- FIC: Autumn Sunsets – 1/5 (NC-17 overall)
- FIC: Autumn Sunsets – 2/5 – (NC-17 Overall)
- FIC: Autumn Sunsets – 3/5 – (Overall Rating: NC17)
- FIC: Autumn Sunsets – 4/5 – Overal Rating: NC17
- FIC: Autumn Sunsets – 5/5 – Overall Rating: NC17
I’ll be posting the last chapter later tonight. Right now, getting ready to go see Harry Potter. :)
Thank you all for your lovely feedback. I am so glad you’re enjoying this fic.
“I can’t believe him!” she cried in loud whisper. “He hasn’t had anything to do with me since my sophomore year of high school, and he suddenly shows up as though I owe him something?”
“Like I give a crap that Jenna ran away with the mailman.” She pointed to the living room. “Serves him right, really. I hope she and the mailman have a ton of mail-babies and send him postcards of their happy family during the holidays. He’s only here because he doesn’t want to be lonely on Thanksgiving. I’m a freaking excuse for him. His fallback position just in case the rest of his life isn’t going as hunky dory as he’d like.”
“You could always kick him out, y’know.”
Buffy shot him a confused look. “What?”
“If he’s gonna mess everythin’ up for you…” Spike sighed inwardly and wished he’d just kept his mouth shut. He could see the wheels of irrationality spinning in that gorgeous head of hers. She was about to impart on some tangent feminine illogic, to be sure. Then again, that feeling of loving through resentment wasn’t exactly new to him. Such had been his entire story with Drusilla until the golden goddess standing before him had helped him open his eyes to the world he was missing.
“I can’t kick him out,” Buffy grumbled, hoisting herself atop the kitchen counter, her lower lip jutting out. “Believe me, I’d love to, but…”
“He’s your pap?”
She nodded, her expression a mixture of heartbreak and self-loathing.
Spike wanted desperately to take her into his arms, but at this point, he figured making sure that the rest of the dinner went off without a hitch was his best way to help her. They had already had their share of small catastrophes to guide them through the day—the last thing she needed was the rest of her meal to follow the example of their luck with a timely crash and burn.
“And now he’s gonna see what a colossal screw-up I am. Who has steak on Thanksgiving?”
She held up a hand. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry…God, I’m lucky enough that you’re here and this hasn’t turned out worse than it has. At least we have a main course. Though…oh my God! What are we going to do about dessert? The pumpkin pie needs to—”
“No worries.” He smiled. “I figured out why the turkey wasn’ cookin’. Had to in order to cook the stuffin’.”
“Why wasn’t it working?”
“Apparently, to get the thing to work, you gotta turn it on with the timer.”
She released a pitiful moan, her head falling into her hands. “I’m too stupid to live,” she moaned.
“You bloody well are not. Who knew that—”
“My mom did. She told me it was going to…and I forgot. Oh, God, I can hear her now. ‘Buffy Anne Summers, you’ve lived in this house how long and you still don’t know how to turn on the oven?!’ Or better yet, the ‘you never listen to me’ speech. I ruined everything. I am so mentally-challenged.”
“I suck. I am the queen of suckage.” She peered through her fingers at him as though daring him to laugh. “And don’t you say anything nasty!”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Spike paused and bit back a grin, unsure where to go from there. “’F you want, we can postpone the big supper so that—”
She shook her head, eyes wide with horror. “No! No…we can’t do that. I don’t want my dad here any longer than he has to be. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Right.” He tossed her a pair of mitts and nodded to the oven. “Pop out the stuffin’. I already have the veggies on the table. Jus’ gotta warm the bread an’ make sure all condiments are out.”
“Why do we have stuffing when we have no turkey?”
“Because you din’t tell me to not make it an’ I figured it’d be better to go ahead rather than let you down.”
Buffy was quiet for a minute. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re God’s gift to women?”
Spike bit back a smirk at that and tossed her a coy look. “’F I knew it was this easy to get you eatin’ outta my hand, luv, I’d’ve tried it a long time ago.”
“Seriously, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you today.”
She made a face at him and struck his shoulder half-heatedly with the oven mitt. “Watch it, wise-ass.”
“I do my best.” Spike drew in a deep breath. “Best go get everyone in the dinin’ room, yeh? ‘S about time to eat.”
“First I’m gonna go downstairs and see if I have any blood left.”
He arched a brow. “An’ tell your pap what, exactly?”
“That it’s none of his damn business and maybe he wouldn’t be so clueless about the happenings of my life if he was a dad even when it’s not convenient for him.”
She was so vibrant when she was angered. He could watch her all day. “You’re magnificent,” he murmured.
A charming flush complemented her cheeks, and she glanced down shyly. “Well, thanks. I try.”
“Toddle off. I’m gonna get everythin’ on the table.”
“Is there a statute of limitations on the amount a person can say ‘thank you’?”
He just grinned and nodded to the basement. “Oh, I’m sure we can find some nice way for you to repay me for all the hard work I’ve done,” he purred, winking.
Buffy’s eyes flashed. “Name the time and place.”
“Just you wait.”
Spike seared her with a look. He didn’t want to wait. He wanted to tell the others to bugger off and cart her off to bed; let her work out her stress as she rode his willing body. In all honesty, he was surprised he had maintained such an air of self-control with the way she kept provoking him with subtle looks, all-too-brief kisses, and that shameless flirting that had seemingly been liberated from the previous night’s snogging session.
There was no longer any question of her feeling; whether or not she had realized it herself, however, was a different story. One thing was certain: what had happened between them last night was undoubtedly the most magical thing he had experienced in his century-plus of living. And best of all, she wasn’t denying it. She was embracing it.
The other dinner guests had wandered on their own accord into the dining room. Spike sent Hank Summers a scornful look that undoubtedly went unappreciated, but he felt he needed to do something on his lady’s behalf. From everything he had learned about the man, he had very little reason to give him the benefit of a doubt.
Furthermore, when he met Giles’s eyes, he was greeted with a wealth of relief, as though the Watcher was grateful that his slayer had a vampire handy. The man had never looked at him like that, even when he found himself transformed into a snarling Fyarl demon that growled in languages only Spike could understand. That alone spoke volumes for how the dinner was anticipated to play out.
Joyce also met him with a silent look of welcome. It made him feel both valued and uncomfortable. After all, he was a vampire. And vampires should not feel like the Slayer’s personal savior amongst her family and friends.
“Ah,” she said, turning to Hank. “This is Spike. Buffy’s…erm…”
“Boyfriend,” Giles concluded with a note of satisfaction.
The vampire snapped his head back to the Watcher in astonishment; the old man’s eyes were twinkling with glee, and he knew then that an unlikely alliance had been forged entirely on Buffy’s behalf. After all, his lack of a pulse notwithstanding, Spike was wholly aware that his outward appearance didn’t necessarily generate feelings of warmth and comfort among parents, especially a bloke that didn’t know him.
More over, Rupert had the look of a mischievous child on his face—the kind only those who knew him would know to identify. Yes, for the purposes of vindicating Buffy, perhaps it was better to go along with the charade as though it made sense.
Not that Spike minded being so casually brandished as the Slayer’s boyfriend. Rather, he had to quell the surge of giddiness that commanded his body and plaster on a big grin as though it wasn’t news to him.
“Boyfriend?” Hank repeated, his tone bathed in disapproval. His eyes were fixed on Spike’s hair. “She certainly…erm…she’s grown into a punk phase, I see.”
The last lock fell into place. Spike hated this wanker. Who greeted his daughter’s honey like that?
“Nice to meet you, too,” he all but snarled, setting the steaks on the table.
Joyce seemed a bit annoyed with that, as well. “I’ll have you know that Buffy has been seeing Spike for a year and a half now,” she spat. “And they’re very happy together.”
“You honestly approve of our daughter dating a guy named Spike?”
“The name’s William, mate,” the vampire growled, turning in time to greet the Slayer, who was carrying a glass of blood she had likely intended to disguise as red wine. “Spike’s jus’ somethin’ I picked up in school.”
Buffy frowned and set the glass at Spike’s presumed place, her expression a mesh of confusion. “What’s going on?”
Hank gestured to Giles. “Rupert was just introducing me to your boyfriend.”
The Slayer’s eyes bulged and she shot a warning glance to Spike, who shrugged. “Rupert felt it’d be too bloody obvious,” he said. “We’ve been outted, so to speak.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “So…Giles…told Dad…that we’re dating?”
Her reaction wasn’t exactly everything he’d wished for, but there was something reassuring in the fact that the revulsion he remembered so well from Willow’s Will Be Done spell was replaced instead with deer-in-headlights confusion. She had done nothing to indicate that she was ashamed of the relationship developing between them, or that if they progressed, if she became ready, that she would force him to hide his love for her.
Hank glanced skeptically to the table, seemingly willing to forgo his unwarranted disapproval of his daughter’s relationship. Instead, he turned to scrutinizing the food Spike had spent the better part of the past two and a half hours putting together. “You’re having steak on Thanksgiving?”
“New tradition,” Buffy said.
“Well, we could always send you to the supermarket if you want to have a more typical Thanksgiving,” she suggested sweetly, though Spike saw demons dancing in her eyes.
You gorgeous li’l she-devil.
“No, this looks fine.”
“I’m so glad it meets your expectations,” Joyce drawled sarcastically, taking the seat next to Giles before Hank could claim it. “I know she had you in mind when she started cooking.”
He shot her a scathing look. “You seem to be enjoying your liquor.”
“I don’t see why we can’t be civil,” Giles said. “After all, your daughter did put in quite a bit of effort in putting this meal together.”
Hank glanced to the plates again and released a long sigh. “Very well. Is anyone going to say grace?”
Buffy smothered a laugh with a cough; Spike glanced down to hide his grin.
“Do you not pray in this house?”
“To which god?” Giles muttered. Spike reckoned he was the only one who heard it as he was the only one who laughed. The Watcher sent him an appreciative look at that and they shared a moment of private ridicule.
Hank sent Spike a scathing look. “Is there something funny about religion?”
“Mate, if you don’t see the funny in religion, you’re not paying attention.”
Buffy kicked him under the table.
“Ow! Luv, do us a favor an’ watch the heels, yeh?”
Hank gestured to the vampire. “This is the sort of young man you approve of for our daughter?” he asked Joyce.
“Buffy’s old enough to make her own mistakes,” Joyce said, reaching for the green beans. She then realized that she had misspoken and released an untimely giggle. “I know I was making my own mistakes at her age. You should know, right?”
Spike noticed she had placed the bottle of Scotch right beside her wine glass. Bugger all.
Buffy’s father sighed. “Joycie—”
“Don’t you ‘Joycie’ me, you—”
Giles met the vampire’s eyes, then glanced to Buffy. Simultaneously, all three folded their hands and bowed their heads.
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. Courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference,” the Watcher said quietly, as though trying very hard to restrain himself from throwing something.
“Amen,” the vampire and the Slayer murmured together.
Neither of Buffy’s parents seemed to notice the passing of grace. Rather, her mother poured herself another Scotch and spewed some nasty, only halfway intelligible insult across the table.
“Nice mouth, Joyce.”
“Thanks. Rupert certainly thought so.”
Buffy’s eyes went wide. “Mom!”
“Oh, honey, you knew about that,” the woman retorted airily, taking another drink. “It’s old news to everyone here.”
Spike stared at the Watcher in amazement. “You shagged your slayer’s mother?”
“It was the band candy,” Giles retorted, blushing brightly.
“Way to go, mate.”
Buffy’s head fell into her hands. “Please stop talking,” she begged. “And pass the potatoes.”
“You actually talk about sex in front of…” Hank gestured to his daughter, and Spike had to fight a snicker. “Honestly…”
“Your daughter happens to be twenty years old,” Spike said calmly. “I’d think hearin’ the dirty s-word isn’t likely to faze her, yeah?”
Wrong thing to say to the chit’s father. The vampire found himself on the receiving end of a particularly nasty glare. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Nothin’ that you can’t figure out for yourself.”
Buffy tried to kick him again and missed, hitting her mother instead.
A long, mortified pause. “Sorry, Mom.”
Joyce, however, was less concerned with her pained leg than she was with the presence of her ex-husband. “You’re the one who brought up sex in the first place. And anyway, since when did you become the spokesperson for the Religious Right?” she demanded. “Y-you’re the o-one who blew off your daughter’s birthday to boink your secretary. Honestly…” She giggled and handed Giles the Scotch. The Watcher indulged in a long swig straight from the bottle. “Someone’s a little hypocritical.”
Buffy passed Spike the steak platter, then reached for the gravy. “How’s the stuffing?” she asked, her face burning.
“Better than it would’ve been without butter,” he replied.
“Well, at least I’m not setting a bad example for our daughter!” Hank retorted indignantly. “No wonder she’s ended up with some guy who calls himself Spike, of all the ridiculous things.”
“No, you haven’t been around to set any kind of example at all, have you?”
“This is a lovely brand,” Giles said appraisingly, holding up the bottle. “Lovely. Could’ve sworn there was more of it. Don’t suppose you have anymore?”
“In the basement.”
Buffy leapt to her feet and tossed her napkin into her chair. “Don’t get up. You’ll fall down the stairs. I’ll get the booze.”
She waited for a long minute until it dawned on Spike that she wanted him to follow. He flashed the others a grin and followed suit. “I’ll, umm, help you carry it.”
“Oh, look,” Joyce said loudly. “Guess there goes the proof of my bad parenting. My daughter and her punk boyfriend are sneaking off for a quickie in the basement.”
Spike froze. As entertaining as this was, he didn’t want Buffy to completely fall apart at the seams. Her mother wasn’t paying too much attention to her reactions, and though he knew that his girl had to understand that on some rudimentary level, the words themselves were bound to wound.
“Whups. I think I see the bottom of the glass.”
He exhaled deeply as Buffy stormed off. “Bloody brilliant,” he muttered, turning to follow her.
As expected, he found her at the bottom of the basement stairs, pacing furiously. He couldn’t help but feel a stab of empathy. It wasn’t fair. It truly wasn’t. For all the trouble she’d gone to in order to pull off her ideal Thanksgiving, the Powers certainly weren’t issuing her the right cards by which to change her inherently bad karma. It was out of her hands, though. Out of her hands entirely.
“Don’t say anything,” she said sternly. “Just don’t say anything.”
Spike licked his lips. “’F you din’t want me to say anythin’, luv, you shouldn’t’ve asked me to come with you.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Yes, you did, an’ don’ gimme that.” He closed the space between them and released a long sigh. “’S not goin’ so bad.”
“So bad?” she echoed incredulously. “So bad?! My father shows up, unannounced and definitely uninvited, dons the cap of the concerned parent, all but Bible thumps me about being your girlfriend…which, by the way, what?”
Spike shrugged and reached for his cigarettes. “It was Rupert’s idea,” he said. “I jus’ went along with it.”
“I can’t believe you.”
He perked a cool brow. “You really that bothered by bein’ my girl?”
“No, but that’s beside the point. My mom is drunk, my Watcher is getting drunk, my dad is suddenly a Republican, and they’re up there talking about their icky sex lives, then passing judgment on the nonexistent sex between us!” She turned quickly and kicked the dryer. “I am…I am going to kill Xander.”
“Why? Not that I need a reason, but how does Harris—”
“This is all his fault. He said it’d be a new tradition. A new ‘screw-up-Buffy’s-holiday-tradition.’” She kicked the dryer again. “He and his stupid jinxing of everything messed up my Thanksgiving!”
“I thought the tradition was s’posed to be ‘bout the Indians attackin’ to get their land back.”
“It’s not. Not after this.”
Spike puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette and turned to search for the liquor. “Way I figure it,” he said, “you maintain an air of sanity, luv, an’ your mum’ll be so bloody in your debt that I bet she lets you have her plastic for the weekend.”
That made her think. “Shopping…at the mall…”
“Yeh.” He tossed his fag to the ground and stamped it out beneath his boot. “Buy yourself a bunch of pretties for havin’ to put up with everythin’ tonight.”
“You’re gonna pick that up, right?”
“If you like. I jus’ want your mouth.”
“Oh.” Her hands slid up his arms on their own volition. “I think I can handle that.”
There was absolutely no way she didn’t feel the spark of electricity that sizzled between them the second their lips met. No way was the warmth that blazed his insides simply due to the warmth her body had to offer his. There was completion in her kiss that he had never known before. Her tongue engaged in a sensual exploration of his mouth, dancing with his as he swallowed her small, lusty whimpers, her arms flying around his neck. Then she was pressed completely against him, her breasts flattened against his chest and the warmth of her pussy riding his denim-clad cock.
She’d teased him with small kisses all day. Tasting her now, he knew that any pretense he might employ to kid himself that he wasn’t completely lost in her was entirely futile. He was completely lost.
“Buffy,” he whimpered, breaking away from her lips to lick at her throat. “Want you so much.”
He nibbled at her skin. “Wanna play hooky from the party?” He inhaled deeply and drew his head back, his hands sliding down her sides and rubbing circles into her hips. “Give your pap somethin’ to talk about?”
“I shouldn’t.” She cupped his cheeks and kissed him again heatedly, thrusting her hips against his. He moaned aloud, throwing his head back. “We can’t.”
“Oh, I think we can.” Spike shoved her against the dryer, hiking her legs around his waist before ravaging her mouth again. He couldn’t get enough of her. Allowed this much taste, he wanted nothing more than to drown completely in her warmth. “Let me…”
She shoved him back suddenly and he was instantly bereft. He would have objected had he not noted the heat flashing behind her eyes. Instead, he just blinked in confusion and tried to ignore the shrill scream of his sex drive that didn’t know how to read body language; the same that would gladly go against all the power of Ancient Rome just to have her in his arms again.
“Keep quiet,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Her lips dropped to his throat, her fingers tugging at the zipper of his trousers. The next thing he knew, his cock sprang into the warmth of her touch, and his long, answering moan tore through the air.
“Oh Jesus, what are you…”
“Push your jeans down.”
There was no way a bloke could argue with that request. Spike nodded and kissed her, obeying eagerly. He half expected to wake up and find himself either at the beginning of the day or a universe away from a Buffy that would let him touch her. But she wasn’t going away, and neither was he. Her small hand was stroking him into oblivion and she was suckling at his throat, small moans of approval escaping her lips as though she could feel what she was doing to him. As though every caress she bestowed upon his body whispered against her pussy. God, he wanted to lick her from head to toe.
“Oh God,” he gasped. “Buffy, please…”
“What do you want, Spike?”
“You. Always you.” He whimpered when she sank to her knees before him, his hips thrusting forward the minute that delectable mouth of hers surrounded his cock. “Oh, fucking hell.”
Her tongue lapped at him, swirling around his sensitive head as her hand pulsed around his shaft before sliding downward to cup his balls, squeezing him with every warm suck of her mouth.
“You’re so gorgeous,” he gasped, thrusting himself deeper into her throat. “So gorgeous. Feels so good. Such a hot, luscious mouth. God, Buffy…”
“Mmmm.” She drew her head back and released him, her hand pumping him furiously. “You like that?”
He nodded with a whimper. “Buffy—”
She smiled up at him, and he about lost it. “I guess that ‘I’m not ready’ thing took a drastic leap forward,” she murmured, lowering her head again and planting a series wet kisses along the underside of his length before lapping at him with that sinful tongue of hers.
“Pity,” he moaned. “I was ready to wait.”
She released him completely and sat back on her legs, flashing him a coy glance. “Well, if this is ruining your plans for—”
“Shhh. I don’t want to add any fuel to the fire.” She nodded to the upstairs before taking him back into her mouth, squeezing his balls again as her lips slid all the way down his shaft until his head was brushing against the back of her throat. She swallowed around him once, then drew back again.
“Oh, Jesus.” Spike tossed his head back, his fingers threading through her golden hair. “You’re so hot. Such a sweet li’l mouth.”
“Bet you say that to all the girls,” she whispered, brushing a parting kiss to his velvety tip.
She winked and pressed his cock against his stomach as her mouth dropped to his sac, engulfing him completely in her hot, wet cavern.
“Oh God!” His grip around her hair tightened and he attempted to rein her in closer. She giggled, and the vibrations felt so damnably good that he couldn’t help from whimpering. “You’re incredible,” he gasped. “So bloody incredible.”
She licked and suckled at his sensitive skin, teasing him with her teeth.
Buffy grinned and released him again with a wet plop. “I never thought…” She trailed off awkwardly and flushed as though she had caught herself saying something particularly scandalous, a notion that charmed him, considering that he was pretty much her slave for eternity. “I…”
Spike swallowed hard and forced himself to focus. “Sweet?”
“Nothing,” she replied airily, licking at the side of his length and welcoming him back into her mouth with a tender kiss against his spongy head. “Nothing.”
Then she swallowed him in warmth again, and all was lost. Spike screwed his eyes shut and tried to remind himself that he didn’t need to breathe. Her tongue swirled around him enticingly, rubbing his sensitive slit as her hands squeezed him into the next life. She was magnificent. Absolutely magnificent. And when he brushed against the back of her throat again and felt those magical muscles of hers contracting around him, he couldn’t help himself. He fisted her hair and came with a roar, his bumpies bursting forward as he emptied himself into her hot mouth.
God, there had never been a feeling like that before. Hours later, it seemed, Spike came down, panting harshly. He felt his cock slide from her mouth and murmured lowly in complaint before collapsing wearily to his knees. His trousers were bunched around his ankles and his bits were dangling. He smelled her arousal—he wanted to bathe in it. Explore the flesh that she hid from him, sample her secrets as she now knew his.
It astonished him when she blushed. Even more so when she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“I…umm…” She cleared her throat and shook her head, casting a nervous hand through her hair. “I really didn’t, um, come down here to do that.”
A pang of fear struck his chest. No, no, no. He wasn’t going to let her off that easily. Not now that he was so close to having her.
“Slayer…” Spike tentatively dropped a kiss across her mouth, relishing in the feel of her lips when she didn’t pull away. “God, I don’ even know where to begin…that was the most amazin’ experience of my entire life, an’ I—”
His eyes bulged. “You’re serious? Buffy—”
“I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea—”
The wrong idea? She sucks his cock and then thinks that maybe she gave him the wrong idea?
“Wrong…bleeding hell, woman, I’m in love with you. If you haven’t figured that out yet, then I don’ know what the hell we’re playin’ at here. You can’t jus’ do somethin’ like that an’ expect me to—?”
Buffy was slack-faced. She just stared at him.
“Oh, for Chrissake, now what’d I do?”
“You’re…in love with me?”
Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me you din’t know that.”
“Well, I thought…maybe…I hadn’t really, okay, yes, I had my suspicions but…you’re in love with me?”
He released a deep breath. “Yes. God, yes. I have been forever. I jus’ never thought you’d ever…” He glanced down. “This is some holiday thing, is that what you’re tellin’ me? Scratchin’ an itch or what all before—”
“No! No, no, no. It’s not…no, I mean…” Buffy looked everywhere but at him. “I didn’t want…God, I thought you’d think I was just meaninglessly throwing myself at you or something. Which, yeah, kinda doing that…when I said ‘wrong idea,’ that’s what I meant. It isn’t me getting anything out of my system. And that kinda wigs me out, but I needed you to know that if this was just…whatever to you, then I had to stop before I got more emotionally invested. I can’t be…but, you love me?”
Spike’s eyes smoldered and he cupped her face tenderly, caressing her lips with his. “More than anything,” he murmured.
His erection was back with a vengeance, and the tantalizing scent of her arousal was tempting his nose and mouth in ways that were most unbecoming, especially considering that he didn’t want to take her on her basement floor. But he needed to show her how much she meant to him. Needed to let her know that this wasn’t something he was going to walk away from. He wasn’t the kind of bloke who loved only halfway. No, Buffy had consumed him whole. He wanted to devour her. Now. Right now. Forever.
She smiled and kissed his lips tenderly. “We better get back upstairs.”
Spike pouted, his disobedient hand wandering between them to cup her pussy. “I’m not hungry for anythin’ that’s on that table,” he growled.
Buffy blushed prettily. “Hey—”
“Let me make you come, baby. I’ll make it so good for you.”
She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him back just slightly. “We need to get upstairs,” she said. “They’re gonna come looking for us if we don’t, and I don’t really want my mom and Watcher to find out about us like that.”
“Well, sorry, but one of us has to keep a clear head.” She stood with long sigh, shuddering when he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face between her legs. “Ohhh, God.”
“Buffy,” he murmured against her. “Christ—”
“Sp-pike, you need to stand up, now.”
“I don’ think that’s what you really want.”
“It’s not,” she conceded, “but we really need to get back.”
Spike released a long breath in defeat and clamored to his feet, tugging up his jeans. “Y’think they’ve missed us, luv?” he asked. “’m bloody well confident that your pap has either socked Rupert or joined in their li’l liquor party.”
“We came down here for the liquor, remember?”
He grinned goofily. “Oh yeah.”
Buffy met his eyes and offered a shy smile. “You really love me?”
“More than you’ll ever know, sweetling.” He burned her with a look. “An’ I plan to show you jus’ how much t’night after the circus has left town.”
She beamed madly and kissed him. “Okay. I think I can live with that.”
“Well…I won’t know until tonight, will I?”
“Oh, you’re gonna get it, missy.”
She had no idea. None whatsoever. Now that he’d had his taste, he would never let her go.
Buffy just stopped and stared. “What. The. Hell?”
“He called me a sodding mother-shagging bastard,” the Watcher explained through his cackles. “Where the bleeding hell have you two been?”
There were now three empty liquor bottles on the table. Her father, aside being covered in projectile mashed potatoes, had a look on his face that she knew all too well. That stumbling drunk countenance that had greeted her practically every night she sneaked into the house during the last of her parents’ doomed marriage.
She set the bottle of Scotch on the table with a long sigh. “To get you drunkies more booze,” she said. “Where the hell did you get this other stuff?”
“I was just looking for that,” Joyce said, snatching the new bottle away with glee.
“Buffy, did you know your mother’s a whore?” Hank asked, thoroughly wasted. “She—she fucked the brains outta English here…on a cop car.”
The Slayer felt Spike stiffen beside her. “You call her that again, an’ you’ll be eatin’ your tongue for dinner.”
“Ooohhh…big scary vampire.” He waggled all ten fingers for effect. “Is that what you are? He told me about you. What kinda vampire dyes his hair that color? Are you Kiefer Sufferlan’?”
“Dad, shut up.”
He just sneered nastily. “Truth hurts, don’t it?”
“If you say one more thing like that, so help me God…” She turned to Giles. “You told him about the police car?!”
“He called my parenting into question,” her Watcher explained drunkenly. God, he had to be the only person in the world that could form a coherent sentence with perfect grammar and manage to make it sound as ridiculous as he did with that slur of his. “Told him I was a bloody good father. You told me you wanted me to give you away. Thass what I’m gonna do.”
“What does boinking my mother have to do with—okay, you know what? I don’t care.” She threw her hands up and pivoted. “You guys wanna ruin my day? Fine, go ahead. Have a good time acting like idiots.”
“We’re not the ones that went downstairs to shag,” Giles countered, then burst into giggles again. It took him a minute to realize what he’d said. “Isshat what you did?”
“Bugger off, Rupert,” Spike growled.
Buffy’s face flamed but her expression hardened. “You all can go to hell.”
“’Cause you know what happened the last time, right? Bloody hell, Hank, this is a good suit!”
She didn’t stay to see the room dissolve in chaos after her father threw the gravy. Instead she released a deep breath, turned, and walked calmly up the stairs. She didn’t even wait for Spike to follow her.
That he would was just a given. It was the sort of man he was.
And she loved him for it.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/25832.html