes the advantages that being on good footing with Spike could mean to us. Of course he will ask Spike to be our best man in the wedding.” Anya made what seemed pretty much a squee sound.
“And that was what exactly for?” asked Buffy.
“I am just thinking what sort of gift a multimillionaire gives in a wedding. Maybe you can talk him into it being a honeymoon to Hawaii.”
“Listen, Anya, I don’t know whatever gives you this bizarre idea that Spike will do whatever I tell him to do. Last time I checked, we had an arch-enemy/nemesis sort of relationship and if I were you, I wouldn’t be making any sort of long term plans that didn’t include his taking some sort of twisted revenge for all real or imaginary offense he feels we may given him in the eh… fullness of time.”
“Well, Buffy, not to be the devil’s advocate here –literally- but Spike is not the sort of person who keeps grudges. At least…” Willow lowered her voice, “I don’t think so.”
Buffy got up and started to pace around. “We will know soon enough, won’t we? If he has been around it’s probably only in the hopes of our protection. Now, that sort of money will probably buy him a lot of minions, demonic and especially of the human variety.”
“Money is power,” added Willow and she saw Anya nod with a smile, seeing they agreed for once about one area of her expertise.
“He might even have his chip removed,” Anya mentioned after a second of reflection.
Buffy jumped at the thought that didn’t seem to have occurred to her before.
“No, God. Please. This is exactly what I didn’t need. I don’t have enough money to pay for a plumber and he is probably right now lighting his cigarettes with one hundred dollar bills.” “Like in the movies,” Buffy added at the strange alarmed look she got from Anya.
“And if he does have his chip removed somehow, you will have to stake him, won’t you, Buffy?” Willow asked, concerned.
Buffy seemed slightly uncomfortable. “Yes, definitely. I will have to. I will have no option left. He will be last week’s poof!” She got out her stake and made a theatrical movement forward for emphasis. Then she sighed and seemed to be looking around for something.
“I will go and have a chat with him to explain this out. “
“Good idea, Buffy!” Willow supported her, happily. “I mean, with his lack of soul, he has no moral code or conscience, so he might be very confused. It’s a lot of power there. He probably has no idea what to do right now. And you are like his moral compass, aren’t you?”
“Well, I never thought of myself as overly compass-y. But my “vampire bad gets no cookie” routine usually gets the job done.”
“And in this metaphor the cookie is…?” Anya’s curious voice caused Buffy to reply with a shrug.
“Mmm, in fact it’s more like good vampire gets an ass- kicking-Buffy-lite version instead of the ass- kicking-Buffy-pro.” “God, I am so tired,” she complained. It had been another day of interviews for jobs that ended exactly in the land of nowhere. And not the “nowhere fast” variety.
“So, are you going right now to meet him?” asked Anya.
“Maybe I’ll go later, after patrol. I am thinking of going home and getting a nap right now. Or drowning my sorrows in Jack Daniels. Again.”
“Buffy! When did you…?” Willow started to ask.
“Never mind.” Buffy stopped before having to tell the entire story of her embarrassing night of “partying” with Spike.
“Please Buffy, don’t be too rude with Spike. It’s a known fact that you can get more flies with honey than with stakes. Beating him to a pulp should only be the second option if asking nicely doesn’t work. Doctor Spock says…”
“Anya, please understand once and for all, I am not going to get Spike’s money! Not for you, nor for anyone. If I did, under any circumstance, that would be for my own household. And that is so not happening. I’d die first.” Buffy clenched her teeth in resolution.
“Well said, Buffy. Asking Spike for money would be too Scarlet-tish. And if he refused he would be very Rhettish. And you know how that story ended. “Willow provided the necessary literary reflection.
“No, I actually don’t.”
“But how can you not…? Oh!” Willow went red. “I get you. It was an open ending. Very smart. Ha-ha.”
Buffy took a deep breath, rolled her eyes and left for home, hoping against hope not to meet Spike before she was rested enough to face his smugness. She could barely stand the thought of how he would be just walking over the clouds right now.
“Ewww. Millionaire Spike. I must have jumped in a parallel dimension. The one without shrimp.”
***
“I need 200 cc of jalapenos in vinegar, please.” The young person in the convenience store chose to ignore her petition for the fourth time while she tended to a conversation in her blue Mickey Mouse styled cell phone.
Buffy got angrier than the situation vouched for and in one soft bounce she found herself holding to the lapels of the girls’ white shirt and demanding attention.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way…” But then Buffy found herself lift off her feet and effectively off “Molly”, as the young blue haired cashier’s name tag read.
“Get off the bird, Slayer. How many times do I have to tell you there are no jalapenos, never were, they are just a product of your imagination, luv?”
“No, Spike, it’s not like that, it’s the shrimps that do not exist. Shrimps, got it?” And she started crying and tearing back at him.
“Come on, pet. Shhhhh.” He dragged her to a corner with an effort and wrapped his arms around her, starting to rock her back and forth. She could feel the strong reassuring smell of leather and tobacco and it calmed her a little.
“Miss! I have your order here. Do you want it or not?” Molly shouted as a long line of impatient customers shuffled their feet and glared in the queue that Buffy had momentarily abandoned.
“You have my jalapenos?” Buffy blew her nose noisily.
“Yeeeees, ma’am.” The cashier made a funny face, never losing the good mood.
Buffy pushed Spike in the chest causing him to hit the floor with a thump. “See, I told you! I told you! You’ve been trying to keep me away from it. Why? I hate you!”
“It was for your own good, luv. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“And pretending I am insane is for my own good, right?” Buffy got closer to him as he tried to get up from his sprawled state.
“Hey, I never said you were a sack of hammers. But you have to trust me on this one.”
“I would never trust you, Spike.” Buffy left him and approached Molly and her brown bag containing the precious greenies that Buffy coveted with a passion.
“This will be five fifty.” The ding in the machine prompted Buffy to pay.
She reached into her pockets frantically. Buffy didn’t carry a purse, she never did. “Oh my God,” she thought desperately, “I don’t have money, how will I pay for it?”
“Can you put it in my tab by any means?” Buffy presented a flashing smile.
Molly turned a horrible green. She got bigger, distorted, ugly and her skin turned into razor-like scales. Buffy looked astounded, as the monster reached at least ten feet and its slime started to run all over her. One of its long thin arms stretched like it was made of chewed gum and wrapped itself around Buffy’s neck.
“You haven’t paid your tab in many months, ma’am. The company policies are there for a reason. You pay all you owe or you have no jalapenos.” The flexible and deadly limb cut off Buffy’s breath to the point she started to feel dizzy and couldn’t reply.
“Hey, money demon, here. Let go of my wife and try grabbing someone your own size. You silly bint.” Spike shouted.
Buffy managed to see him by the corner of her eye. He towered the same height of the now overgrown cashier and pushed a stack of one hundred bills into the monster’s mouth.
Molly dusted like a vamp into a wooden stake and Buffy was free. She turned to the giant Spike and looked at him incredulously.
“Your wife?” He motioned to her hand and she noticed the horrible ring that he had given her when Willow’s spell had backfired and they had been engaged.
“You forgot again, luv?”
Buffy bellowed in the same tone and pitch the fat lady in the opera did and staked Spike repeatedly in his big right foot, which was all she could reach of him. He looked down at her fondly.
***
Dawn was shaking her out of her dreams. “Oh my God, Buffy, will you cut it off for a sec? I am going to need a deaf mike like that old lady who sells sandwiches in school!”
Buffy jumped up straight, fully awake. She noticed that she had thrown away all the covers during the night.
“What is it with you? Must have been a really bad dream, I haven’t seen you this freaked out before.”
“It was Spike. We were married.” Buffy shared without thinking, breathing fast.
Dawn squealed and threw herself into the floor with unprecedented glee. She laughed so hard that she had to hold her tummy.
“And you!… was that the scary dream that made you bring the walls down? No way.” She laughed some more and took a breath before asking excitedly. “Were you in the middle of your honeymoon or something?”
Buffy turned pale and denied fervently, but she knew that at this point the more she rejected the idea that this had been a “good” dream, the more Dawn would make out of it. She wondered how much an attempt to bribe Dawn not to spill everything off to a living soul or to an un-living un-one would end up costing her.
“Hey, maybe it was one of your slayer dreams, of the kind that predict the future!” Dawn jumped to her feet and then over the bed, too happy and childish for Buffy’s bad early morning mood.
“He had two heads, was covered in oil and was gross. He asked me to make him a sandwich. That was about it.”
“Sure. Sure, Buffy. I understand you.” Dawn started to sing and flitted out of the room joyfully.
“Great, just great.” Buffy dragged her feet to the bathroom, realizing that she had been so tired last night that she hadn’t woken up from her nap and slept through the night, patrol be damned. And the day promised yet another sad succession of Buffy applying and interviewing, with just as little hope as in the previous days. If things didn’t start to look up she would have to move to L.A. just to be able to get her hands in an odd job, such as cleaning toilets.
2.
Buffy walked home slightly hunched. She had thought it impossible for a job more boring than clerk at the Magic Box to exist. And she had been wrong by far. Her last attempt at earning her living had taken away six hours of her life. Six hours that nothing and nobody would give her back. She had been a temporary secretary.
“Tap tap tap. How is one supposed to find the keys without watching the keyboard. What on earth did they think I am? Some sort of clairvoyant?” Buffy kicked a rock. “Losers!”
She crossed the street with the intention to meet Dawn at the Magic Box, but stopped for a moment at the window, a tingling suspicion making her peek through the thick glass.
“This must be a joke.” Buffy rubbed her eyes.
Anya, Dawn and Spike were holding funny looking glasses of wine. A toast? Were they really toasting with Spike? Buffy opened the door with a perplexed expression.
“Oh, Buffy, you got just in time to join the celebration!” Dawn jumped to the almost empty wine bottle that had been lying forgotten under the counter.
“Yes, pet. You’ve heard the news? Yours truly finally hit the jackpot. About goddamn time too.” Spike greeted her with a deep stare and his trademark smirk.
“Yes. Yes. Spare me all and any smugness.” Buffy dismissed the situation, forgetting her intended talk with the vampire. “Not really in the mood tonight to meet the newest Rothschild.”
“You sure you don’t want to give me a little congratulatory hug like your friends here?” He smiled widely.
“No, I’ll pass. But, I am happy for you. In my heart,” Buffy said sarcastically and threw herself at a chair to observe the animated group.
“Buffy, we are actually celebrating Spike’s clear foresight for business. He just signed a good amount in the Magic Box franchise. See, we didn’t need your influence after all.” Anya was pleased with herself and obviously relieved because she didn’t have to owe any favors to Buffy now.
“Oh, I see.” Buffy considered the news and looked towards Spike suspiciously. “What is it? Why are you doing this?”
“I beg your pardon, Slayer? Why wouldn’t I? This country hasn’t been built by letting good cash sitting under the couch. We all need to put the capital to roll.” He sipped at his red wine and sighed contently. “And I can recognize a good businesswoman when I see one.”
Anya looked at him adoringly, mesmerized by every word of his. Buffy felt sickened.
“You really can be anything to everybody, can’t you?”
“You haven’t got the first clue to what you’re talking about, Slayer. But maybe one day you’ll realize just how true what you just said is.” He smiled suggestively.
“Anya, I hope you know what you’re doing here, and that Giles agrees with it. I’d hate to see you guys making a HUGE and FATAL mistake.” Buffy chose to ignore Spike, and warn the capitalist ex-demon instead.
Spike swaggered towards the back of the chair where Buffy was and slowly put his fingers on her back. She sprinted to her feet but he kept her in her seat with the weight of his hands.
“Hey!” Buffy complained.
“You’re too tense. I can give you a small backrub.”
His right hand found a tense string of muscle on her nape and she moaned. It was so unfair. Everything was so unfair! Each of her hands took a wrist of his and put away the dangerous touch, twitching his hands till he whimpered.
“Seems that this ridiculous lottery thing has gone directly to your head.” She stood up, turned to him and twisted a little more till the bones started to crunch noisily.
“Oi! I was just trying to be friendly. Why do you always have to ruin my happy moods? I am sure the whelp gives you backrubs all the time.” Spike complained in a small voice while his face had a pained expression.
“No, he doesn’t.” Anya was scowling and now she doubted whether to go to the vampire’s rescue as it had been her intention. “I mean, Xander is not a whelp.”
“Buffy, will you lay it off just for tonight?” Dawn whined pulling her arm. “You two act as if you were married already!”
“Married?” Spike made a double take at the words. “Already?”
“Dawn! “ Buffy let him go and grabbed Dawn by an ear, ready to take her home.
“We will talk!” Dawn managed to mouth to Spike before she was bodily taken off the door as the bell upon it rang happily to their exit act.
***
Buffy put the pillow over her head with the hope of making the doorbell’s sound go away. She wanted to go back to sleep, it must have been like seven or eight in the morning, which was a ridiculously ungodly hour for a full time working Slayer. What was it with Dawn not answering?
As the person didn’t seem to take the hint that nobody was curious enough to get the door, Buffy had to give up her beauty sleep and put on her yellowish bunny slippers.
“What!” She exclaimed not looking who it was.
“Is this the Summers’ residence?”
“Uh-huh.”
“We have some delivering to do, ma’am.”
“I haven’t ordered anything.”
“These are from a… Mr. Spike” He read his clipboard before gently pushing her to the side of the door and letting a few little men enter her living room with huge baskets of flowers. Mostly roses, white and red.
Buffy looked impassive, hugging herself and closing her terry cloth white robe tighter, while every single space in the room was being filled.
Dawn ran down the stairs covered in a towel, squeaking like a kitty. Seriously, wasn’t Dawn too childish for a sixteen year old? Buffy was more and more peeved with her these days. She never had acted like that…never. She had been at that age a serious and proper little slayer and wished Dawn would learn some of her elegant demureness.
“Oh my God, there must like thousands of roses here! He is like totally into you!” Dawn hugged Buffy excitedly. It was the first time anybody at home received flowers since that time Joyce… She preferred not to think of it and rather celebrated Buffy’s good luck.
“You cannot leave those here. You hear me, I won’t sign anything, and you can take them back to Mr. Spike.” Buffy managed, still sleepy.
“Sorry, ma’am. We have a no return policy. It would mean an extra 50 dollars charge to get these sent anywhere.” The young man explained.
Buffy bared her teeth in an unfriendly way. There was no way she was partying with fifty dollars because of Spike’s pathetic gaudiness.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t buy at your store EVER again.” Her tone was more childish than Dawn’s and she knew it, but it was the only thing she could think of to get back at the little nuisance of a boy. “It will be a *huge* loss.” Buffy made the same gesture as Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, hoping for the message to sink in.
She would do so much better if she had the kid’s job. Hadn’t he heard that the customer was always right? What was this generation coming to? Did everything have to have a monetary cost? Even to return unwanted attentions from your soulless vampire millionaire stalker? Since when did this country become so decadent and unsure? God, did she need a vacation! Did Slayers ever have a vacation? And technically, she was not really at school or having a paid job, so would it really count as a vacation?
While Buffy drifted away in her semi-awake philosophic musings, Dawn had signed the form and sent the flower men on their merry way.
“Oh, Buffy, don’t look so desolate. You can slay the roses if you want.”
“You know what I’ll do, I will go back to sleep and when I am well rested… Bam! No more Mr. Spike.”
“Sure, Buffy. I am sure he would be so scared if he heard you, he would die of a heart attack.” She stole a rose from the white bunch and said in a lower voice so Buffy didn‘t hear her, “of course, if old age does not get him first.” Dawn checked the clock on the wall and hurried up for school as Xander horned the car to prompt her.
***
Buffy couldn’t go back to sleep. The noise made by Tara and Willow downstairs had lasted no more than ten minutes and then everything had gone very quiet. Yet she couldn’t claim her happy dreamless rest back, for all her sleepiness.
She was starting to get worried about that. Maybe she was clinically depressed; not long ago, she read in Cosmopolitan that excessive need for sleep may be a symptom of depression, or of a desire to run away from problems. And if she felt anything right now beside numbing desolation it was a need to go away and escape from a reality from which she had been forcefully separated and then returned to, without ever having been asked for an opinion.
She checked the clock over the table. Ten A.M. as she heard a lot of noise coming from the kitchen. Again. It had to be Spike, she couldn’t think of anyone else having nothing else to do but busy themselves in the Summers’ kitchen at that hour.
“Oh, no, go away now!” She buried her head under the pillow.
Ten minutes later, and finally giving up her attempts at ignoring the noise, Buffy dragged herself out of bed and got dressed with a gray skirt and a simple white blouse. She looked spectacularly average and not herself. Perfectly in shape to continue her job chase. She hoped her attire shouted “middle class working girl and top form team player”. Maybe she could even go and try to ask about enrolling in the firefighters program. It had always been a possibility for her…
“Hey, pet!” Spike saluted with his hips supported on the counter, right beside the microwave.
She looked at him with a murderous expression. “Spike. Get. Those. Flowers. AWAY.”
He frowned as if he couldn’t understand her English, his smile fading fast.
“No.”
“This is my house; I can choose not to receive flowers if I don’t want them. You would do much better having your money returned. These are not wanted or appreciated.” Her voice lost its dignity due to an unreasonable attack of coughing. What now, was she sick?
“Buffy, I thought….” He sighed and continued. “After the kiss the other night… everything has changed. Give us a chance to see what this is. Please.”
“That was a spell. You know, part of the whole ‘singing in the rain’ demon summer Sunnydale tour, courtesy of the Hellmouth. The sooner you accept it, the better.”
The microwave chimed indicating that the blood inside was warm and ready. He got the heart-shaped mug in his hand and looked at it considering its unique form and color.
“You don’t really believe that. Come on now, Slayer you know as well as I do that this thing between us has been boiling for a long time. And things have changed too. I can help you now. I will. I have money and it’s plenty to cover your needs permanently. Let me show you my care and sincerity.”
“Spike, I can’t and won’t accept…” And she sneezed spectacularly.
“Pet, are you Ok? Let me check for fever…” He put his fingers to her head but Buffy squirmed away.
“I was going to say that your money won’t be taken in this house. But thank you anyway. I will take it as a gesture of good will.”
“Why the hell no? It’s honest, good money. I earned it. Sorta. I even paid taxes over it!”
“I can’t believe I have to even explain this to you but it is just another reason why what you want is impossible. Spike, you are a vampire. Natural enemy much? And you want something I can never give you. Taking your help would compromise me and as sure as hell you would want some sort of compensation. So… no, thank you. I can manage my life by myself. I am liberated, 2000’s self-supported woman. In fact I am working single mom. Or soon will be. Working, I mean. ”
Buffy seemed quite pleased with her speech and immediately started moving the baskets to the front door and laying them outside. Spike pretended not to care and sat to give his breakfast a try.
But as soon as Buffy finished with the last one she found herself between Spike and the front door. He put an arm over her shoulder trapping her and lowered his face towards hers.
“Buffy, I love you. I can’t deny I want much more from you, but you can take what I offer without feeling pressed. I am concerned about the situation, weren’t you telling me the other day of how you can’t fix the plumbing and the phone company is chasing you around and how the bills are stacking for unpaid for months? You can borrow what you need now and pay me back later, if that is what you want. I just hate to see you and the little bit undergoing hardships when there is absolutely no need for it. You two are everything to me.”
Buffy couldn’t think quite clearly with him so close to her, and he probably could read this in her face. Her eyes wanted to shut and fully enjoy the nearness of his tight muscled body and his smell started to invade her senses. He did smell too good for someone dead for more than a century. And somehow she thought he had a point. She felt like she had felt in the night of the kiss and she had to consider that it wasn’t because of a spell anymore.
But Buffy remembered the kiss, his soft and delightful lips searching hers in a battle for finding out who would get closer and get more. She remembered how she couldn’t resist that call, almost as if it was in her blood. One of her hands touched his black T-shirt and started to move almost without touching, upwards, while his eyes were looking into hers, feeling the iron grip that drew them closer, an inch closer each second. Buffy knew they were going to kiss again, there was no escaping. There was nothing she wanted more in that moment but to devour his mouth.
She leaned into him and touched his lips with hers. It was killing her, the intensity, the pleasure, how incredibly good it felt to kiss him. Her hands held to his bare forearms and clawed into them with unrestrained force. Spike shuddered with pain in her mouth, mingling their breaths. He pressed her into the door and she found herself wanting to make out for hours right there, in that position, supported by both the wood and his weight.
Spike seemed more respectful than she would have anticipated had she seriously considered the present situation as a possibility. He didn’t dare touch her with his hands although she could sense his arousal as an electric point that sent shocks every half a second through their combined clothes in the same spot where it touched her belly. Spike maleness. Manhood of Spike. Ah!
“Stop!” she muttered out of breath, managing to steal her lips away from the unending kiss.
He took an unnecessary breath and put his forehead against hers, avoiding her gaze for the moment. Oh, she wanted so much to give in to the call of their bodies. Just a few more moments and then she would really, really stop. “Can I have just another one, please, mom?” Little-Buffy asked mom-Buffy and the latter allowed for just another one. Chocolate is bad for you, having too much will make you sick! She thought.
He moaned in surprise and submitted to her strength, as she dragged them both to the floor and made him sit against the door before seating herself over his thighs. After looking him straight in the eye she lowered her mouth to his once again, promising herself just another minute or two of enjoying him.
They joined their tongues this time, and Buffy could cry from the pleasure and the tension and the silliness she felt at the situation. Or maybe out of pure nerves. She couldn’t tell, and instead she let her hands roam and explore his chest. She was glad he had divested his coat at some point before she appeared in the kitchen and only the pleasant cotton of his T-shirt was protecting them both from the touch of skin over skin.
“You… shouldn’t… come… visit the house… when I am… alone…” Buffy said between kisses, trying to lecture him.
“Why not?” he muttered, raining soft kisses that sometimes missed her mouth and found her cheeks and eyes.
“I… don’t want… this to happen again…”
“What? You mean this?” And with that he embraced her and rolled her onto the floor with him, covering her. They rubbed their bodies as closely as possible, looking for the right angles to get the best and clearest sensation of each other. It was disturbing for Buffy how natural the new experience felt.
“This can’t be right. Not with you,” she whispered, caressing his hair and scalp with both hands, engraving the texture in her memory. He seemed to enjoy that a lot and purred a little.
“Oh, Buffy!” He slid his face towards her throat to nuzzle her skin there. Buffy clenched her eyes almost painfully, it was one of the most sensitive places in her body, and the feeling made her tremble uncontrollably.
He seemed to have sensed the intensity of her reaction because when she pulled up her head again and stopped for a moment his suckling of her skin, she saw he had changed into demon face. Despite this, in her eyes he seemed extremely vulnerable and the fact that she hadn’t felt turned off or repelled in the least, but rather she felt assaulted by some sort of nonsensical tenderness instead, scared her out of her wits.
She pushed Spike away, totally alarmed with her reactions, and stood up. Spike looked at her with regret and shame and slowly turned back into his human countenance. He didn’t say anything.
Buffy turned back and simply disappeared up the stairs with a dignified slow retreat that covered her real expression of mortification and her running nose.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/254962.html
