Fic: Third Base

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Title: Third Base
Author: the_moonmoth
Pairing(s): Buffy/Spike, (Buffy/Riley)
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~5,400 words
Timeline: S4, after ‘A New Man’ but before ‘The I in Team’.
Warnings: sorta mild, beginning-of-a-maybe-relationship infidelity on Buffy’s part; Spike being his manipulative, semi-evil S4 self.
Summary: sequel to Fool Proof (AO3 | EF). Buffy decides she needs help with figuring out the male anatomy as things progress with Riley. Who’s she gonna call? Spike. It’s Spike.
Notes: I set myself a stern limit for this round: 5k and NO MORE. I am as surprised as anyone that I actually made it! (Give or take…) This story is a PWP, has zero nutritional value, and I strongly recommend having a toothbrush to hand to protect your teeth from the ending :D Many thanks as always to bewilde, who made this silly, porny little bit of candyfloss the best silly, porny little bit of candyfloss it could be <3

Third Base
by The Moonmoth

The problem with Buffy, Spike considered as he lay back on the sarcophagus in his new place, was that there was no pleasing the chit. Keep to his word and don’t mention their little tryst? Get the doe eyes like he’d rejected her. Give her a bit of the old smoulder and swagger routine? Get a disgusted eye-roll and an insult. Save her bloody watcher from those army pillocks – without, he might add (and had, repeatedly) even asking for compensation for the risk he put himself in? Nothing but crackling static and radio silence. He’d even tried accidentally running into her on patrol a couple of times, now that he knew he could kill demons, and all that got him was an imperious toss of that golden hair and a ‘go home, Spike.’ Not even a punch to the nose – not even so much as a clenched fist! – not the tiniest little bit of violence he could work with, to turn it into… something more. Something like that glorious flash in the pan in old Rupert’s basement.

Not that he wanted the girl, no. That would be sick and demented and just… wrong. Wronger even than a rule-breaker like him should be prepared to go. It was just, well, his options were limited and a hot, feisty slayer was better than his hand any day. Much, much better. He pictured her again as he let said hand drift down his bare stomach to cup himself through his jeans, all burning eyes, kiss-swollen lips and wet, welcoming heat. And the taste of her – christ! His cock jerked at the memory, swelling beneath the lazy rubbing of his palm. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d supped from the slayer’s neck and lived to tell the tale.

Not that he had. Told the tale. Because he’d said he wouldn’t, but also – and far more importantly, damn it! – who the hell would he want to tell? He’d had the slayer’s throat beneath his fangs and didn’t drink her dry. What kind of pitiable wanker would his fellow demons take him for? Wouldn’t understand, though, would they – wouldn’t get it. The taste of her, the feel of her body writhing under his in pleasure as her blood slid down his throat – that was something to be savoured. Something to be repeated. If only he could convince her of that.

He was just thumbing the button of his fly, getting ready for a nice, slow wank, when the door to his crypt crashed inward and Spike leapt off the sarcophagus, dead heart in his throat, expecting a shake down from GI Joe’s less imaginative side-kicks (there might have been the odd nightmare after that car chase with Fyarl-Giles) only to see the subject of his ruminations storming towards him with a murderous glint in her eye that went straight to his dwindling hard on.

“Spike!” she glowered, and punched him hard enough to send him stumbling back into the crypt wall. Then, before he could even get an ‘ow’ out, let alone a protest, her hard little hand was on his crotch, giving him a good, firm squeeze, and the combination of the throbbing in his nose and the throbbing between his legs almost made his eyes roll back in his head.

“I knew it,” Buffy said, with a satisfied smirk. “You like it when I beat you up. For you it’s like third base.”

“Well, yeah,” he said, a little dazedly. “Vampire here. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that I was already—”

“Shut up, Spike,” she said, and the next thing he knew she was yanking down his fly and falling to her knees.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” he yelped, which was ridiculously stupid because her intentions were more than obvious and besides that he was beyond idiotic if he didn’t let her just get on with it, but what he couldn’t get his head round was the why. After weeks of brush offs and mounting irritation, not to mention those overheard whispers between her and Little Red about dating some square-jawed frat boy, this was just about the last thing he’d been expecting.

Buffy huffed an irritated sigh, the puff of hot breath tingling across his naked prick, and glared up at him.

“Not that I’m complaining,” he added, backpedalling valiantly. God, if his mouth got in the way of her mouth on him, he was going to…

“I owe you,” she said with a grimace, and something about that seemed kind of fake, but as things stood between them it was Spike 1, Slayer 3, and so he just shrugged and made a ‘get on with it, then’ gesture, because on second thought, he didn’t actually care what her motives were, just so long as she followed through with the promise of her hot little mouth on his dick.

Only, she just knelt there, staring at his erection with a slight frown like it was some kind of complicated equation she had to solve. Anticipation ready to kill him deader than Drusilla had, Spike shoved his fingers into Buffy’s glossy hair and brought her head forward as gently as he could stand it – which was not very gently, all things considered – until she had no choice but to open up or nuzzle it, neither of which was a bad option for sure, but he definitely had a preference.

Almost tentatively, she put her hands on his hips for balance and parted her lips around the head. Spike groaned, eyes glued to the sight of her mouth stretching around him. Slowly, he felt her tonguing his contours, exploring the slit and the sensitive divot beneath the head. The heat of her! The bloody glorious wet heat… but just as he was starting to relax into it, Buffy drew back and asked, “Feel good? Which part?”

“All the parts, you infuriating wench,” he growled, trying to force her back on, but she was stronger than him and took her sweet time to shoot him a glare that sent shivers down his spine. Then, just as he was starting to wonder if he’d pushed his luck too far, she dived back on him with a single-minded focus that was all hands and lips and tongue and sweet, soft friction, and before he was at all ready he was coming like a freight train in her mouth.

“Gross, Spike,” she grumbled, wiping at the corner of her mouth. “Have you never heard of giving a warning?”

“Swallowed, didn’t you?” he grinned, leaning back against the wall, chest heaving. “Can’t have been that bad.”

The scent of her blush filled the crypt, spicing the already present scent of her arousal. Yeah, she’d liked it, just didn’t want him to know so.

“It was reflex,” she muttered, getting to her feet and dusting her skirt off in an overly-prissy manner. Uh huh, and he was a three-headed Bovain demon. A vamp’s nose didn’t lie – she’d liked it all right, whatever yarn she was spinning herself to square it with her do-gooder conscience.

“So,” Spike said, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “Care to share the real reason for this little show of generosity?”

“Are you complaining?” she asked, looking outraged.

“No,” he smirked, stretching sensuously as he deepened his slouch against the crypt wall. He hadn’t bothered to tuck himself away again and Buffy couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off his bare chest or the vee of flesh exposed by his open fly. Yeah, there was definitely something there he could work with. “Just never took you as the tit for tat type, love.”

“What?” she squeaked, and crossed her arms over her chest as though he’d been talking about her tits, which, well, he may have leered just a little, but the girl needed to unwind and Spike had a clear idea for how to achieve that.

“Well you said you owed me, but by my count, I’m still one down.”

Reaching down, he looped one hand loosely around his cock and gave it a lazy stroke. Buffy’s eyes followed his movements without her really seeming to notice.

“Like you even could, right away,” she said hoarsely, licking her lips. “I’ve got more important things to do than hang around waiting for you… to…” Her eyes widened as his cock swelled to life again.

“Vampire,” he reminded her again. “There’s more than one perk comes with the, uh, package.”

The look she shot him then was pure molten slayer, and he felt himself thicken to full hardness. God, being around her was like juggling fire; she was magnificent. She was also on a knife edge between going and staying, he could see that clear as day, and while nice, that blowjob hadn’t been anywhere close to what he’d been imagining all these lonely days; what he knew they were capable of together. Thinking quickly, his mind came to rest on the puzzle piece that didn’t fit the rest of the picture: she’d asked him how it felt, as though she cared about the answer.

“Be a shame to leave it here, don’t you think, Slayer?” he said, letting his voice drop low and persuasive. “You know how to make a guy come quick, yeah, but can you make it good?”

Her eyes flew to his, suddenly vulnerable. “It wasn’t good?” she asked in a small voice.

He lifted one shoulder nonchalantly. “I’ve had better. Could teach you.”

And bingo, he’d been right. For whatever reason, his little goldilocks wanted to get it just right. He watched the internal struggle play out on her face, still stroking himself languidly, and tried not to let his relief and pleasure show when she took a tentative step forward and, refusing to meet his eyes, said, “Fine.”

Cautiously, he reached out to her with his free hand, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and, when she didn’t move away but lifted her chin almost in defiance, he traced her cheekbone with his thumb and let it trail down, down to that pouty lower lip.

“Fine what?” he murmured.

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t break contact. “Fine, teach me how to please a man with oral sex.”

He broke into a delighted grin. “Good girl. Now go grab the quilt off the sarcophagus.”

“Why?” she pouted, but was already moving. Fuck, she had to be eager to be accepting orders from him.

“Because,” he said, taking the blanket and folding it, before dropping it at his feet, “this isn’t going to be quick, and the last thing I want is you getting sore knees.”

“How kind,” she said sarcastically, but behind that he could see her surprise as well. Of course, kindness had nothing to do with it, but she really didn’t need that pointed out right now.

“Ah, ah,” he said as she made to kneel down again. Catching her under the chin he made her meet his eyes as his thumb found its way back to that lush lower lip. “It’s not about the destination, love. You just go diving right in like that, kills the mood, no matter what you do with that wicked tongue of yours. Gotta build the anticipation.”

She frowned, a tiny line appearing between her eyebrows, and he had to admit that it was adorable. Then, almost delicately, she drew the tip of his thumb into her mouth and gently bit down.

“Like this?”

Spike found himself abruptly breathless. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Just like that.”

He’d let go of his cock to take the blanket, and he clenched his empty hand into a fist as Buffy nibbled and swirled her tongue around the pad of his thumb to keep from touching himself again, because he talked big, but honestly, just having her near was all the build-up he needed and if he started touching himself again it’d be over more quickly than the first time.

She was watching him from under her lashes, eyes serious but glittering with intent. “That’s it,” he told her hoarsely. “Take it in, look at the effect you have on me.” Her eyes scanned his face, then flicked down to where his cock curved hard against his belly, and he saw her cheeks heat again, but the scents rolling off her now were power and desire. Lingeringly, she let his thumb slide out of her mouth and put her hands on him, flat on his belly, low enough to be a tease, and tease she did, sliding them up instead of down.

“You like to be toyed with, Spike?” she asked softly, tweaking his nipples in unison and smirking faintly at his uncontrolled gasp. She pinched him again, harder this time, and his head fell back against the wall with a thunk. Then her touch gentled, fingers skittering away, and he opened his eyes to find her biting her lip, expression inexplicably hesitant.

“Something wrong, kitten?” he asked, with his last ounce of patience.

“You’re a vampire,” she said, and he couldn’t help but stare at her for the stupid comment because – hello – he’d pointed that out how many times now?

“Nice of you to finally notice.”

“Vampires like pain,” she added, as though going through a mental check list.

“That we do, love.”

“Kinda like foreplay…”

“Under the right circumstances.”

“But… but what about humans?”



Oh bloody hell! The chit was practising on him for some, some human boy, probably that cardboard-for-a-personality frat boy he’d overheard her talking about, and he was just a man-shaped doll with all the right parts.

It… hurt.

He stared at her, stupid little nose and pouty little lip and eyes fiery with unacknowledged lust, and found himself grinding his teeth together to keep from spilling it all out. Because he didn’t want her, he didn’t, but he didn’t want her to want anyone else, either. This might be horribly wrong, but on some instinctive level, he felt that Buffy was his – his to taunt, seduce, fuck with, and maybe (hopefully) eventually even fuck – and the thought of her with someone else made everything in him rebel.

That said, Spike was not above a bit of pettiness.

“Oh, yeah,” he ground out. “Human males like that, too. Nothing your average bloke enjoys more than a woman taking charge while she’s sucking his cock.”

“Huh,” she said, fluttering hands finding purchase again. “Good to know.” She gave his nipples one more hard flick with her thumbs before dragging them down his torso, scraping him lightly with her nails.

“Harder,” he told her. “Men love it when you mark them.”

The fact that she didn’t even question him before practically drawing blood spoke volumes, he thought. She liked it wild, and passionate; liked manhandling him, liked the power of it, and god, so did he.

Oh yeah, maybe he wasn’t going to get her to himself, but there was nothing that said he couldn’t ruin her for normal men.

“That’s right,” he said, as she shoved his trousers down his thighs and her hands found his bare hips. “Hold on tight. Don’t let me move.” Her breath was coming raggedly, hot and heady that close to his cock, and she tightened her grip on him, hard enough to seriously bruise a human. Spike grinned to himself and then moaned as she licked a long stripe from balls to head, before cocking her head back to look at him, seeking approval.

“That’s enough anticipation, right?” she asked, just a touch too eager for the bored tone she was shooting for, and for a moment, as she swiped at a bead of pre-come with her tongue, all he could do was bury his hands in her hair and close his eyes to soak up the sensations. She was so… so natural like this. Inquisitive and enthusiastic, skin glowing slightly from exertion and lust. He could watch her all day.

“What’s this?” she asked a few moments later, pumping him slowly to make the flushed head of his cock appear and disappear.

Her told her, panting slightly, “It’s a foreskin, love.”

She leaned back in to taste it, probe it with her tongue before continuing. “Isn’t that the bit they cut off? Will Ri—I mean, do all guys have one?”

Spike smiled a little twistedly. “All real men. Know what else real men like? Girls who give it a little nibble.”

Her look was slightly dubious, but carefully, delicately, she leant forward and caught the edge of it between her front teeth. Oh god, oh god, that was good, and the sounds he was making only encouraged her to be bolder, so he made some more – only polite to show his appreciation – and then she started to get creative, nibbling and biting her way down his shaft while her nails scraped at his balls. Girl was a natural, and he told her so, but was spared one of her pert replies because by then she finally – finally – had his cock in her mouth again and seemed to be experimenting with how deep she could take it, how hard she could suck, how much teeth she could give him to make him buck just so, and all the while Spike was doing his best to give coherent encouragement  (to make everything harder, brighter, wilder) though it mostly came out in one long string of profanity and vowel sounds.

Then her clever fingers strayed to the skin behind his balls and his knees nearly buckled at the wash of heat, and so he grit out, “Back, touch further back,” until she was tickling at his asshole and he was wondering what it would take to get her to fuck him with her fingers, and glorying in the imagined reaction of her red-blooded American male when she tried to do that to him, and then she did push into him, just one fingertip but he felt it intensely, and she sucked so hard her cheeks hollowed out, and he was coming and coming and it was bloody fucking glorious.

Afterwards, his head was swimming, and his blood was thrumming, and his chest was squeezing almost painfully with emotions so dazzling he could barely look at them right then. But he wasn’t done, not by a long shot. With a possessive growl, he hauled Buffy bodily from the ground and had her perched on the edge of the sarcophagus before she could make a single sound but a breathless mmph! She had a skirt on, flouncy little number – he flipped it up and rubbed her hard through her panties, which were barely more than a couple of pieces of dental floss and doing nothing to hide how turned on she was.

Yes,” she moaned, leaning back on her elbows, letting her legs fall open, and he really didn’t need more invitation than that. Spike ripped her knickers to little bitty knickery shreds, hoisted her knees over his shoulders, and feasted.

Wanted some other bloke, did she? They’d see about that. And maybe, just maybe, if he kept their private scoreboard at an imbalance, she really would feel like she owed him next time she wanted to have a little practise run. Weirdly, though, the thought wasn’t a cheery one, and so he shook it off and concentrated on the delicious heat and taste of her, and the magnificent sounds she was making. Girl was like liquid fire on his tongue and tasted like heaven, so he set his sights high because he figured she was good for it, and went about getting her into double digits.


“Buffy? Buffy.”

Buffy started. “Wha-? Oh. Sorry.” She smiled wryly. “Drifted off again, huh?”

“Yeah, again.” Riley sounded kinda pissed, in that good-natured, trying-not-to-show-it way of his. “Totally unmoored. Something on your mind?”

She looked at her maybe-boyfriend by the romantic light of the romantic candles of their super romantic dinner date, and tried to think what to say. I was trying to figure out why it felt so blah when you kissed me earlier really wasn’t gonna move things along to where she wanted them. Because she had plans, big plans, big getting-stupid-vampires-out-of-her-dreams plans. A woman had needs, that’s all it was. Spike was just the most recent need-filler, that’s why he’d had a starring role in her sleep-time extracurriculars ever since Willow’s spell. It had nothing to do with liking him or anything stupid like that; absolutely nothing to do with the way her heart skipped at the sight of him, or the way she shivered every time she remembered the feel of his cool tongue circling around her—

She shook herself, determined not to zone out again. Riley. That was who she liked, who she wanted to… get needy with. A nice, normal, human guy she could go on picnics and driving dates with, and who – bonus! – was also totally in the know about her line of work.


Well, they’d always kinda had a problem communicating. One of the first things he’d said to her was that she was hard to talk to, which she’d figured was supposed to be sweet but somehow hadn’t quite hit the mark. And now he knew about her secret identity (and she knew about his, go figure) things should’ve been easier and yet somehow, they just weren’t. They were still stuck somewhere between babblefest and awkward silence, and much as she hated to, Buffy couldn’t help but compare it to her encounters with certain other non-people – who she really, seriously wasn’t going to think about any more tonight.

“Just slayer stuff,” she said lamely, poking at the remains of her entrée.

“Yeah?” Riley’s eyes lit up. “Anything I can help with?”

And that was another thing. Riley loved his job. To him, it was all just one big fun-having adventure, but no matter how she tried to explain it to him, for some reason he couldn’t seem to get why she didn’t feel the same way. He had his toys and his Donkey Kong gadgets, but she could still kick him across the room at half-strength, and he didn’t see the danger inherent in that; the fragility.

But, god, it wasn’t like Spike was an actual, viable alternative. Sure, he could hold his own fighting demons, and had been kinda useful ever since they’d discovered that little loophole in the chip’s functioning, but it wasn’t like she’d ever admit that to him or actually want him around or something. Like she’d said to Willow, she was so over the bad boy thing. Riley was like the complete opposite of a bad boy, a…a good guy. Like her. Which was probably why things were going so painfully slowly between them, just when she needed some heat from him. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

“There’s something you can help me with,” she said coyly, looking up at him from under her lashes. “Not so much a slayer thing…”

He nodded encouragingly, not getting it at all. “Just say the word.”

“Well,” she said, suddenly flustered. “Dessert!”

Why was it so hard to be natural around him?

“Sure,” Riley said brightly, signaling one of the wait staff. “I heard they do a great pecan pie here.”

“Great,” Buffy said. She stood. “I’m just gonna go… powder my nose. Be right back.” And in an act of pure desperation, she took his face in her hands and kissed him before sashaying off, hoping he was watching her ass with even half the interest that— nope, not going there.

It’d been a nice kiss. Normal. Perfect.

Totally missing any kind of sparkage.

She leaned back against the closed stall door with a groan. Spike had said you had to build the anticipation, but it was always so effortless with him, whether it was anticipation for a fight or… something else. He just had to look at her and she was boiling over, whereas with Riley, it was like no matter what she did, she just ended up killing it deader.

Take that kiss just now. It had felt… it’d felt wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. And not just – she realized – because of having had her mouth on Spike’s boy parts the day before (she’d so totally used mouthwash.) Not just the lack of any kind of electricity. No. With mounting horror, Buffy realized it’d mostly felt wrong because it’d felt like cheating. On Spike.

“Oh god,” she moaned, seeing her carefully laid plans of Riley-sexiness washed away in a tide of sudden honesty. She couldn’t go through with it. Not with him.

As for Spike, that was another question.


It was almost like déjà vu, aside from the fact it was dark, and Spike was fully clothed and slouching in some ratty old armchair instead of lying half-naked on the sarcophagus like a big vamp cliché. But here she was, still in her dress and heels from her date, kicking down his door just like she had before, to… well, she hadn’t decided yet. But something. Something decisive.

“Spike!” she growled, screwing up her nerves as he jumped to his feet. She strode over and grabbed him by the shirt front and dragged him up against her and mashed her face to his. It should have been awkward, with teeth clacking and noses bumping, but instead, somehow, they fit together.

And then “Buffy!” he was gasping, “what..?” but then he was kissing her silly without waiting for a response. There’d been no kissing, yesterday. She’d tried to think of it as just a thing, a transaction – he got a happy and she got some experience with someone who didn’t matter. But she’d been kidding herself, she realized, not to mention depriving herself, because the thing she’d forgotten about their first non-spell-induced time together, or at least tried really, really hard to put to the back of her mind, was how much she liked kissing him, and how good it felt. Not just sparks, but a whole power outage. Turned out he kinda did matter, after all.

“Spike,” she moaned as he kissed along her jaw and down her neck, over the spot he’d nicked with his fangs and drunk from, down to her collarbone and the dip at the base of her throat.

“God, Buffy,” he muttered into her skin. “Want you so much.”

“Yeah,” she said, pulling him back up to her mouth, hands in his hair, and wow, was that ever an understatement, because her knees actually felt weak from want and she leaned into him, let him take some of her weight, and they stumbled together into a pillar until she was crushed between the stone and a very hard place.

And it hit her, then – acutely, and square in the heart – that the sexy stuff was good with him because it was him, not because it was sexy stuff. Riley was never going to be able to satisfy her because it wasn’t just about the actions, it was who she was actioning them with, and even though she still wasn’t really sure whether she even liked Spike, Buffy knew that she’d be coming back for this again and again, because she couldn’t deny that despite everything, something here was very right.

She pulled away from him, gasping, reeling, and let her hands come to rest on his chest. “Can we just,” she panted. “Can we just slow down a moment?”

“Why?” he asked, palming her breasts, thumbs rubbing her nipples to hard buds through her dress and her pretty, sexy-date-worthy lingerie, which would be a total shame to waste, but…

“We need to talk,” she said, prying his hands from her. She couldn’t think straight if he kept doing that.

“Slayer,” he groaned, letting his forehead fall against hers, but otherwise seemed to be acquiescing, twining his fingers with hers instead of fighting her.

“I don’t want to want you,” she whispered. Spike drew back to look her in the eyes, a strange, conflicted look that was, at the same time, somehow incredibly tender.

“Preaching to the choir here, pet,” he said softly, with a faint smile that was almost fond.

“So whadda we do? Because this is… I don’t know what this is, but it’s strange and new and moving way too fast, and I really feel like there should be a plan.”

Spike appeared to be thinking it over. And over. And over. She was just starting to fidget uncomfortably when he leaned in and kissed her gently. “Want to catch the late showing at the flicks?”

Buffy blinked. “Aren’t they showing those old spaghetti westerns all week?”


“So what you’re saying is, you want to go on a date…”

He shrugged. “I want to be shagging you six ways from Sunday, but honestly, love, if you want to slow it down, spending time with a pretty girl isn’t exactly a hardship.”

“Even if it’s me?” she asked, trying not to melt, or sound pathetically needy. Either option was probably of the bad in front of someone she wasn’t entirely convinced wasn’t her enemy any more.

“Well,” he cocked his head at her. “Yeah. I mean, in the absence of being able to pay you back for some of the more spectacular ass-kickings you’ve given me over the years, the next best thing has gotta be getting into your—”

“Stop right there,” she said, putting a finger over his lips. “Unless you want to lose your reason for getting into my—”

“Good graces,” Spike grinned wickedly, nipping her finger. “Was just gonna say good graces. What a dirty mind you’ve got on you, Slayer.”

Things devolved from there, and before she knew it they were making out against the pillar again, only this time it was slower; gentler in a way that Spike had shown her more than once now, but that she somehow kept forgetting he was capable of.

“So what about what’s-his-hairstyle?” he asked her, an indefinable amount of time later.


“You know, tall, dark and Teutonic?”

Wait, Spike had never met Riley, how did he…?

“You have a type, love.”

“He’s actually kinda mousey,” she huffed, annoyed both at the interruption and the insight. She licked her lips, feeling tingly and lush from all the attention, and tried to get her brain back on track. “He, uh, he’s out of the picture.”

“Yeah? Gave him the old heave ho?” Spike looked a little dubious and a lot hopeful.

“You actually thought I’d be here if I hadn’t?” she asked, indignant, before remembering that yes, she had been there yesterday and doing worse besides, not to mention that if they ever actually made it to the movie it’d be her second date of the night. Wow. Buffy Summers, welcome to ho-dom. “Never mind,” she said, voice small, and tried to disengage from him.

“No, no, no, Slayer, you do not get to back out now,” Spike said, holding onto her tightly, and when she looked up at him she saw how weirdly apprehensive he looked, and kind of adorably nervous, and her own misgivings just sort of melted away. It was only a movie. Okay, a movie and lips of Spike, but whatever. That other stuff, earlier in the evening, that was nothing but a blip. This was where her night really started, she decided – in the dark, in the middle of a graveyard, with a vampire. Somehow, it seemed fitting.

She smiled. “Come on, then. We better hurry if we’re gonna make the start.”

“I don’t give a stuff about the trailers, pet.”

“What? That’s the best part!”

“The film is the best part or something’s bloody well gone sideways.”

“Okay then: hurry up or we won’t get a seat in the back row.”

“Now you’re talking,” Spike grinned, and Buffy felt it lighting up her veins like fire. This was so far removed from what she’d been planning on wanting, but Willow had said just the other day that she shouldn’t be walking around pretending to be less than she was, and here was a guy who didn’t make her feel less. If anything, he made her feel more – more like herself than she had in such a long time. And oh, hey, look at that – they might be swinging violently between bickering and innuendo, but at least the conversation was flowing. And that was the last comparison she was gonna draw for the night.

Who was keeping score, anyway?

She took his hand and led him out into the night, and, happily, he followed.


Originally posted at