Fic: Tutor (2/7)

This entry is part 2 of 3 in the series Tutor
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Title: Tutor
Author: Holly
Setting: Season 4, shortly after Something Blue
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 28k, complete
Special Thanks: bewildeNiamhBehind Blue Eyes for betaing, teragramm for the awesome banner.
Summary: Buffy has a certain set of skills: staking vampires, slaying demons, preventing the apocalypse, and chasing off men after a single night. That last thing could stand being crossed off her list. Fortunately, she knows just the man—err, vamp—to help.
Note: I’ll be posting the first three parts today and the following parts on EF and AO3.

First part is here: Chapter One

He was hearing things. He had to be. Because the Slayer certainly hadn’t just offered to help him start munching on civilians again in exchange for the low, low price of taking her to bed. That couldn’t be it.

So Spike waited a beat. Then another. Then one more for good measure. When she neglected to cough up the punch-line, he was left with nothing to do but ask.

“Say what now?”

He watched, fascinated, as her creamy skin reddened. And suddenly, she seemed incapable of looking him in the eye.

Bloody hell, was it possible she was serious?

“It’s just been the twice,” she told the floor. “The… Well, you know what happened with Angel. And he made it clear that I was severely lacking in the…that.”

Yeah, Spike was sure he had. Just as sure as he was that the sod had been lying through his teeth just to get the girl to cry. That was what Angelus did, after all. Couldn’t be an upfront monster—it was all about the head games with him. Though how Buffy could, nearly two years later, still think whatever the ponce had said was true was beyond him. After all, it had been good enough that he’d achieved that one moment of happiness, hadn’t it? Not to mention all the bloody gabbing Angelus had done about that night. How often he’d regaled the lackeys that had formerly been Spike’s with tales of how the Slayer tasted. How she sounded when she was coming. How much sweeter she’d looked for it the next day, when he’d rubbed her nose in the mistake she’d made.

“And then with Parker…” Buffy kept her gaze on the ground, the red in her cheeks becoming more pronounced. “I did something wrong.”

Bloody hell, it was one thing when he was spouting off this rot—it was something else entirely for the girl to believe it about herself. Something in Spike’s chest lurched and he found himself wanting to…to… Well, he didn’t really know what he wanted to do, only that he was certain he wasn’t supposed to want to do anything but take this golden piece of information and twist it until he could turn it into a weapon. Wouldn’t take too much, he reckoned. She’d given him everything he’d need to make her life miserable for the foreseeable future. Might not be able to get his kicks in anymore, but he could still make it hurt.

But Buffy being vulnerable with him was something he hadn’t been prepared for.

“Let me get this straight,” Spike said, not missing the way she tensed the second he started talking. “You want me to take you for a spin and give you pointers?”

That put some fire in her—at least got her looking at him again, her jaw set and her nostrils flaring. “You’re a pig, Spike.”

“So that’s not what you’re asking?”

“I… No, it is what I’m asking, but you don’t have to say it like that.”

He huffed. “Like what?”

“Like…like that!” She frowned and shook her head. “So are you in or not? And either way you answer, please remember that breathing a word of this to anyone will result in me staking you so fast—”

Spike rolled his eyes, waved at her. “Yeah, yeah. Got that much.” Not that he was certain he knew anyone who would believe such a tall tale. Wagered he could crow all he liked to Angel himself and nothing, save capturing the whole delicious encounter on film, would do rot to convince him it was the truth.


“So what?”

Buffy scrunched up her face, flexing her hands in that way he knew meant she was trying to keep from socking him. “Do we have a deal?”

Of course they did. What bloke in his right mind would say no to this? A chance to get whatever the army blokes had done to him nice and undone—freeing him up to kill the Slayer in the process—and get an answer to a certain question that had dogged him for over a century. Get all of that out of his system before he took the bitch’s head back to Dru to prove, once and for all, that he was monster enough for her and any other bird he might take a shine to.

Though instead of sealing their deal, Spike instead somehow found himself blurting, “Why’s it you’ve come to me with this?”


“Seems there are plenty of blokes around who’d be more than willin’ to—”

“Don’t even.”

“What? Wonder why it is you trust me to teach you how to fuck? Sorry, pet, gonna wonder.” And wank about it later, no doubt. “Don’t be shy on me now. Not like you’ll have any secrets from me if we do this.”

“Oh, get over yourself.” But she was blushing and staring at the floor again. “I trust you to tell me what I’m bad at. In fact, I trust you to make me so mad in the process that I might want to stake you after all.”

“And no one else would give it to you straight if you’re a rotten shag?”

There was that little twitch again. Just how many times had she kept herself from unleashing on him? By his count, he was at least three nose punches behind his normal tally.

“Humans,” Buffy said through gritted teeth, “typically don’t like to hurt someone’s feelings. I don’t want to be molly-coddled, or any kind of coddled. You definitely aren’t the molly-coddling type.”

Was it possible she’d never actually met another human? Spike decided it was better not to ask that.

“Plus, you’re experienced.” Now she shifted a bit, her face burning brighter still, her blood heating up in all sorts of delicious ways. “I know that from the…things you said when we were under that spell. And the… What you did to me in the kitchen.”

Spike blinked, fighting off a grin. And here he’d thought Buffy would go to her bloody grave without mentioning that to a soul—or non-soul, as it were. Bad enough her mates had caught her enthusiastically snogging her worst enemy—if they’d known just how much Buffy taste had been in his mouth after that spell, it seemed likely the whelp would have seen to staking him by now.

“Been thinkin’ about that a lot, have you?” Spike asked, unable to keep from prowling a step forward.

“Shut up.”

“We do this, pet, and I expect this honesty thing to go both ways.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning when I ask, you tell. Bloke’s gotta right to know.”

And fuck, he wanted to know. Had wanted to know from the moment she’d exploded in his mouth. Spike had never guessed the Slayer to be particularly adventurous in the sack—she’d been wound too tight, blushed a little too easily, particularly for a bird who’d spent the better part of the evening wiggling on his lap like a bitch in heat. Every time the Watcher had gone stumbling around, Spike had seized the opportunity to whisper little dirties into his girl’s ear, relishing how her blood would rush and her heart would pound. He’d asked her to steal off with him for a quickie just to take the edge off, but Buffy had been a purist, all about waiting until the wedding night to shed her inhibitions, as well as her clothes.

But Spike was nothing if not resourceful. While she’d been searching for something to crumble into his mug of blood, he’d cornered her in the kitchen, tugged down her trousers, sunk to his knees and proceeded to show her just how talented he was with his mouth. This much Spike had been determined to put out of his mind, because remembering just how hot she was, how sweet she smelled, how bloody good she tasted would leave him hard and aching and brassed off that the Slayer could have that affect on him. Made pushing out Dru’s batty insistence that he was covered in Buffy more difficult than it was already.

“Are you saying you’ll do it?”

“It being you, you mean.”

Buffy snapped her head up, her eyes narrowing. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re the one over here tryin’ to get into my pants.” He raked his gaze up and down her again. “Deal is I teach you how to be a decent shag and you help me chase the other puppies again? Any part of you think I’d say no to that?”

“Well, yeah. You hate me.”

“Mhmm. Yeah, I do.” He hated every stupid thing about her. “Here’s the first lesson, Slayer. A freebie. Sometimes there’s nothing more satisfying than a hate fuck.”

Spike was prepared this time when her fist came flying toward his nose, and he caught it with a grin. “Now now. Is that the way to treat your teacher?”

Buffy didn’t so much as flinch, and hell, that was brilliant. The girl had always been radiant, beautiful in ways that defied description, but when she was pissed off, she went from beautiful to stunning. All that fire and passion, bottled up so tight she was a ticking time bomb. And she had been ever since the first night he’d seen her. Hers was a fire that couldn’t be tamed.

“I need you,” she said in a low, dangerous tone that did little more than make his cock swell, “to say you’re not going to tell anyone.”

“Of course I’m not gonna tell anyone. I have a sodding image to keep up. Unlike some people in this room, shagging the enemy isn’t my idea of a good time.”

Buffy shoved him away with a grunt. “I hate you.”

“I hate you more.”

“Trust me, so not possible.”

“Wanna put it to the test?”

“Are you trying to get yourself dusted?”

“Just tryin’ to unlock some of what you got inside you.” At the confusion that flooded her eyes, Spike grinned and tapped the end of her nose with his finger. “Feel that heat? That anger? All that energy just beggin’ to be let loose?”

“The kind of energy that results in vamp dust clouds?”

“Very same, love. Gonna bring that to the sack with you? ’Cause if you’re not, don’t even bother showing up.”

“And if I were interested in dating vampires, maybe that would make some kind of sense. Did you miss the whole normal thing?”

“There’s normal for blokes like Porky and normal for you,” Spike replied. “Thing about you, Slayer, is you’re not built for the human normal. That kind of normal will never be enough. ’Cause you need this too, and you can’t unleash that on anyone normal unless you’re aimin’ for the ride to be their last.”

That, he saw, had gotten to her. More than anger this time or embarrassment over what she was asking. No, now she just looked worried. Like she hadn’t thought of that—or worse, that he was voicing a concern she’d been shoving deep down. Seemed about right, too, considering the rot that Angel had fed her about the sort of man she ought to look for. Spike knew slayers better than any vamp, living or dust, and one thing he knew beyond doubt was there was a reason they walked the earth alone. Buffy might have played with the script a bit, letting her friends assume some of the danger that went with her calling, but there were certain things she couldn’t outrun. That she still had aspirations of settling down with anyone, picket fence and a couple of rugrats for good measure, was naïveté at its best. Even the slayers who’d squirted out sprogs of their own had been lone-wolf types. They were too much woman for any one man to handle.

Any one human man, at least.

“That’s right,” Spike said, voice a bit thicker than it had been a moment ago. “And the sooner you stop kidding yourself, the bet—”

“I am not kidding myself.”

“Then why the hell are you here with me?”

Buffy blinked at him dumbly, and for a moment he thought that might have been the end of it. And if it was… Well, he wouldn’t be too surprised—Buffy suggesting anything of the sort to begin with had been brazen enough for her—but hell, he would be disappointed. Beyond his own curiosity, beyond the fact that he’d been thinking about shagging her since the first time he’d seen her moving on that dance floor, part of him wondered if putting it to the Slayer wasn’t the way to get her completely out of his system. Because whatever else, Dru had been right about something.

He should have been able to kill this bird. Any other slayer and she’d already be a memory. There had been plenty of opportunities, especially given that invite he’d secured to her home that she still hadn’t revoked, last he’d checked. While he preferred taking down warriors in a decent brawl, he hadn’t been averse to taking the easy route in the past. The Order of Taraka. The Judge. A way to deal with the Slayer problem without doing the deed himself. And sure, his heart had never been in either of those plans, but he wouldn’t have cried over the girl had either of them come to fruition.

No, he would have danced on her grave, then gotten pissed wondering just how the fight would have gone had he taken it on himself. If he hadn’t staffed it out to the bleeding help.

The moment for Buffy to call his bluff and back down came and went, though. She stood there, fuming in that special way of hers, practically vibrating with all that delicious anger. It wouldn’t take much to get her wound up for him should they ever get past the verbal foreplay, and if she brought that to bed with her…

“So where is it you wanna do this?” Spike asked.


“Don’t mind sullying the old man’s sheets.” He pointed to the stairs that led to the open loft above. “Got yourself a nice little set-up on that campus of yours, too. Could give you the whole experience—sock on the door and everything.”

“I am not having sex with you in Giles’s bed, you depraved—”

“Just asking. You’re the one over here doin’ the propositioning.”

“No. Nowhere where I have to actually sleep.” Buffy scrunched up her nose and shuddered. “I was thinking we’d get a room somewhere.”

“Ooh, how seedy of you.”

“Shut up. Do you have any better ideas?”

His idea involved a cozy little crypt, somewhere he could get her to scream her bloody heart out without rattling walls or disturbing the neighbors. Not that he minded the thought of her rattling the walls or disturbing anyone, but both presented the opportunity for the outside world to intervene and for better or worse, he didn’t want that happening if he made it as far with Buffy as she seemed to think he would.

“Suppose I don’t.” Spike hooked his fingers through the belt loops of his jeans and took a slow step forward. “So when we gonna have this little rendezvous? You gonna at least buy me dinner first?”

Buffy inhaled deeply, and since he was going to have his hands on them in the near future anyway, Spike allowed his gaze to follow the way her breasts rose and fell. Bloody hell, but he was going to have fun with her. Teach her all kinds of neat tricks that miracle of a body could perform. It was the least a bloke could do, give her just enough to get her jollies in before she made good on her end of the deal and got herself all nice and dead.

The history books had loved him before. Once it got out that he’d shagged a slayer before killing her, he’d become a thing of legend.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” she said in that businesslike voice of hers. “Get the room and things.”

“And blood?”

“I don’t want you doing anything to me with blood in your mouth.”

“Usually the idea is to swallow it, Slayer.”

“I mean it. I don’t want to taste anything gross.”

“Taste?” Spike couldn’t help it—he was grinning again. “Taste meanin’ you think we’ll be snogging, is that right?”

“I am not even going to pretend to understand what that word means.”

“You think I’m gonna kiss you?” He did a decent job, in his estimation, of sounding both amused and somewhat repelled by the prospect, but he knew better. In truth, the thought of getting his mouth on hers, tasting her freely, not under the influence, made it harder to ignore just how much his cock liked this plan—all parts of it. “Bit intimate, that.”

“And sex isn’t intimate?”

“Not quite as much as snogging, no.”

Buffy crossed her arms, favoring him with that narrow-eyed stare of hers. “So your rules of engagement are pretty much on par with Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.”

“Don’t have any rules, pet. Just didn’t think you’d fancy it, is all. Especially after that spell.”

She licked her lips and he bit back a groan. “Well…that’s actually a good point,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound nearly as confident as it had a moment ago. “That we probably don’t need to kiss. I mean, I’ve never gotten a complaint about my kissing technique so that’s…not something I think I need to practice. So we’ll just stick to sex.”

“Ah huh. And what all is it you think you need to practice? Just so I know where to apply my focus goin’ in.” He was still staring at her lips. “Just fucking itself, or you need to know how to do a man proper with your mouth?”

“Are you asking if I’ll give you a blowjob? Allow me to answer with a stake.”

He sprang back just as she darted a hand into the bag strapped cross her body. “Don’t dust a bloke for asking. Just not sure where all your education is lacking, am I? So Angel already taught you what you need to know.”

Something he highly doubted. Not because Angelus didn’t like having his dick sucked, but because he hadn’t mentioned fellatio of any kind in any of the numerous retellings of the great cherry-popping. Likely that was something he would have worked the girl up to had things not gone south.

The look on Buffy’s face was enough to confirm this. She seemed torn between dismay and disgust. “Is that…something guys expect, then? Mouth stuff?”

“You askin’ for real or just trying to be funny?”

“Ugh.” Buffy turned on her heel and started for the door. “I’ll be by tomorrow at sundown. We’ll do a quick patrol—”

“Patrol? I’m not going with you on any sodding patrol.”

“You are and you will. It won’t take long.”

“Famous last words, Summers. You lot ever get tired of jinxing yourselves? And I can’t fight, remember? Would think I wouldn’t have to spell this out for you, but romancing your date usually means not getting him killed.”

“First of all—gross, you are so not my date.”

“No. Just your shag for the night. You’re right. That’s so much better.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “You’ll survive a trip through the cemetery, Spike. And if you don’t, well, it’ll be tragic but somehow, someway, the world will move on without you.” She sniffed and resumed her trek toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And that was it. For a moment, at least. Spike cocked his head and stared pointedly at the door, waiting how long it would take for her to remember.

The answer was somewhere in the vicinity of ten seconds, though she loitered on the other side of the door far longer than that. Likely looking for some scrap of dignity she could pretend to wear when she marched her righteous little arse right back across the threshold. Still, he managed to stay right where he was. He knew it’d be worth it.

He was right.

Buffy edged back into the room, shucked off her purse and placed it on the counter without meeting his gaze.

That was all he could stand. “Forget somethin’, then?” he asked in a singsong.

“Is there anything you really, really hate on a pizza?” she asked brightly, moving around the corner in the kitchen. “I’ll go crazy with the garlic.”

“Bleeding hate olives.” He didn’t. “And onions.”

“One extra onion-y and olive-y pie coming right up.”

“Not gonna say it, then? Too embarrassed?”

Buffy flashed him a blindingly bright smile. “About what?”

“All that talk from before got you in a right tizzy. So much so you forgot you’re house-sitting.”

“Willow was the one Giles asked to house-sit, not me.” She flipped open the phone book, going to obvious lengths to avoid looking at him. “So I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe that the Slayer would casually drop by and proposition me for sex when her little chum might pop in at any minute?”

Buffy’s cheeks went a shade darker but she didn’t look up. “I don’t expect anything from you, Spike. At all.”

“Except a right brilliant shag.”

“Anything involving you can’t be brilliant.”

“You think so?” He closed the space between them, keenly aware of how rigid she became when he was close. How the thumps of her heart sped up, how her pulse began to race. Whether or not she was aware of it, Buffy had always reacted to him like this. The warrior in her sensing the enemy in him, most likely, but maybe there was more to it. He still couldn’t quite wrap his head around what she’d asked of him, what she’d offered. Supposed he wouldn’t believe it at all until he was balls-deep inside of her.

“I don’t think,” Buffy replied.

Spike hummed, running the backs of his fingers down the length of her arm, which trembled in response. “That much is obvious.”

“I know.” She jerked away and pinned him with a glare. “No touching.”

“Right. Gotta save some of the mystery for the big night.”

“Ugh. Leave me alone or I will chain you up again.”

“Right circumstances, a fella could be into that.”

Buffy stared at him for a long beat before pulling another face, and Spike couldn’t help but curl his lips into a grin. She could act as high and mighty as she wanted, the miserable bitch, but he knew better. Hard to take the high road when she’d come here with a mind to slum it for at least a night.

If nothing else, the next couple of days with Buffy Summers were going to be memorable.

Personally, he couldn’t wait.

Originally posted at

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