Chapter One: Bus Ride

It was as if his hands held gold. He was so fascinated with the prize between his hands that he didn’t notice my gasp. The bus was always packed in the mornings; noses buried in books while ears plugged into the digital music world. As soon as he pulled my book out of his bag as he sat down across from me, a smile played upon my lips. He was so pretty. His sunken cheeks would normally turn me off but coupled with his high cheekbones that sneak up to his shocking blue eyes that illuminated his pallid face, I was a goner. Beneath his gelled peroxided blonde curls were darkened roots. His light tight jeans and dark hugging shirt promised a lean muscled body. Yes he was ever so pretty.

If he looked in the back cover, my glamour shot would be side to side to a comedic bio I wrote several years ago. I watched him read my words; emotions playing across his face from shock and horror to a romantic ‘aww’ forming on his luscious lips. He finally saw me watching him, his eyes flicking above the pages to connect with mine. My smile spread across my face and his cheeks became tinted with red. My tongue flicked out from behind my teeth and peaked out of my mouth, unconsciously liking my lips. The red tint brightened. He looked back down at the pages.

“Good book?” I asked.

His smile turned right back into the blush. I thought it was because he knew who I was but my tongue had piked out of my mouth again and was now caressing my lower lip. His gaze was following my finger, which was running along the lacy top of my camisole that poked out from beneath my dress shirt. I looked down to see what he was staring at. My tongue retracted and my mouth curled into a wry smile. I pulled my pen from its velvet case and took the book from his hands. I opened it up to my photo and scribbled down my number before flashing him a smile. I stood up from the seat; the bus pulling up to the stop in the city and my heels clipping the floor as I stepped down onto the street. He looked down at the page and I saw a shocked face stare at me as the bus pulled away.

****

Holy hell, I just met Anne Summers. The Anne Summers; author of, no doubt, the modern classic novel. She was Elvis of the literature world. No, she was God. And she catches my bus. And she gave me her number. And she had looked at me with a desire so apparent in her eyes that made my unruly member tingle. Hell, more than tingle. I had read ‘The Watcher Diaries’ twelve times and I always found something new to grasp and configure into intelligent thought. Well, this time I had something undoubtedly new. I got off the bus in a daze, barely noticing where I was. It felt like an eternity since she had left; when her knees had softly grazed mine and her finger pulling down to show her wonderful display of cleavage. But it was two stops ago and I felt a desperate need to forget about uni and run up the long and busy city street to find her. Ripper had other ideas.

“Oi, you sod get your blimey arse over here.”

“Shut your trap hole, mate, I’m bloody comin’,” I
bellowed across the busy road to where Ripper stood amongst the other uni students awaiting the bus, their coffees and cigarettes hanging from their hands in their dull grey morning. Except my morning was full of sun; starting out with a brilliant shine in the form of a gorgeous famous woman staring at me like I was a soddin’ male stripper.

“Why you grinning like the Cheshire cat?”

“’Swat happens when you get the stuffin’ knocked out of you by a gorgeous smile.”

“You think you’re so poetic.” He punched me on the shoulder and proceeded to ask about my smile. But I didn’t let it leave my face as we moved ahead to shuffle onto the bus. It was too much to hope she was on this one too, but that didn’t stop me from looking around and sniffin’ the conditioned air to smell that sweet jasmine scent again.

****

“I was practically salivating, Willow, I was all drooly and jaw-droppy.”

I laughed at the look on her face as I retold my story.

“I’ve never been so forward with anyone before.”

“I wasn’t being forward, least not on purpose.”

“Yeah right, you are so getting on the same bus tomorrow to see if he is there.”

I laughed and shoved her into the meeting room, our laptops and my new manuscript spread out on the large table.

“Ok, so I’ll start on chapter eleven while you rewrite that passage in chapter eight and tell me more about this boy.” I loved when Willow became all editor-in-charge girl. She’d been my best friend since high school and I never understood why, with her brains, she didn’t go into a better career. Nevertheless she had always read my writing and corrected it along the way and it somehow became our careers.

“How about you tell me how it is coming along with Tara?” My red headed friend blushed. Compared to the rest of the insular creative writing community of our city where the gay members were loud and proud, Willow always hid from her outed sexuality. She’d fallen in love with my agent who had cautiously started to woo and coax Willow out of her shell.

“You are not changing the subject, go back and tell me about the boy.”

“Well he hardly looked like a boy. But he flashed a uni card at the bus driver when buying his ticket. I’m not sure how old he was but…he was so pretty. In a handsomely, rugged I-want-to-jump-your-bones-and-let-you-take-me-to-heaven-every-minute-of-the-day way.”

Willow giggled and passed me the paragraph she had been working on.

“So do you think he’ll call you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know why I like him. I don’t know whether it was his oh-so-gorgeous eyes or the fact he was reading my book that turned me on. You know I’ve never actually seen someone read my book before.”

“I’m doing it right now, Buffy.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. Look that paragraph is fine, but if you change the next one, it will stuff up the ending again.” I emailed her the section from chapter eight and glimpsed at my watch. All I really wanted to do was go to lunch when I could wander around the botanic gardens that sided onto the university campus and see if I could find my new blonde obsession.

Chapter Two: Phone Calls

“You’re a right idiot, Spike. You blushed and gaped like a fish? What kinda stupid sod does that?” He lit a cigarette and puffed along as we walked out of the student centre.

“Yeah well I was flustered is all. ‘S like if you met Syd Barrett you’d be all ‘Ooo Mr Barrett can I have your autograph and then maybe you can take me through the realities of your drug induced trances. Then maybe a post-mortem snog?” I smirked.

Ripper growled at me for my crack at Syd Barrett, angry at the muso’s ‘untimely death’ and thankfully forgetting my embarrassing moment on the bus that I’d finally discussed after his constant hassling through class.

Ripper, Rupert Giles, and I had grown up together in London and tore through our upper-class education until our parents were about to have a fit. So we came on exchange for a semester before getting trounced by our parents. The wild girls and the heavy drinking culture of the great suntanned land sounded pretty good from our side of the pond. And so far it was – except for the bloody heat. The stinking temperature and bloody humidity made the summer days (and almost every other day of the year) dreadful. So bad it almost made me rethink my black wardrobe. Almost.

We walked on the path that ran across the lawns between the student centre and grand old admin block. Bags were splayed besides napping bodies and shoulders were smashed against mine as other students rushed by to get to the refectory.

Ripper slouched ahead as I stopped in front of the bright red park benches.

“What you doing?”

“What am I gonna say to her when I call her? Oh bollocks, when can I call her? How long should I wait? Should I wait?”

Ripper just rolled his eyes and kept walking towards the library. I shook my head and let myself shake out my nervousness.

I would call her tonight.

“Hey Rupes, wait up.” But Ripper had already sped ahead to chat up another tanned goddess.

****

I got home, flipped off my heels and plopped on my bed. Xander and Faith weren’t home from their respective workplaces. The bus ride home was torture. No pretty guy to keep me occupied while the sleazy man looked down my top. My phone had jingled and every person crammed near me heard my rushed conversation with the man who was essentially my boss. I couldn’t hear a word so as soon as the bus pulled up at the stop in front of my apartment building, I rang Cordelia, his secretary.

“Ram Wolfhart Publishing, how can I help you?” I could hear her grimace as I told her my name.

“Mr Angel is currently on the phone, would you please hold Miss Summers?”

“Sure thing, Cordy.”

I was put through in two minutes, as soon as I had started to climb the stairs.

“Hi Buffy. I just wondering, are you free to talk with me about your contract this evening?”

“Sure, but I just got home. It’ll take me about half an hour to get back to the offices.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll come round to your house within the hour.”

I didn’t know what to do. The place was a mess and there was no way I could get everything cleaned in time and still have time to run out and buy a bottle of wine. Xander tumbled through the front door and looked into my bedroom.

“What’s wrong?” I groaned and sat up on my elbows to look at him.

“Liam Angel, my publisher is coming over in under an hour’s time,” I closed my eyes. “God I can’t deal with him right now.”

“Sure, I’ll kick him out as soon as he gets here.” His face was serious compared to his normal goofy grin.

“Not Angel, the Busboy.” He looked at me like a martian would look at the beach: completely perplexed.

“Busboy? Were you and Willow drinking at work today? Who is this busboy and what restaurant can I go and kick his–,”

“No, there was this guy on the bus this morning and Willow nicknamed him Busboy and every time I close my eyes I see him and my,” I closed my eyes.

Xander cleared his throat. My hand had wandered down my body and was about to slip under my waistband.

“Ahh –Buff, I’m just going to clean up. Why don’t you go grab some wine?”

I sheepishly nodded and grabbed my purse.

****

I picked up the phone hesitantly. I knew I was nervous ’cause it was Anne Summers but she was just a chit with a pretty smile and I’d easily dealt with plenty of those in my time. I opened up ‘The Watcher’s Diaries’ and flicked to her picture with a dazzling smile. There was no way the 2D black and white pic could display her true beauty. But that didn’t stop me from ripping the precious page from my book and tacking it onto my wall. Normally, I’d never desecrate a book but this occasion definitely called for it. I looked at the numbers, already memorised and picked up the hand held to type in when it started buzzin’ in my hand.

“What do you want, I’m busy.”

“William, is that you?”

“Bloody hell, is that the Irish brogue of Liam Angel?” My eyes burned angrily.

“Yes, Pratt. It’s me. I was just calling to–,”

“Did my mother ask you to call, Peaches? I knew we were in the same city but I didn’t think I’d have to talk to you.” I really didn’t want to hear whatever the hell that ponce had to say.

“William, I’m calling to invite you to a dinner and talk. I thought you may enjoy it. One of my authors is giving a talk to kick off the writer’s festival and there is a spare seat that I thought you’d like.”

I didn’t answer. Bloody Captain Forehead following my mum’s instructions, trying to make me ‘into a mature young man, just like that Liam boy’. Stupid old bint thinks Angel is a…well angel. I could hear him getting nervous at my silence.

“Yes, I spoke to your mother and I think you’ll both agree this is a great event.” He paused. “I heard what happened in London.”

“Yeah, what of it? My tone darkened more quickly than the sky in a thunderstorm.

“The thing with Dru had nothing to do with me.” I growled a growl that could make a vampire quiver. “Just come to the Casino at 8pm tomorrow night. I swear you’ll enjoy it.”

I hung up on the great poof. All I could see what blood and gore when I looked down at the phone in my hand. Calling Miss Summers would have to wait until I had my demons in control.

****

The bell rang as I slipped the last dish into the dishwasher. I picked up the intercom and whispered a tentative ‘hello’.

“Hi, Buffy, wondering if you could let me in?” I heard Angel’s voice across the buzzer.

I pressed the key button and heard the automated voice announce the door was open. In my room, where most of the junk had been thrown onto my floor and bed, I slipped into my heels and proceeded to the front door as he knocked.

“Hi, welcome, come in.” I showed him into the living room and gestured for him to sit down.

“Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Actually,” he didn’t finish because the phone started ringing.

Xander called out ‘I’ll get it’ and I turned back to Angel.

“So what’s the problem with my contract?” I clipped my heels on the kitchen tiles as I scooted around to pour the wine into freshly cleaned glasses.

“Well, I only said that so I could come over. I actually wanted to talk to you about the writer’s festival–,” Xander walked out from his bedroom brandishing the phone.

“Some guy called William is asking for you.”
I excused myself from Angel and walked onto the balcony.

“Hello?”

“Is this Anne Summers?” A British voice asked hesitantly across the line.

“Why yes, and who is this?” I had a strange feeling that I knew exactly what gorgeous, lean, blue eyed body this Brit accent belonged to.

“William Pratt, I, ah, met you on the bus this morning.”

“NO WAY DID JJ ABRAMS SAY THAT! You’re telling lies Angel. Lies, all lies.”

Angel chuckled in the background and continued telling Xander his anecdote.

“Is that bloody Liam Angel at your place?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

“I’m going to bloody kill that sod.”

He hung up on me! Busboy hung up on me! And I didn’t even get to tell him my real name. I turned around with my jaw dropped and my eyes shocked. Angel cleared his throat.

“I just came over to say that you are going to talk at the Writer’s Festival dinner,” I tried to interrupt but he talked over the top of me. “…Whether you like it or not. Tara called me and told me you were refusing and asked me to give you some incentive. You attend and present the speech or you’re manuscript deadline will be brought up.”

He stood and left, the clogs of my brain hardly whirring to comprehend. I was still struck out on the fact that Busboy, no William, had hung up on me. Before I could ask whether he knew William, Angel was out of the door. Utterly defeated I dropped onto my sofa with a thud.

Chapter Three: Dinner Date

My bleedin’ tie wouldn’t sit right. I had been ’twixting it from left to right all night, but the damn Windsor knot just wouldn’ lay right.

“William, come over and meet Mr Blaisdell. He’s the Vice President of the LGBT Writer’s Society.” Angel beckoned and I was expected to come running. Stupid sod. I wanted to rip his head off. But I walked over to the large, beefy men and jammed my hands into my pockets.

“Actually, Mr Angel, I’m the President. Mr Finn here is my vice.”

I sniggered and Angel glared at me.

“Well, men, I’ll leave you to your vices. I’ll be at the bar.”

I could tell from the almost-growl that erupted from that angelic throat that I was in trouble with the big man. He took one step forward and opened his mouth as if to say ‘If I hear one more ungrateful word from your mouth-’ but he was cut short by his chit of a secretary. Brunette and skimpy, she was. Her little skirt rode up as she tapped him on the stupidly wide shoulder.

“She’s here and she’s not happy.”

For the sake of Angel’s precious face, I thought, his secretary better not mean my girl.

There she was, blonde tresses dripping perfectly down the edges of her pretty lil face. My eyes flew down to her breasts that were pushed together from her tight black halter-neck dress that swirled out down to her feet in delicate drapes. A pretty red headed girl in a Grecian styled emerald dress was trying to calm Anne Summers down when they walked into the ballroom. Miss Summers had a look of thunder across her brow. I tried again to flatten down my tied as I cautiously stepped towards her.

I had to run out of the apartment when Angel had rung asking me where I was. I yelled at him for about a minute and a half about him stealing my girl and trying to flaunt it off tonight when he asked what the hell I was talking about. I ranted for another minute until he said, “Look, I didn’t invite you to show off anything. I just knew you loved Anne Summer’s books and she is going to be opening the Writers’ Festival with a quick speech.”

I had growled when I asked him whether he and Miss Summers were an item. He just laughed and hung up on me. That’s why my bloody tie was crocked. I ran out of me place with fire burning on my toes, trying to dress and run at the same time. I had to know why Peaches had laughed.

He had ignored me as soon as I got to the Casino, breath heaving and hand patting down my cornflower tie.

Captain Forehead made a move to walk over to Miss Summers, leaving me with Secretary Slut but Miss Summer’s glower told him to stand right where he was, next to me. Well, that was until she saw me.

****


I poked Willow hard in the stomach.

“Oomph. Buffy, what the hell did you do that for?”

“He’s here. Busboy is here!” She looked around, her eyes scanning the crowd of well dressed butt-monkeys. I nervously hissed at her not to look at the most gorgeous man with the rumbled tie and ruffled blonde hair standing next to Angel.

“Go on, go over to him.”

I hissed again. She looked at me like I had just rolled in dog poo.

“Okay…huh? What do you mean ‘you can’t’. Of course you can. There’s cans and can’ts you can and can’t do and this you can.” I looked at her pleadingly.

“See this face? You know what it means.”

Her resolve only strengthened when I proceeded to complain. I sighed a sigh of ‘fine’ and pushed my shoulders back, brought my head up and my breasts forward only to run into Parker Abrams.

“What do you want, Parker?” My bitter tone didn’t register on his all too boyish face.

He smiled, not at all politely.

“You think I could get a dance with the prettiest girl at the party?” I scoffed and looked at him properly. He hadn’t changed one iota.

“Get out of my way Parker I’m off to see a man with a soul.”

He sneered, catching my arm as I tried to pass him. Before I could put him down, right on his arse, a pale arm grabbed Parker’s clutching hand.

“You don’t want to be doing that.” A snarl curved his lovely lip up, frightening the idiot into backing away.

“Hello love.” If only I could describe the colour of those eyes. There were too many names for blue that couldn’t ever truly show the sparkle and shine that made this blue so very different.

“You hung up on me before I could tell you my name.”

“You had tall, dark and forehead over at your place. And I already know your name.” His body was so close, his fingers hovering over my limp arms.

“Angel? He’s my publisher.”

“And that scum?”

“Parker. He’s manipulative and shallow. So I, uh…”

“Let him take a poke?” He said with a wicked smirk. His hands moved lower to hover over my hips. His head was almost against my forehead.

“Urgh, you’re a pig.” Said too soft to be an insult. But he stepped back and took a grabbed a flute of champagne that floated by on a waiter’s tray.

“And then?” I could see the need in his eyes; he wanted to know something.

“And then came lots of beer.”

He chuckled but a silence quickly drifted between us. I wanted him. But I couldn’t make my usually eloquent mouth produce the much needed words.

“I’d better get back to Willow.”

“I think Red’s a bit busy now, love.”

I looked over my shoulder and saw a cute red-headed guy hesitantly talking to Willow.

He smiled, opening those lips to say something else in that deadly sexy accent. But chimes rung throughout the frosted ballroom air. It was dinner time.

“My name’s Buffy.” I whispered as I trailed into the crowd moving to the tables. My fingers tinkled a tiny wave to him.

****


I watched the minx. Her mouth barely opened enough to slip the silver of the fork in to be cleaned so thoroughly. Her eating was seductive, tempting and way too sexy to be done in public ever again. I wanted her. I could pick her voice out from anywhere, and whenever she took the time to swallow those small bites of food she slid into her precious mouth, she chatted to the girl at her side. Her words were like those on the page, thoughtful and witty and so much more. The depth with which her eyes shone reflected in her inflection as she talked. I knew I was staring but I couldn’t help it. That mouth was a muse; forming and breathing and discussing the beautiful words which graced her mind.

She occasionally saw me staring and blush tinted those perfect gold cheeks.

Buffy. Her name was Buffy. So Anne Summers was just a pen name, concocted to hide behind. But she couldn’t hide from me, not anymore.

I could barely wait for dinner to be over. To be near her again. She was so close. Her body smelt like the night blooming jasmine ground into orange peel. She was sweet and bitter and so very close. I wanted to push her up against the twinkling walls and–

I snapped out of it when, once again, the chimes filled the air. Dinner was over and the talks were about to begin. Three guest speakers were to chat about poetry and writing and everything I cared about unless Buffy was in the room. My eyes couldn’t stay on the greying man at the podium; drifting back to her delectable body.

I snapped out of the stupor I had created, lusting at the very idea of her touching me again. And this time, more than just her knee. Angel had shoved me, his eyes trying to point daggers. I just smirked at the git and looked back at her empty chair. I hurriedly scanned, not wanting to ever take my eyes off her again, and found her standing at the podium.

A few clicks of cameras, the press, whirred as she hesitantly started off her speech with a joke.

“Some of you don’t know this but my real name isn’t Anne Summers. Anne is my middle name because my mother gave me a given name that is too embarrassing in literary circles.” She coughed ‘Buffy’ into her hand and looked back up at the glamour sitting at the tables until her greened eyes landed on mine.

I was gone. I couldn’t hear what she said, only look into those depths of solitude and wisdom. All the years of existentialist deconstruction-ism as I pandered around with Ripper, not knowing what to do with ourselves asking why we were here, were suddenly gone. I knew my place, looking into those knowledge abysses.

She only broke eye contact when her speech had finished and she looked down to step off of the podium.

What had I gotten myself into?

Chapter Four: Lap Cake

Cheesecake: the best way to get over public speaking. Talking in front of people had to be the worst thing in the world, bar studded caps. Everyone was mingling and I hadn’t seen Busboy, no–William. I thought we had connected while I spoke, prattled on about writery type things while speaking to him with my eyes. No, that’s just stupid, ridiculous stuff. I can’t speak with my eyes!

I sighed and picked at the cheesecake on the porcelain plate. Minutes passed and the full fork of cake hadn’t ventured near my mouth. I plopped it down and the tinkling of the steel against the china made me sigh, again. Stupid sighing.

Where the hell was William? I wanted to devour him instead of this delicious chocolate cheesecake. I wanted lick those muscles that danced beneath his clothes. I wanted to nip his shoulders and taste his pale skin. I wanted to look at his long dark eyelashes that fluttered when he blinked away those intense eyes. Stupid eyes.

I picked up the fork again, determined to let the chocolate produce endorphins that I wouldn’t be getting elsewhere tonight if he didn’t show up soon.

He chuckled, waking me from my reverie.

“I…gah…yum…I mean um…gah.”

I started staring again. I tried to shake out of it but I couldn’t. He was too gorgeous. My hand started shaking as he stalked forward. My brain capacity flew out of the window as that predator look soaked those stupid eyes. He reached my table, and laid his long fingers on the arm that became super glued to the table while my other arm shook uncontrollably in the air, the cheesecake drifting in front of my nose.

“’Ello, love.”

Plop!

The cheesecake dropped from my fork and straight into my lap.

“Oh my god! My dress!”

“Oh, love I’m sorry. Here, let me help you clean that up.”

He grabbed the napkins from the table and started to wipe the chocolate into my beautiful new dress. I couldn’t have cared less about the dress because all my mind could focus on was his hands on my body, making my underwear obsolete.

“No, stop it, you’re making it worse!” He stopped immediately. He was helping earnestly and I snapped. I felt guilty until I looked up into his smirking face.

He opened his mouth to say something but Angel walked up to the table. He looked down at William’s hands still holding the napkin in my lap. Redness stained our cheeks.

“Nice to see you two have met. Buffy, you need to greet the press in fifteen minutes.” Angel forced the words out of his mouth quickly before turning around and hurriedly walking away.

I looked back into the stupid eyes that darted down from my eyes, my blush, my cleavage, and to my lap. His pretty lips let out a pearl of laughter.

“What?”

He continued laughing.

“What? What? What’s so funny?”

“I made Anne Summers…dirty… and I tried to clean her up.” His voice was loaded with innuendo. I whacked away his hand from my groin area and told him I needed to, among other things, powder my nose.

****


She hightailed to the bathroom, clutching her purse above the stain. I watched her pert bum walk away, a smile covering my entire face. She had practically been drooling as I walked towards her. I could hear her heartbeat as my hand stayed naughtily in her lap while Angel appeared. Anne Summers, no Buffy, wanted me. That was more than obvious on the bus, but it hadn’t sunk in until the second before Angel had arrived. I could practically smell her arousal.

I chuckled and slunk back in the chair to wait for her return. I glanced over at the bathroom door, but when she hadn’t come out in ten minutes I went after her.

“Buffy?” I knocked on the door. “Are you alrigh’?”

I could hear her groan on the other side of the door.

“What do you think? My boss just saw you scrubbing his guest speaker’s crotch! I’m due to talk to the press in five minutes and my dress is stained.”

“Don’t worry about McAngel. He and I go way back to the mother country. Poncy bugger owes me £11, for one thing.”

“I’m the one who is going to have to live with the consequences of the crotch thing. Gah, stupid chocolate cheesecake that isn’t even brown.”

I opened the door and saw Buffy with her dressed bunched up around the top of her thighs, the stained part hanging under the running water in the basin.

“Stop that. I’ll fix it.”

“You’ve done enough. And this is the girl’s room.”

“Good, I know where to pick up the ladies then.”

She made the cutest disgruntled noise and pulled her dress down.

I looked at the dress a second time and gulped. My breath caught in my throat. I stepped closer to grab a handful of her dress and flicked out my Swiss Army knife from my back pocket.

“Where did that come from? Wait, on second thought, I don’t want to know.”

I made a move to cut the dress.

“What do you think you are doing?” I had noticed that the dress consisted of layers of fabrics. She looked down at the thin black chiffon and opened her mouth in an ‘o’ shape of understanding.

Thankfully the cheesecake hadn’t gone through the fabric and the hole wasn’t noticeable. She smiled shyly at my handiwork and thanked me.

Then she pecked my cheek.

If I wasn’t hard before…

My line of thought ended as I saw she had left the bathroom. I could hear the noise in the ballroom outside dwindle and slipped back into the room. She stood in front of the podium, a bunch of flowers casually hiding the bottom half of her dress as she had photo after photo taken for the press junkies. A dazzling smile that now hung on my bedroom wall greeted each reporter as they fired questions and the cameras flashed. I wanted to watch her all night but I couldn’t. The parents cut Ripper and I off during our voyage to the savages and I had to start at my lousy part time job in half an hour. I found her redheaded friend in the crowd watching the press vultures and sidled over to her.

“Hey Red, I was wondering if you could pass this on to Buffy.”

I handed her my place setting card that I’d scribbled on my number and intended to give to Buffy before she went and caked herself.

She smiled up at me and said ‘sure thing’ before I slipped back into the crowd and headed for the door.

****


I was grateful to see Willow tap her watch.

“Last question please.”

I passed the question over to the head of the Writer’s Festival and left the podium area.

“Uh, thank god that is over. I swear, if Tara makes me do one more of these stupid–,”

Willow told me flatly, “You have several early morning breakfast radio shows to attend tomorrow.” I couldn’t help but groan. Willow’s evil grin threatened to swallow her face. She was hiding something, I could tell. “You have to go to every single one otherwise I won’t give you your present.”

My face lit up at the sound of the word ‘present’. I nodded eagerly and she handed over a small card that said ‘William’. I read aloud the note that accompanied his number.

“Give me a bell. You know you want to. What the hell does ‘give me a bell mean’?”

“I think its sexy British for ‘give him a call’.”

Just before we could move to leave, Angel and a similarly built doofus stood in front of me.

“So, you and William, huh?”

“So, you and…who is this?”

“This is Riley Finn, Vice President of the Lesbian Gay Bisexual and Transgender Writers’ Society. There’s something you should know about William. He’s bad news.”

“Yeah, I kinda got a similar vibe off him,” Riley said, like it was any of his business.

“I kinda got a vibe that you’re like a moron. Angel, if you need to discuss my contract, you know where to call me. Good night,” I said icily.

Willow giggled as I shoved my chin in the air and marched out on her arm. Every time she had seen Ice-Queen Buffy reject someone, she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you feel like ICE cream? Because I know I do.” She giggled and we made out way to the car. As she started the ignition, William slipped into my mind and now all I felt like doing was running home to the phone.

Chapter Five: Radio Jerks

I woke up and Faith was singing in the shower. Horribly. And to make matters worse, it was not a song from her typical music catalogue. It was Celine Dion. Declaration of Love floating out of our shared bathroom. I groaned and rolled over. Last night I hadn’t bothered to remove my ruined dress. Grumpily, I walked into the kitchen to pour a mug of coffee.

“Morning, B.” Her dark hair was wrapped up in a towel and her body was covered with another. She was probably coming in from the night rather than starting the day.

“Good look you got going on there. Working the hangover-chic.” I smirked at her and sipped from the steaming hot coffee. Brain no workey in the mornings.

“So, are you going to tell me about this William guy? Xander said something about a phone call.”

“He called me again? Did he leave a message?”

She looked at my eager face and laughed. I tried to swat her with the nearest tea towel as she walked towards her room.

“You’ll have to ask Xander when he wakes up.”

Twenty minutes later and I was rushing around trying to put stuff into my laptop bag when Xander emerged from his bedroom.

He rubbed his eyes sleepily and looked towards the empty coffee pot.

“Morning, Buff.”

I nearly toppled him with my rain of fists.

“Ow, stop punching me Buffy. I joke wust up. I mean I just woke up.”

“Did he call? Did he leave me a message? Did he respond to my message?”

“Who are you talking about?” He moved around the kitchen like a sloth, making himself a pot of tea.

“William!”

My alarm went off on my phone but I didn’t move because Xander hadn’t given me an answer.

“Buff, your alarm. Doesn’t that mean you should go?”

I huffed and grabbed my laptop bag and ran out of the door into the super early morning’s still-dark air.

****


I rolled over and groaned. Night shift was horrible and I forgot that I had to stay awake until I finished class today. The radio woke me when it flicked on at 6am. I’d only been home for half an hour and I had to go again. Bloody seven thirty class. There should be a rule for creative people about early mornings being banned. The breakfast radio hosts were announcing their guests for the morning before a Midnight Oil track ran across the airwaves. I pushed myself out of the comfy bed and moved into the kitchen lounge room. Ripper was still asleep, sprawled on the futon with the TV buzzing quietly.

I pulled out the tea strainers and set about making a nice real cuppa before I saw the message machine blinking. Instantly, the placeholder card sprung into my mind and without a thought for Ripper I pressed play.

“Hi, um William, it’s Buffy. I was just wondering whether you’d like to see me sometime and…well,” her tone turned from nervous to seductive. “You have my number.”

The minx tried to manipulate me into making the decisions. We were never going to get anywhere until I grew the stones to just ask her out on a date. But right now my stones had practically evaporated. I got so nervous around her, even though I try to hide it, it’s like I’m popping my cherry all over again.

Two could play at her game.

I dialled her number with a quick glance into my bedroom where her picture hung. Just as I expected the phone to go through to the message bank, a familiar male voice answered.

“Ah, um, is Buffy there?”

“No. She’s on the radio. Is this William?”

“Yeah mate, what’s it to you?”

“She was harassing me this morning about whether you called her back.”

I smirked and the guy continued.

“We’re having a bit of a get together tonight. Do you want to come so she can harass you rather than me?”

I accepted and he began to prattle off details. I scribbled down her address and tuned him out when I heard her voice filter through my apartment from the radio beside my bed.

“Ah, thanks mate.” And I hung up on the blighter so I could hear my girl talk about her new book.

****


Chickens with problems. I can’t believe that’s what I jokingly said to those breakfast show hosts my new book would be called. I was cornered. Backed into a hole. Desperately trying to back peddle. Stupid hosts asked me about my love life and I choked on my third coffee of the morning.

“Isn’t that a personal question, Jerry?”

“Yeah, Jerry, leave the poor woman alone. So, have you got a man in your life?” Jerry’s consort Mona asked, following the snarky guide to radio interviews: the personal question with a joke at the end.

“Kinda.”

“So how long ago did you meet him, Anne?”

“A while ago. It seems like forever.”

“And are there plans for a Mr Summers?” My chagrin expression caused Jerry and Mona to heartily laugh.

“I see you two haven’t discussed it. Does he have a name?”

“Yes.” I was flatly refusing to answer them so I just became silent, which only made their laughter heartier.

“So tell me Anne, you know girl to girl, is he the reason why you were late to the studio this morning?” I blushed heavily but I knew I could fight whatever they threw at me.

“Well Mona, girl to girl, you know that I’m going to blame the early morning traffic.” She smiled beneath her headphones and Jerry cleared his throat with a laugh.

“And at that we shall leave Ms Anne Summers and her delectable new book The Irish Days and the up and coming Chickens with Problems to play some music. This is Jerry and Mona’s Breakfast on 109.4.”

The ON AIR sign was switched off and I pushed the microphone away.

“You two are like vultures. Thanks for picking at my bones.”

“Thanks for playing along with the quick comebacks. Not everyone is that fast.”

I smiled and stood as Mona brought in the producer for a couple of promo shots before I left to go get devoured by the next radio sharks.

****

Those jerks! They bloody backed her into a corner and I really wanted to hear what she said. Kinda. What kinda answer was kinda? She kinda has a man in her life. I would show the bint how much of a man I was tonight.

God, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I dreamt about her during the lecture on famous incestuous relationships within modern literature. I had fallen asleep as the PHD student talked. My gut churned at the thought of seeing her again tonight. My breath hitched, stuck in the back of my throat.

“Oi, mate, wake up. You got to get to your great books class.”

I groaned and tried to shake her out of my thoughts. I needed to focus on Dickens. The damn tutor for the classical literature class was making jokes as I trudged into the room only to groan again. The only seat left was beside a ditz of a thing, Harmony. There was no way she even knew what classical literature was, let alone get into university.

“Have you read this book? I don’t understand what it’s all about. What’s an expectation and what’s a pip?”

“God, you’re bloody useless, woman.”

She smiled and moved her skirt a little further up her leg. I ignored her and watched as the tutor scribbled notes on the whiteboard.

I knew I was asleep as soon as Harmony shook me away from delicious thoughts of eating pudding off of Buffy’s stomach. I mumbled and told the bint to leave me to my spotted dick.

“Eww, Spike. And you were moaning.”

I instantly sat up and the class around me laughed.

Thankfully, my next class was cancelled. I stepped onto the bus, vaguely hoping that she would be sitting there but instead was my worse nightmare.

“Hi Spike! Have you seen the latest Doctor Who Episode?”

Damn Ripper for inviting the little snot Andrew over that first day we moved into our apartment.

I sat down and put my headphones in but he persisted.

“The Ood were terrifying. But I think, and so do several people on my Doctor Who Forum that I moderate, like I check it every couple of hours. Well every hour if I can, which I normally can do. Anyway, we think that it has to do with Rose. I can’t believe I saw Rose! She just disappeared. But of course we all knew she was coming back from the spoilers on the net. Geez, some British people just can’t keep their mouths shut.”

I looked at him with as much vehemence as my eyes could hold.

“Oh,” he paused. “The new Star Trek comics are awesome! I can’t wait for the next manga by Wil Wheaton. ”

“Sorry Spock, I don’t speak loser.”

We walked back to the apartment building from the bus stop. I blocked out Andrew’s buzzing about a party when I finally got to my door, going inside without a further word to the nimrod. I took one look at her picture and fell asleep, thinking of Buffy as I drifted off. Later, I’d realise that I should have listened to Andrew as we were walking home. The buzz kill knew something about Buffy that I didn’t.

Chapter Six: Party Moves

I squirmed into my bed covers and pillows. The lights were off, my pyjamas were sushied and the Fight Club DVD was ready to start. I love Fight Club ridiculously but I can never decide whether I love the novel or the film. Tonight I decided to get away from the literary world, and the rest of the world, and enjoy some blood and gore. When I got home I saw that Faith had pushed the sofa and coffee table against the wall and brought her stereo out of her room. I groaned, knowing it meant party.

“Hey B, how ’bout you go and get some food. Like dips and stuff.”

“I take it a shindig is going to take place?”

“Well it certainly ain’t a gathering with brie.”

I huffed and did as she bid, grabbing party hors d’oeuvres and a massive block of chocolate. Willow and I spent all day apart, trying to get my big damn book finished, only to be interrupted every two hours by Cordelia with papers and notes from Angel. I don’t know whether he was trying to drive me crazy but it was working. I don’t know why he was taking special interest in this book but I was ready to kick his head off.

I heard the intercom buzz and looked over at my door to make sure it was firmly shut. I didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, not even my sister and her stupid best friend who I knew Xander would have invited. I couldn’t deal with anyone. Not after today. I wore my shiny black closed-toe leather pumps and they blistered my stockinged feet horribly. And my periods were due any day now.

Tyler flickered on screen as Marla was walking away with Jack looking on and I heard a knock on my door. I licked the chocolate off my fingers as I opened the door. Surprise of my life, standing there was William in a smouldering black duster that hung loosely off his shoulders and his eyes narrowed with lust.

“Hi love.” He said huskily.

“Get out!” I shrieked and tried to cover my pjs with my tiny hands.

“That would have sounded more commanding if you weren’t wearing sushi.” The huskiness didn’t stop, lust pulsing through each word.

“Would you rather I wear chocolate?” I had really never been so forward but I couldn’t stop myself. I slowly placed my last chocolate covered finger between my lips and sucked my digit into my mouth. I let my tongue and lips suck the finger in and out as I watched his riveted eyes directed at my mouth.

His chest was moving up and down and I knew what I wanted. I went to pull him inside my room when Dawn appeared with her duckling of a best friend, Andrew.

“Hey sis, who’s this? About to have hot kinky sex?”

I groaned. “Dawn, why are you here? Why are you at my apartment?”

“Xander invited me.”

“Hi Spike!”

I looked at the nimrod beside Dawn. “Wha-who?”

****

She was sucking her delicate fingers when she opened the door and my brain went on holiday.

I left Ripper glowering in a corner and started searching for her as soon as we arrived. The tosser was grumpy ’cause I dragged him to the party, something about it being ritual evening. I pulled the Desoto outside the apartment building and felt a little apprehensive. Buffy obviously lived in the better half of our suburb, the inside gardens and incandescents lighting the purple slated corridors. Red was at the door with a blonde woman when Ripper and I sprinted up to the glass.

“Hi! This is Tara. You here for the party? Come on, we’ll take you up.”

When I saw the neat little apartment Buffy lived in I choked. Red vinyl lounge chair, red kidney dinner table, Ikea white chairs and coffee table with additional breakfast stools along the marbled counter top of the kitchen bench. It was like a catalogue.

I went in search for her, finding the bathroom and a junk filled bedroom until I knocked on her door. That chocolate-covered finger made me absolutely bug shagging crazy. That crazy feeling only intensified when her cute little face of confusion appeared when Spock called me Spike.

“Waitaminute…you’re Spike?”

The nibblet next to Andrew giggled at Buffy and tried to pull her out of her bedroom.

“Come on Buffy, come into the party.” The brunette girl pleaded.

“I’m not dressed.” She looked at my smirk and quickly amended. “I’m not dressed for a party.”

“Well then get dressed, there’s someone out here who wants to see you.”

Buffy sighed and then remembered I was standing in her doorway. A gorgeous blush stained her cheeks.

“That’s my sister, Dawn. And her best friend – wait how do you know Andrew? And why are you Spike? That’s just,” her face scrunched up adorably, “ick.”

I hadn’t moved, one arm outstretched and pressed against the frame while legs were crossed at my ankles.

“Ick, love? There’s a reason behind that nickname.” She blushed at my heavily accented words.

“No, I mean, I want to be spiked. But Dawn has had a crush on you forever!” Her cheekiness at the start of the sentence was lost as disgust filled her voice. I chuckled and she looked down. She squeaked again when she saw her attire.

She slammed the door in my face.

I sighed and walked back into the group of people in the living room to let her change her clothes, only to run into the great Poof.

“Hi Angel. Where’s boyfriend what’s-his-height?”

“Who?” He growled, about as happy to see me as I was to see him.

“Beefy man from the Lesbian Society you were hanging out with? You two not an item? Or is he just like me, another charity case, like that benefit in London for the Ray Charles Brigade?”

“I told you, I had nothing to do with Dru. I’m sorry, I really am.” He had the stones to sound sincere. I was ready to take his face off. Buffy’s lil’ sis was passing with a tray of munchies and I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing it off her and smashing it into Angel’s mocking face. And Buffy had caught it all.

****


I didn’t believe it. My interfering boss had hot sauce dripping off his gelled hair onto my carpet and my guy had a look of intense loathing plastered on his alabaster face that turned me on more than I could describe. So I did the only thing my brain could produce. I pulled Spike into my bedroom.

He growled; the sound so animal it made my heart speed up. He backed me up against my closed door.

“I want you. No I need you. I need to taste you.”

I let him, laying my hands on those gorgeous cheeks and bringing his face swiftly to mine. His lips kissed with such force and desire that I felt half my body freeze up. He must have felt my stillness as he rubbed his long fingers up and down my arms, up and down my sides, and up and down my breasts. My whole torso was frozen. But my legs caught on fire. And the fire began to creep up, through my stomach, behind the valley of my breasts and up my throat. I gasped for air, not realising I had started panting when his lips tore away from mine. I opened my eyes to see his blue diamonds eyeing my crotch.

“I need to taste you,” he repeated.

I knew I would let him do whatever he wanted.

The skirt I had pulled on was quickly dropped to the floor and my briefs thrown away. His hands never stopped moving up and down my torso.

“Move apart a bit, love.”

I complied and watched as his naughty tongue ran around his lips. Hmm, Spike lips. Lips of Spike. My mind took off for a minute until his mouth came into contact with my bare flesh. The fire that had caught up my legs wrapped around my waist.

His fingers pushed inside. I sighed at the contact but it wasn’t enough. He seemed to know exactly what I needed as his tongue licked around his fingers until finding the little pleasure spot. My insides swelled and shrunk in swift succession as his fingers moved quickly and his breath danced across my susceptible skin. The fire had burnt through my all of my limbs and I was just on the verge of combustion when he bit down. And I was gone. Flying. My brain left and my mouth opened and screamed words I had trouble understanding.

“ORDER IT FROM ZANZIBAR!” Spike immediately looked up in surprise.

I couldn’t believe that those words flew out of my mouth. And at that volume. Tenacious D did not have the right to belong in any part of my brain capacity, especially at this moment.

I only remembered the party taking place behind the door I was plastered against when fits of laughter came through the walls.

Chapter Seven: Late Favours

What the hell did that mean? Order what from Zanzibar?

The bint was insane. Hell, I knew that already from her books but, who really puts those words in a sentence let alone scream out when they’re coming all over my fingers and in my mouth? Oh god, she tasted so good.

I stood, letting my wet fingers trace around my lips before I copied her earlier actions and slid them into my mouth.

But she wasn’t watching. I didn’t care; I licked her off my fingers until all I could taste was—

A strawberry lollypop? She stuck a strawberry lollypop into my chops.

“Here, um, so you know, you don’t smell like…let’s just say, we were discussing lyrics, okay?”

Lyrics? I’d go along with anything she wanted except that she was refusing to take my outstretched hand.

“What? Am I just kinda in your apartment or should I get the hell out?”

“What? No, I mean. I just thought, maybe we could cool it.”

“Cool it? You’ve giving me the cold shoulder after I just—,”

“Hey, give me a chance to find out who wants to see me. Then we can, do the talking and stuff.”

I didn’t know what to feel, or think. Yes I did, I was bloody fuming. Did the bint just want me to be her sex bunny? Get in the room for a quick ’gasm and then cold shoulder me for the rest of the evening? I didn’t know whether or not to find Ripper, and sod off or hang around her like a whiny stalker-boy.

I followed her out of her room, her clothing now back in place, and I smoothed my hair from where she messed it up with her friggin’ clingin’ fingers. Before we walked out of her little hallway she used a glare only her pretty lil’ face could make look so pointed and menacing.

Lil’ bit had a big smile on her face when Buffy walked around her friends, whose smirks and smiles were haphazardly hid behind their hands. Angel had left to my delight and Buffy was animatedly talking to her sister. I could hear the words ‘hot monkey sex’ and ‘beach bungalow is empty’ in quick succession from the kid’s mouth before Buffy covered it with her hand.

I followed her with my eyes as she walked around the room, blushing as her friends asked her questions that she ignored as she seemed to be looking for someone. I stared at my black boots as if they were as meaningful as Proust when she looked my way. If she was looking for me, she could get stuffed. I’m not going to be her sex slave.

Who am I kidding? If I could, that would be my occupation for the rest of my life.

My eyes quickly found her again and she seemed to be getting a little frantic. I couldn’t act indifferent anymore as she became more flustered, almost yelling at her sis. God, she even looked gorgeous when she was furious. But I’m glad that glare wasn’t directed towards me anymore.

****


“Where the hell would she have gone? There is no way our mother would have left you with a bunch of drunken 25 year olds!” God, Dawn could annoy me at the best of times and right now it was at the worst. I should be glowing in aftermath with non-embarrassing words.

“You aren’t 25!” My teeth were grinding and my jaw was twitching. I was about to burst.

“Shut up, it’s a median number.”

“Whatever. She only came tonight because you haven’t been to see her in over a month. Did you try the bathroom?” I looked away so she wouldn’t see my sheepishness. I couldn’t look at William, Spike, Busboy, what ever the hell I would decide to call him that didn’t include the word Zanzibar. I wasn’t sure how I was feeling about it. ‘It’ being the intense need to jump him every second of the bloody day. Bloody? I’d hardly been around him and I was already picking up on his speech patterns. All day, I thought about the pain in my blistered feet or my headache from endless Angel requests just to get my mind off the flame that itched beneath my skin in between my thighs. So I acted forward when he appeared at my door and now…what was he thinking? What was I thinking? I was acting on impulse. Do I have feelings for him?

Dawn poked me hard in the arm, shaking me away from my thoughts. I just looked at her, perplexed. She glared at me, identical to the one I had practiced in front of the mirror during my teens. She wanted an answer.

“The bathroom door was closed.”

“For an award winning novelist, you’re really dumb.”

“Hey, the door being closed normally means smelliness.” I followed the little brat as she angrily stalked towards my shared bathroom with Faith. I could hear grunts from the other side of the door.

“See, imminent smelliness!”

“Mom, are you in there?”

I heard a hissed ‘yes’ and scrunched up my nose in fear of the incoming odour.

“Geez, what did you eat?”

Dawn, without any diplomacy, opens the door to my disgust, which very quickly quadrupled. No, I was way beyond disgusted, I was scarred.

There was Mom bending over my bathtub, her skirt bunched up at her waist and a guy who looked like he’d stolen William’s clothes and shoved a pack of cigarettes in his rolled up sleeve with his pants around his ankles, ploughing into my mother.

Dawn and I squealed in unison.

“MOM!”

Willspike came running, his face a mask of worry when I turned to see him. His mask quickly turned to horror.

“RIPPER!”

Mom let out a loud moan and twisted around to probably smother the little creep inside of her with kisses but, instead, gasped when saw us in the open doorway.

“Sorry, love, thought I locked it.” The guy William called Ripper said to Mom, her face was identical to William’s, only with a deep blush across her cheeks – the ones on her face.

“Mom. Do not move. Dawn, shut up.” She hadn’t stopped squealing. Then all I could do was gulp air down my throat. Ripper went to pull out, so I pulled the bathroom door shut only to hear a thud behind me. William was on the floor, unconscious.

****


I woke up with a start when water splashed down on my face.

“I hope that ain’t from the bathtub.” I mumbled and dimly heard Ripper chuckle.

“Spike, are you okay?” The lil’ bit was hovering over my face.

“Yeah, Nibblet. What happened?”

“You fainted, old mate!”

I shot a poison look at Ripper.

“You. Don’t speak. I saw enough of you tonight for the rest of our lives. And who’s the chit?”

I was too fuzzy to realise I had contradicted myself. Ripper couldn’t answer because Buffy came to join in the ‘hover over Spike’ game. Dawn, seeing I was fine, walked away muttering ‘eww, eww, eww’ under her breath.

“Can you not do that, love? I’m so dizzy there are six of you.” Buffy giggled and then grasped my hand. My body flared at her touch, the haze subsiding as I looked into her eyes.

A throat cleared.

The woman Ripper was giving what-for looked over Buffy’s shoulder.

“Is this young man alright?”

“Yeah, Spike’s fine. I just kinda broke our promise that he’d never have to see my stones again.”

“Shut it, Rupert.” I growled.

“I know the origin of Ripper’s nickname,” the blush that stained the older woman’s cheeks deepened. “But what does Spike mean?”

“Well, this lass I knew liked…situations…she was a bit, off with the birds, and she liked Chaucer role playing…let’s just say the Miller’s Tale was her particular favourite.” Buffy winced. But not before placing a hand on my chest to stop me from continuing.

“Spike, this is my mother, Joyce.” That gorgeous glare was on her face again. God, it made me hot. I had to try to surreptitiously bring my duster across my groin.

Surreptitiously didn’t work. Ripper chuckled again.

Her hand burned into mine. It wasn’t lust. Her eyes were covered with concern. Couldn’t be just lust. If it was just lust, why was I feeling strong enough to take on my past just ’cause she’s holding me?

“Spike’s my…friend.” As soon as she said those words I angrily shook my head away from those thoughts. The silly thoughts of more-than-lust were probably caused by the haziness of concussion. She grabbed my other hand to pull off the floor.

“Let’s get you into my bedroom.”

Oh so that was it. I really was just her fuck buddy. I tried to push her off me.

I grabbed Ripper by the jacket and began to stagger towards the front door.

“Where are you going?”

I didn’t hear the hurt in her voice. The party noises were creeping through my foggy brain and her melodious words hardly registered.

“Away from this freak show.” I couldn’t look at her. I didn’t know what I was saying.

“But, I was just trying to help.” She said barely above a whisper.

“Don’t do me any favours, love.”

Chapter Eight: Swords Play

Freakin' males who don’t call you after you worry about them because they get a concussion from seeing my mother and his best friend going at it over my bathtub in my bathroom when he could just pick up the phone and tell me at least he’s all right and his stupid friend isn’t—

“Ah, Buffy? We’re going to be over in court C.”

I nodded distractedly to the boys. They had fear in their eyes.


Well, I was holding a broadsword.

I love Saturdays. I always hate when I’m on a book tour and I can’t make it to Saturday afternoons at the Museum. The medieval festival in winter always brought large crowds, many of whom wanted to know how to wield the swords. And I just happened to be awesome with the weaponry.

Not many people knew, but other than my award winning uppity literature, I also wrote fantasy novels. I always used them as a means of escape when no one was looking back when I was in high school. They are the reasons I became friends with Willow. She saw me sneaking a read in Chem and she exclaimed, “Ohmygod! That’s my favourite book in the Holly Spell series!”

I even had a different publisher. Only the taxers and Willow knew of my other writing.

I swung the sword through the air, meeting only a little resistance as the drag pulled through against my shoulders and the right side of the blade.

I had just been so angry at him. Blowing off my concern. And Angel, I really could behead him now. One more note and I’ll bring this broadsword to work to get rid of that stupid hair.

The students of the first Saturday lesson I held at the Medieval Museum slowly drifted out of the little practice courts as the class ended. I re-sheathed the blade and went off to find the old Curator and his wife. Dr Gregory had taught me basic swordplay when I was in high school. He even found me another instructor when he could teach me no more. In return, I willingly agreed to give children and adults classes every Saturday afternoon. The Museum was only an hour’s drive up the motorway from the city, and it gave me a chance to see green rather than the god awful grey concrete tombstones of office buildings.

I had finished eating my lunch with the Gregory’s in the cool air-conditioning and walked back out to the practice court for the adult class.

I was ready to put my advanced students through their paces because I felt the need for a bit of a fight. I sighed, that wouldn’t happen this weekend. Dr Gregory told me I’d have a few new students so in this session I’d be babysitting instead of working off my anger.

My anger that only intensified when I heard a very familiar British voice say, “Ready for a rough and tumble?”

****


So this is why Andrew was talking so excitedly about fencing classes at the museum. His crush on Buffy would have been funny if I wasn’t so mad at her. The anger wouldn’t last. Mainly because I turned around to see her holding that massive bit of medieval metal and my pants hoisted sail.

My sweats weren’t ready to see her with her hair pulled back and her breasts snug behind the training bra and her tiny shorts where her long legs languorously moved towards me.

I gulped very audibly, trying to remember why I was angry at her. How the hell could I be angry when—,

“Hey, that’s cheating!” Her sabre hung precariously close to my groin.

“What are you doing here, Spike?”

The rest of the class was looking at us in amusement; amusement at my expense because three seconds ago I was challenging a git to a duel and now my jewels were being challenged.

“Heard Andrew mention a museum with fencing classes. Thought I’d swing by for a bout.”

“Did you really think you could take me? Did Andrew tell you how many years I’ve been fencing?” She said with a scowl across her brow so cute I just wanted to lick it off.

“Didn’t know it was you doing the classes. Otherwise I wouldn’t have come, love.”

“So you are avoiding me?” Her scowl deepened and I remembered the sharp blade against my thigh. “What the hell is your problem? You…do what you did…and then you get angry when I try to help you when you are barely conscious and I’m not your love.”

“Well you have stupid hair.” The git I was challenging sniggered and Buffy threw her gorgeous glare in his direction. She motioned for them to pair up and begin the warm up before she turned back to me, her pretty little nose stuck up in the air.

“That was not an answer. So are you any good at this?”

“Being poked in my goodies by a big metal stick? Not really. But I can wield a mighty sword.” Bloody Zeus Almighty, I did not say that aloud. No matter how hard I wanted to take her against the padded floor I was not going to settle for no returned affections.

She finally moved the blade away from my package and walked over to her little armoury table. I didn’t move.

She walked back with identical epees in her hands. I darted forward to catch the blade she had tossed into the air. Her surprise shone past the anger that had been firmly implanted on her face.

“I’m good, think you can handle me?”

“I’ve been fencing longer.”

“Doubt it. English poncy school system. Started when I was a kid.”

“I’m older.” She lunged forward after thrusting her blade outward towards

“Not by much.”

At first the parries and thrusts that tanged with the sounds of the metal touching together ringed across our court. I bit down, the bittersweet blood dripping from my lip to tinge the air between us. She was much faster than I thought possible.

The epees bended and twisted with our bodies as if we were dancing the courtly dances of the Mother Country with poise and grace. That is until I moved too close as I lunged forward before thrusting the epee and her sword came nipping down to slash towards my groin, again.

“Hey, watch it love, you almost lopped off my jigglies.”

****


I watched him tuck his elbows in and renew his attack. He was good. Beyond good, but I was better. Even if he had been training since he was a kid, he hadn’t been training recently. He forgot to place his feet back before he initiated a thrust and obviously became distracted when trying to pointedly focus on my body to get back into our rhythmic parries because he just ogled my boobs.

I took the chance. I calculatedly swished the blade and it came dangerously close to his neck. I looked down into his eyes. His blue diamonds shone strangely with a light I couldn’t touch or even begin to copy. All my frustrations were gone…well all my emotional frustrations.

“So, are we all good now?” I forgot my blade was against his throat as my breasts heaved up and down taking in anticipatory air.

He had the sincerity to gulp. “Yes, ma’am.”

I smiled brightly, my epee not moving an inch. “So, do you want to come out to lunch tomorrow?”

“Like a date?” His diamonds shattered into happiness that rebounded across his face, his beautiful lips breaking into a massive grin. “Like you want to date me?”

God, if he hadn’t looked so happy I would have pressed the epee into his skin to stop him from being so damn frustrating.

“Yes, as in William Pratt will you date me?”

“Sorry, love—,”

I had had enough. I pressed the tip right against his jugular and very gently moved the metal down his throat.

I had discarded the safety rubber tips before I handed over his sword. I kept my weapons spotless and in perfect condition. It was deadly sharp. And it cut into his skin.

I flicked my blade quickly under his, which hung loosely from his hand, and didn’t bother to watch the swords fly through the air. I leaned in, my tongue itching to taste his lips but the trickle of blood traipsing down his tender neck was too enticing to ignore. My lips touched his skin and a flurry of tremors moved down his body, the epicentre twitching under my mouth. I licked the nicks I had created with my sword and lapped up the blood.

“William Pratt, you will date me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

His submission made my panties wet and I brought my mouth up to the shell of his ear.

“Meet me at Callori for lunch, 1pm.”

I could see his shaking hand snap away from his side and begin to snake up towards my ass.

I quickly stepped out of his reach and ignored him as best as I could so I could actually teach my class. The look on his face before I turned away was so god damned hot I knew I’d have to restrain myself at lunch. Oh yeah, he wanted me. But I knew we’d have to keep our pants on until we had a proper conversation. And I knew just how to make that happen.

Chapter Nine: Strong Mussels

The cobbles felt normal beneath my bare feet, my mind happily humming away thoughts about seeing Spike in a few hours. I stepped up onto my bus, my cute little skirt flowing around my knees and my sweater hugging tight and appropriate. I left my hair down, eager to have Spike’s fingers wrap my locks around his hands. I looked perfect for meeting with Tara and some execs at the expensive restaurant.

Only when I sat on the vinyl bus seat and went to cross my legs did I realise that I was barefoot. And the bus was already zooming along the road. Damn, the only thing I could do was buy a pair. And I thought today was going to go so well.

Humming, I couldn’t help but be happy as the bus made its way into the city and across the sturdy bridge to the other side of the river where parade grounds, gardens and restaurants littered the bank. Street performers were everywhere and the people happily walked about casually. The faux beach was beset with children and teenagers; the pools filled with people and lifeguards strolled around the grounds.

I realised why there were so many people when I came to the centre of the entertainment precinct. It was Sunday and the markets were on. Thank god for vintage shoe sellers. All I could find was strange novelty footwear until a little stall where I picked out a pair of, what I thought were the less hideous, blue slips until I realised I looked like a moron. I had spent too much time looking at the shoes so I quickly grabbed the pair next to the blue and decided that they were best chosen now or never. I later wished it were never.

I arrived at Callori at twelve; ready for my meeting with Tara and whoever it was this time. She sat at the table with a shy brunette girl in big glasses and the cute redheaded man next to her. I vaguely remembered him from somewhere.

“Hey, Buffy! This is Winifred Burkle and Daniel Osborne. Fred, Oz, this is Buffy Summers.”

“Hi Buffy, we’re here to discuss your contract with Magicbox Publications. How are you today?” The timid Fred spoke so clearly and passionately and a little bit fast I had to stop and think for a second. I plopped down in the empty seat.

“I had such a mental deficiency today. I forgot to wear shoes.”

“There are shoes on your feet.” The man called Oz said stoically.

“These are new shoes. Well, old new shoes. Vintage! Have I met you before?”

“He was at the Writers’ Festival Dinner. Why don’t we discuss some business?” Tara moved to pull out papers from her briefcase as Fred went to do the same.

We talked for twenty minutes, discussing the details for my next fantasy trilogy contract although I barely partook in conversation. Tara would look at me with every little moan and gasp that flew out of my mouth as the wretched vintage slips I had bought broke my days-old ugly blisters open again. I quietly sighed as I slipped my feet out of the shoes under the table. We were crossing the last t’s and dotting those damn i’s when I felt a hand on my shoulder and a familiar smoky leather smell pull a chair away from another table.

“Hi, love, where’s your shoes?”

****

God, her blush was gorgeous. I arrived half an hour early. Yeah, I knew it, too bloody eager. But I couldn’t wait to see her. When I saw those naked slender legs dallying about beneath the table I had to touch them.

She shivered under my hand and made quick introductions. She whispered an apology in my ear about our date being interrupted by her meeting but I brushed her words away with a sweep of my hand through the air.

“Love, I’m early. And I would love to have lunch with these distinguished literary types.” My other hand played with the delicious skin above her knee.

She smiled and turned to watch her agent talk to the executives. Drinks were ordered and Buffy’s smile grew wider as my hand inched its way up her thigh. The mousey-haired executive and my girl’s agent were back to looking over papers so I turned to Buffy.

“Why do you fence?” I couldn’t hold in the question ’cause she was just too gorgeous when she moved the deadly steel that broke my skin. I needed to see her do that again, to lick my life away from my neck, possibly every day of the bloody year.

“I took it up in school because I loved fantasy books and all the heroes were swordsmen and women. And plus, I went into fantasy writing and it totally helped my woeful description.” Fantasy writing? The chit was doing epics and I didn’t know it?

“Really, I don’t remember seeing Anne Summers fantasy works.”

Her lips grasped to the glass, her top lip lingering over the precipice of the flute, clinging at the droplets that the tinkled down inside. I took a sip of my own drink to try and settle my hazardous breathing and thumping heartbeat. All I could think of was those dangerous lips enveloping my own; enflaming the burn inside of me and extinguishing thoughts of everything and everyone but her.

“I write under the pen name Bianca Springs.” I almost jumped out of my skin and dropped my drink.

“Bug shagging bloody bollocks. You are my two favourite writers!” She blushed and I caught the amused grin Tara directed our way.

The waitress appeared and handed out menus before whispering to Buffy, “Ma’am, management has asked me to ask you to put your shoes back on. We have a strict shoe policy.” Buffy’s blush was awesomely crimson and I looked at her supple legs as she slipped her feet back into her shoes. She looked up and I quickly picked up a menu and glanced at it.

Fuck, I couldn’t read a bloody word. I searched around my pockets but they weren’t anywhere to be found.

I forgot my sodding glasses.

The waitress returned as I searched my pockets. She took the others’ orders and stared at me impatiently. I panicked.

“Um, that one thanks, love,” I said pointing to the menu before shoving it into her hands. She stalked away with her nose in the air and I felt an impending doom settle on my shoulders. Buffy quizzically looked at me with a small tilt of her head.

“You hardly looked at the menu. Knew what you wanted?”

I nodded at Buffy’s question and hoped like hell it would be edible.

****

His eyes were as wide as saucers but I couldn’t figure out why he looked so horrified. The meals had been brought out to the table and Spike’s Yellow Curried Mussels floated in front of him. He lifted the spoon to his lips, the horror never leaving his face. When the soupy concoction entered his throat he sighed with relief. I watched as he cautiously spooned the juice between his lips, not once touching the pallid meat in the bowl. His eyes flicked to mine and quickly picked up the mussel in his spoon and shoved the mussel in his mouth. His eyes bulged and I watched as he forced the lump down past his Adam’s apple.

He watched me watching and spooned more juice.

I turned to my own meal of lasagne and made small talk before vomit spewed all over the table. Spike coughed and coughed and whatever he’d eaten earlier drenched the napkins and plates. Tara, Fred and Oz immediately moved back from the table and I tried to smooth Spike’s head as he heaved.

“Come on, sweetie, its okay.” Except it wasn’t. He wasn’t breathing. He was choking on the big lump of meat.

“Does someone know the Heimlich?” I screamed at the staring restaurant goers. I was hysterical. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. And there was vomit on my beautiful cashmere sweater.

Fred moved me away from Spike and grabbed him from behind. She pounded on his chest until his mouth opened. The piece of mussel flew out and collided with Oz’s forehead, allowing the rest of the vomit the right to leave.

“Muscle blockage” Oz nodded knowingly.

Spike somehow managed to blush and apologised before Oz herded him into the men’s bathroom. The manager arrived and I began apologising profusely. There was a whole lot of sorrys going about and a hefty amount of money exchanging hands.

Spike returned and had the most sheepish look plastered on his ashen face. I melted when his look of gratitude stained his cheeks once I shot him a reassuring smile.

“Let’s get you out of here, you big bad scene-maker.”

“Yeah, I’m the Big Bad.” He said weakly and allowed me to help him out into the fresh air. We walked along the river esplanade, the bright breeze bouncing off of the water and wafting through my hair he now held tightly against the back of my neck. I sighed, happy to be in his arms. Unfortunately, the day’s events weren’t over.

Chapter Ten: River Cruise

The catamarans were the quickest way home. She promised to help me right up to my front door. The chit, in her pretty little soiled sweater and uncomfortable shoes held onto me like I was a life raft. I was bleedin’ basking in her tight little hold on my hip. I didn’t want this little walk to end even though I smelt like mutilated feral cat meat in a pastry dish that was three days out of use by date. My arm curled around her shoulders as we walked towards the ferry terminal.

“Why can’t we catch a bus again?”

“I’m so stinky the driver would just throw me off.”

I chuckled as she hid her little blush into my shoulder before she angrily pulled her twitching nose away from my body.

“I never blush! What the hell have you done to me? I’ve turned into this stupid blush monster.”

“You are hardly a monster.” I let one hand rub her face and she blushed again.

“You did it again! Stop it. I’m a strong second-generation feminist and I do not need you to be all chivalrous-knight guy who loves from afar and writes bloody awful poetry—,”

“Hey, don’t knock my poetry before you’ve read it.”

The dangerous look she shot up at me told me she didn’t believe I was one with the Plath. I would have been indignant if I had the energy to argue.

Buffy mumbled about my tendency to interrupt while she was talking. So I gather the gall to start the mock fight cause she wasn’t kidding anyone, this bantering was just foreplay.

“Yeah, you’re right they are bloody awful. But just cause I have feelings for you doesn’t mean I’m going to be all—,”

“So you do have feelings for me.”

“Who’s butting in now?”

I knew we had to talk. We needed to get the misunderstandings out in the open so they weren’t misunderstood anymore. I needed to tell her why I stormed out. I needed to talk to her about my bloody insecurities. That conversation was going to be hell. It could wait till we got home. Best just to act casual for the snuggles, at least that was what I was telling myself. But then I went and opened my mouth.

“I’m not a sex bunny.” She threw me for a loop, I had tried to stop my wayward thoughts and was back to basking in her arms and yet I just had to stick my foot in it.

“WHAT?” She looked up at me in surprise.

“Like, I thought that’s all you wanted me for, being your sex kitten. But I want more and I thought you were just trying to get me into bed and…”

So our incoming chat wouldn’t include my knowledge of the little-to-no self control I’d have once I’d have neared her bed.

“Wait, so you go down on me then run off?” She shook her head and grasped one hand to my shirt, the vomit ignored. “Never mind that, of course I want you to be my sexual poodle. But hasn’t anyone explained to you that lots of women kind of think that with frequent sex comes commitment?”

A small epiphany from the mouth of a goddess. And I was reassured, though never completely free of my reservations.

Buffy snuggled into my chest, the dried vomit on her sweater scratching against my dried vomit on my red shirt.

I began to softly sing a Beatles favourite of mine as we reached the catamaran terminal.

“She’s the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry. Still you don’t regret a single day. Oh, girl, girl.” I didn’t sing past the first chorus, afraid I’d receive a large thump in the chest if I continued.

We boarded the boat while I refuted her question over my ability at vomiting, promising I did not get sea sick, though staying in the fresh air on the back deck placate her. I grabbed her around the waist, pressed myself into her back, my arms fencing her against the starboard, and kissed her neck to stop her protests.

“Hey, at least I didn’t press you against the sea cock.” I didn’t overlook the smile plastered across her face.



****



I know it was silly, but I wanted to do it and the catamaran attendants were all up the front near the captain’s cabin trying to figure out what to tell the passengers why we were stuck in the middle of the sparkling river.

“Come on. Let’s pretend we’re on the Titanic.”

“Why, you have a frozen death wish, love?”

“It’s all romantic like, you’ll be Leo and I’ll be Kate.”

“What if I want to be Kate?” I slapped at his chest, carefully missing the gross, stinky vomit stains and stood up on the back railing of the Citycat.

The wind whipped at my loose hair, the ferry speeding up and the wind roaring as the river bended. Spike placed his hand on my shoulder to turn me around, the look in his eyes made me light-headed. I couldn’t place what emotion was shinning in those sparkling orbs but I knew it was going to be of the good.

“Come on, I really want to do this with you. I trust you to hold me.”

He relented.

I climbed over the railing and he instantly stepped forward to grab me around the waist. The look on his face was telling me I was insane. But I needed to know whether I truly trusted him.

I spread my arms out like Christ and he stood firmly behind me, letting my head lean against his strong shoulders. Yep, I was insane.

The wind rushed from behind us and flew into my mouth and through my head.

“I feel like I’m flying,” I shouted at his delicious face that was trying to stop a smirk at the edges of his lips. The lips began to move but then the fatal happened.

A seagull flew into my head. Right into the middle of my damn forehead. What the hell are the local birds eating? Someone had to be feeding them dumb pills. What ever pills it was, it made for slippery stool landing on my completely trashed sweater. I grimaced at the white crap, reminding me of the spouting hydrant-like spurt of my ex’s cum. Stupid Billy Fordham’s explosive cum.

My foot slipped and I started to fall forward but Spike turned me around to stop the fall.

“I’m not going to let you fall.” He told me as beneath me, my legs failed. My last thought as I grabbed at his shoulders was ‘Oh Fuck’ when instead of steadying our balance, we toppled over the rail. Spike squealed like a girl as we belly flopped into the dank river.



****



I sneaked another cuddle under the thick grey blanket the fireman had handed us as we sped across the bridge, sirens blaring. The cabin of the fire truck wasn’t exactly warm to our sopping lank rat chic.

“Life with you is like an adventure movie.” I said to her hair, my lips gently brushing the locks that were now beyond damp and dirty.

“More like a romantic comedy.”

I jokingly shuddered but she only held me tighter.

The rescue crew had quickly been called to fish us out of the river; a symphony of sirens serenading the river bank shortly after Buffy squealed her terror.

“Will, I can’t swim.” She said between soppy screams.

“If you be quiet for a second I might teach you.”

“You can’t teach me just before we’re about to drown!” She snapped.

“We aren’t going to drown. You yelled loud enough for the whole city to hear you. Someone will come pop across in their little yacht and put us back on firm land.”

She clung to me like I was a log until the sea rescue boat picked us up.

The firewoman who drove the truck hurtling us towards my apartment turned to watch us huddle together.

“You two have had orgasms together in the water before, yes?”

Buffy looked at her in horror. My hand crept up towards her lacy bra clad breasts that peaked through the wet cloth. But Buffy’s shocked face prompted me to action.

“Um, so, why’d you choose to be a fire fighter..uh...” I said, attempting to deflect the previous question and realising I didn’t know her name. Buffy horror did not need to be on the menu after all that happened today.

“Anya,” she answered and continued, “There is no other profession that guarantees gorgeous men.” Her tone was so matter-of-factly that it garnered no argument.

“Though, I have failed to form a cohesive relationship with satisfactory pleasuring. Have you got a brother?”

I chuckled and Buffy’s famous glare was instantly directed towards the woman who was barely watching the road. I think at several times during the drive we hit the curb. A fire engine crash wouldn’t be a surprise after today’s events.

“No, but Buffy here could hook you up with the whelp.”

“What’s a whelp? Is it satisfactory in pleasuring?”

Buffy’s grip on my body hardened and I whispered to her to hand over Xander’s phone number.

The fire engine finally pulled through the city traffic and arrived in semi-suburbia of the tall converted brick warehouse apartments and roared down towards my flat.

We climbed down from the truck like the abysmal wet rodents we were and crawled into my flat underneath the scratchy grey cloth but not before saying goodbye to Anya. I didn’t think for one second about the chat I had been unconsciously planning.

Her eyes were almost closed as we made our way up the stairs. My mind was almost only on holding Buffy close until I had to reach around for my keys which managed to stay in my duster during our dunk in the damn river. My eyelids dipped shut before turning the lock.

I opened the door and instantly went back into her arms. I trailed her into my little bathroom, her eyes not opening. I stripped off the overly soiled clothing from both of our bodies and sponged at her beautiful skin. My cock was too slimy with river gunk to do anything about our nakedness, which I never thought possible.

She sighed, half asleep as I towelled her dry. She snuggled into my embrace and I moved us into my bedroom. Even though I was utterly, physically wrecked from the expunging of my guts and the disgusting dunk of grubby river, I savoured each and every snuggle. Though I was too tired to do more than lay down beside her, I remembered having Buffy’s photo tacked onto my wall. I tucked her into my bed, and then quickly pulled down her pretty, smiling picture.

I pulled her body close after I climbed in under the covers. There was no way I regretted the events of the day otherwise I wouldn’t be holding her warming, naked body to mine. I was still as ‘dead fish’ as I was a moment ago. Smiling happily, I followed her into deep sleep that I’d only awake from when I heard my mother say from my open bedroom door, “My gosh, they are very naked.”





A/N: I live in a river city in Australia and I swear I've thought about this every time I've gotten on the ferries. I also love the Beatles but I was writing this chapter with that song on and that little sentence summed up Buffy and Spike's relationship to a tee.

Here's a look at the city catamarans: Citycats
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CityCat
And the area where I live on the river: River Pic
http://i276.photobucket.com/albums/kk1/henrietta_holden/100_0291.jpg