Buffy liked the way his hair curled when it was wet.

The gel loosened its tight hold, and rebellious blonde ringlets would form at the base of his skull, above his ears, around his forehead. There was one right above his scarred eyebrow that always curled the same way, to the left, and it was the perfect size for her to slip her pointer finger inside. If she ever got the chance.

She liked the way he made fun of people. Not meanly, not cruelly, not like all the other guys at school, unless someone really pissed him off, then he had a huge temper. His teasing came with affection, his sense of humor was such that even the victim couldn’t help but laugh. She wanted to be teased by him more than anything.

She liked the way he was friends with absolutely everyone. Well, mostly everyone. He wasn’t a jock, but he partied with the football team and the cheerleaders, all the rich kids she couldn’t touch. He wasn’t a brain but he sometimes sat with Willow and Jonathan and all those guys at lunch. Mostly he hung out with the slacker types, but he was like, their god or something. Everybody wanted to be his friend. Not just her.

She liked how he was really smart when people weren’t paying attention. He never raised his hand in class but when a teacher called on him he always had the right answer, even if he’d been sleeping in the back corner. And sometimes at lunch he’d sit by himself, scribbling in that beat up black leather journal he always had tucked in his back pocket, and she just knew whatever he was writing was brilliant.

She liked the way he was stingy with his smiles. Not everyone deserved one, you know, and most people just got a smirk. She could read every emotion in those little expressions—she was sure other people missed the meaning behind them, but she could tell if he was annoyed or indulgent or teasing. Some people got these quick little grins that made her knees weak. But his full, bright, pure and happy smiles were saved for special occasions, and every time Buffy saw one it was like a burst of adrenaline. She’d feel giddy for days.

She liked the feel of his leather jacket on her bare skin. This was a brand new addition to the list of likes. It was something she discovered just last night, when she went to the movies with Xander. He was in line in front of them. She’d been hypnotized by the sound of his voice as he laughed with his friends, and didn’t even notice when one of the other guys reached out and pushed him, making some sort of joke she didn’t understand. He staggered back and his coat brushed her arm, made her shiver, then his weight shifted and he knocked her sideways.

He’d turned, and said with a real smile that she knew she’d live off of for weeks, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Those were the seventh, eighth, and ninth words he ever said to her.

The first three were in eighth grade. It was her first day of school in her new town, and she had gotten to Mr. Bledsoe’s first period math class five minutes early, even though she’d changed her outfit five times before leaving the house, and her mom’s car had threatened to die in the parking lot of their apartment building.

“This seat taken?” he’d asked, voice smooth and soft, eyes a brighter blue than she’d ever thought possible.

She’d tried to respond, really she did, but her mouth instantly dried up and her brain shut down. She had never in her life seen a more beautiful boy and right then she fell hard, taking only a few seconds to realize this was her perfect man. Finally she managed to shake her head, but by then he’d spotted one of his friends across the room, and had walked away. She stared at his back, struck dumb.

That whole year she’d watched him and wished she could go back in time, smile up at him and say, “No, have a seat. I’m Buffy, I’m new!” That desk stayed empty all year.

The fourth and fifth words were sophomore year, when the boys and girls gym classes had combined for dance lessons, which seemed to her just to be cruel and unusual punishment. Who really needed to learn to dance anyway?

They lined up on either side of the wall of the gym, boys outside, girls inside, and paired off so there wouldn’t be any childish arguing. God must have been listening for once in her life, because when she stepped up to the teacher, he was on her left.

Spike.

“Betty, right?” he’d asked, smiling that perfect smile, that smile that make her knees weak and made her heartbeat speed up and made her palms sweat.

She opened her mouth to correct him, when Harmony forced her way between them and demanded, “Switch partners with me,” face twisted in a superior smirk, skirt short enough to get herself detention.

What could she say? It’s not like she could turn down a girl who wanted to be partnered with her boyfriend. It was just very bad form, especially when the girl was Harmony, who would do anything and everything to make your life a living hell if you got in her way. So she reluctantly switched, and got stuck with Jonathan, who was even shorter than her, smelled vaguely of chicken soup and had two left feet.

The sixth word was just, “Nope.”

She’s seen a pen fall from his back pocket last month, as he sauntered down the hall, unlit cigarette dangling from his fingertips. She hated cigarettes, really she did, she was well-informed about the evils of tobacco from her grandfather’s hacking cough, but on him it was sexy. He made everything sexy.

It was the first day of her last semester of high school, and she promised herself she would talk to him. Made a plan. So she’d hurried to pick up the pen, nearly got kicked by a passing football player in the process, and ran after him down the hall.

“Did you drop this?” she asked, voice miraculously not shaking as he fixed those blue eyes on her face. Those were the first words she ever said to him.

He barely glanced at it. “Nope,” he shrugged, and disappeared into his class room, leaving her alone in the hall.

But he had, she knew he had! She’d seen it tumble to the ground and knew it was his, knew his fingers had touched it, knew his teeth had mutilated the cap until it was bumpy and jagged. So she placed it carefully in her purse and took it home, set it on the shelf above her desk, and occasionally used it to sign her name.

Mrs. Buffy Kent. Mrs. Spike Kent. Mr. and Mrs. Spike Kent.

Buffy knew it was just silly. Most seventeen-year-old girls had moved far beyond the stages of obsessive, unrequited crushes, had long since stopped signing fake names in their notebooks. But she just couldn’t help it.

~*~*~

His face across the bonfire danced in and out of the shadows.

She was a slave to the wind: waiting for it to push the flames high enough so that the light reached the curve of his cheekbones, the white of his hair.

Five minutes, and she would get up and go talk to him. That was enough time to figure out an opening line.

Well, opening word was bad enough. “Hi.” “Hey.” They both conveyed different things. “Hello”was totally out of the question, way too formal. ”Yo.” Did people even say that any more?

“Hi.” Definitely that. And then she could introduce herself—no, no, that would be assuming he didn’t know her name. He knew her name, right? He had to, five years of school together and a total of six shared classes, fifty-two minutes five times a week. He had to know.

So she could just ask if he was having fun. That could work.

“Hi, are you having fun?”

Oh, God, no. No, that sounded like she was his mother or something!

“Hi, what’s up?” That was casual, easily interpreted a few different ways. The literal, and the…not?

Maybe she needed more than five minutes.

She just still couldn’t believe she was here. When Cordelia had been paired as her lab partner in Bio, she really had thought it would be the end of the world. Queen C was friends with Harmony, who was just a total bitch overall, and she wasn’t exactly known for being the best student. Buffy was sure she’d end up having to do all the work.

But Cordelia was actually kind of…nice. Well, not nice, but not intentionally cruel either, at least not to her. They’d ended up getting an A- on their midterm project. And she’d invited her here, hadn’t she? To a spring break bonfire on a private beach. With Spike.

Who was just across the fire, maybe seven feet from her, beer lifted to his lips as his eyes danced with laughter.

She had never been to a party like this before. She wasn’t a loser, she just wasn’t…cool. No one made fun of her, which was nice, but it was almost worse that no one seemed to even know who she was. She had to tell her name to people tonight that she’d known for years. It was getting a little frustrating. But, she was here, and that was all that mattered.

Buffy saw Spike stand, and her breath caught suddenly in her throat. Heavy smoke from the fire filled her lungs and she found herself coughing harshly. Her eyes started to water and she squeezed them shut, rubbed her throat and wondered why these kinds of things always happened to her.

A hand landed on her back softly. Shocked, Buffy shifted away from the touch and opened her eyes to see Spike sitting next to her on the log, eyes narrowed with concern.

It was like something out of a dream. He had never, ever looked at her like this, touched her like this.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, voice like silk sliding over her skin. Oh, that accent made all the girls swoon, and she could feel his breath on her skin when he spoke. “Here, drink some of this.”

He held up a fresh beer. She hadn’t had any beer yet, she really didn’t like the taste, but her red cup of water was empty and she really needed something to sooth the aching in her chest.

Plus, he gave it to her. Wasn’t that reason enough?

“Thanks,” she croaked out, taking the cup from his hands. Their fingers brushed. She could not believe this was happening, and as she lifted the cup to her lips she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

The taste was as disgusting as she remembered from her cousin’s sweet sixteen last year, and she barely suppressed the urge to squeeze up her face in revulsion. But the cold liquid did help and soon she was breathing normally again, or as normally as she could with Spike Kent’s hand rubbing circles on her back, with him looking at her with an amused smirk.

Through the layers of her sweatshirt and her t-shirt underneath, his touch burned her skin.

“Drink a lot of beer, do you?” Spike asked, smirk growing.

“Was it that obvious?” replied Buffy, trying to sound casual though she could feel her cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

“Nah, I was just watching closely,” he shrugged. And she believed him. Someone called his name from down by the water, and he glanced over her shoulder, then his eyes returned to her face. “Take it slow, Buffy. Don’t have to drink as much as the rest of us idiots.”

“Spike, get the hell down here!” The voice called again.

He yelled back, “I’m coming, you bloody fucktards!” His voice was loud and made her ears ring, but she didn’t care.

He rose, and walked past her, jeans brushing against her bare knees. “Have a good night,” he said as he passed, and then he walked away.

Buffy watched him head down to the water, out of the sphere of the firelight, and the cloud covered moon barely illuminated his bright hair. Still, she stared, and when the clouds blew away he was suddenly fully visible as he stripped off his shirt, pulled down his jeans and ran after his friends into the water, letting out a whoop of excitement.

She caught a brief glimpse of his bare back, the swell of his naked ass, just for a moment before a new cloud destroyed her view, and she heard the splash of him diving under a wave. In that moment everything changed.

She no longer liked Spike Kent.

She loved him.

~*~*~

“I just don’t get it,” Xander whined, arms loaded down with dresses in a wide range of colors and an exaggerated, decidedly non-manly pout on his lips. “I thought we were doing the whole anti-prom thing. Watch horror movies where the queen gets bludgeoned, gorge ourselves on high calorie treats you’ll regret later and blame me for letting you eat. You know, have fun. Instead you’re making me spend fifty hard earned pizza delivery dollars on a tux!”

“Come on, Xand,” Buffy sighed, pulling a short white cocktail dress off the rack for perusal. “Don’t you want to have at least one memorable high-school moment? Do you really want to be the guy in five years who didn’t go to the senior prom?”

“Considering in five years I’m gonna be the guy in the cow hat at the Doublemeat Palace if I don’t pass Pre-Calc, prom will be the least of my worries.”

“Wasn’t Willow going to tutor you?”

“Yeah, she said she would. But that would cut into my lying around time, and we can’t have that.”

“What do you think of this?” Buffy held up a deep red, satin, floor-length gown, with a dangerously low back. Spike’s favorite color was red. She’d overheard him say that once in the parking lot. The price tag was half of the rent her mom paid every month, but she’d been saving for two years for something special. She hadn’t been sure what, but now she knew. She’d figured it out, late at night when she couldn’t sleep and images of pink lips and blue eyes danced in her head. He was all she thought about now, every waking moment, and she finally knew exactly what she was going to do.

She was going to go to the prom and she was going to dance with Spike.

That was it. All her grandest plans, all her wildest schemes, she knew they were all ridiculous. He would never love her back, not in a million years, but…he would dance with her. She knew he would! He knew her name, and he’d say yes.

Xander stared at the dress she held up, wide-eyed. “It’s…I mean, I prefer my women in spandex, usually, but that dress is…well…you could probably pull it off,” he finished lamely. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his eyes were glued to the floor.

“Cool.” She tossed it on the pile in his arms, suppressing a giggle at his discomfort. “To the dressing room, my eager little helper.”

“I feel so emasculated,” he muttered as he followed.

She saved that dress for last.

Buffy gauged the hotness factor of each gown by Xander’s reaction: the black knee-length one made him stutter on one word, but the sea foam green glittery halter made him catatonic. The white lace wasn’t nearly as jaw-dropping as the emerald green mini-dress.

She knew it was bad of her. Xander’s crush on her was sort of the unspoken elephant in their friendship. He knew she knew, she pretended she didn’t know, and they could continue as is: just friends. He wouldn’t dare make the move to change anything, so she could avoid the moment where she’d have to tell him it would never happen.

Things were comfortable that way. They got what they wanted from each other, and no body got hurt. Not really.

She had it down to two options before she gathered up the courage to try on the red. It was so expensive, and so out of her comfort zone, and so, so sexy…but as the silk slid over her skin, tickled at the fine hair on her thighs and caressed the sensitive skin behind her knees, she knew that this was it. This was the dress. This was the transformation she needed to get up the courage to walk up to Spike freakin’ Kent and say, “Do you want to dance with me?”

It wasn’t too low cut in the front, which was fine since it wasn’t like she had much to show off there anyway. But the back was scandalously bare, with no fabric from the nape of her neck to her lower back except for one thin satin braid that tickled her spine as she moved. It was a movie star dress.

She didn’t even need Xander’s approval, but the way his eyes bulged out of his head was merely the final confirmation. This was definitely the dress.

Shopping bags in hand, Buffy let Xander drag her to the other side of the mall, where the video game store was having some sort of special nerd-convention that he wanted to go to. Five feet away she stopped short, and Xander didn’t even notice as he ran up to the entrance and disappeared in the crowd of people.

The crowd of people that included Spike.

He was in the store, visible through the glass display cases, laughing with some guy she vaguely recognized from school. He wasn’t wearing his coat, for once, and she could see the thin muscles of his arm flexing as he gestured, as he reached up and grabbed something off a shelf. Oh, his hair was wet from the rain outside, curling just the way she liked, and she was shaking she was so nervous. Sunnydale wasn’t huge, but just her luck, she hardly ever saw him outside of school.

She could not go in there. Her throat had closed up and her palms were sweaty, the handles of her bag were slipping out of her hand, but Xander had noticed she was gone and called her name.

Spike turned. He saw her through the window. He waved. He waved.

Yeah, she really could not go in there. She wasn’t prepared! She hadn’t planned! She didn’t know her opening line and just her luck she’d end up saying something like, “Hello, are you enjoying this fine spring weather?”

God, she was a dork.

She just waved back, a jerky spastic little movement she would berate herself for later, and turned to talk to Xander, who was hovering at the entrance, clutching a brightly colored box and frowning at her.

“What’re you doing out here?” he asked.

“I…claustrophobic,” she blurted out. “Too many people in there. I’m gonna go hang at the food court, okay? Meet me when you’re done?”

He didn’t have time to protest, and she took off quickly, sparing one glance over her shoulder.

Spike had turned away.

“Do you want to go to prom with me?”

Buffy paused, eye shadow brush halfway to her face, and turned away from her mirror to look at Xander, already in his tux and sitting awkwardly on her bed.

“I thought that was established,” she joked. “I mean, we have the tickets and we’re leaving in an hour, if I ever get my hair right.”

“No, no, I know,” he said, twisting his fingers in his lap. “I know we’re going together, but I was wondering if you wanted to…go together. If you wanted to be my date.”

There was a pause. Her old stereo were blasting some extremely girly CD that Xander had made a token protest against, but she’d caught him singing along twice already. The sound quality was slightly tinny, since they weren’t such great quality, and just her luck the CD finished just then and the room was filled with nothing but the sound of static coming from the cheap pink speakers.

“Xander, I—”

“Look, I know you don’t like me like that. And that’s fine, and I’m not expecting anything not that you’d think I would expect anything or there’s anything to expect…but I was just hoping that maybe, just for tonight…” His face was red. “I’d like you to be my prom date, Buffy. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” she heard herself saying, and from the way his face lit up she knew it was the right answer. She felt instantly better, actually, knowing that she officially had a date. She wasn’t going alone.

Spike was taking Harmony Kendall. Why, she could not understand for the life of her! Especially after their drama filled affair sophomore year, which ended with the skank totally cheating on him for the whole world to see in the back alley behind the Bronze. Not that Buffy saw, she wasn’t there, but she definitely heard about it later. And now he’d asked her to prom? Didn’t he know he could do so much better?

Xander had returned to the comic book he was reading, and Buffy returned to her make-up.

Just a few hours, and she’d be in Spike’s arms.

Hopefully.

~*~*~

Luckily, Xander was not the most attentive date.

He was off with Oz and Devon in the back alley, even though he didn’t even smoke. Buffy had seen how happy he’d been when they invited him to go, like she knew she had looked when Cordelia had invited her to that party, so she didn’t mind being left alone. Besides, it meant she could start putting her plan in motion.

Spike was to her left, perched on the edge of one of the tables circling the dance floor. His tux was all black, to be expected: black jacket and pants, black shirt, black tie. But a little red flower peeked out from his jacket pocket.

Harmony wasn’t wearing red. She was wearing pink.

First, Buffy made her way casually in that direction, and didn’t even look over at where he was cracking jokes with the lacrosse team. She poured a glass of disgustingly sugary lemonade, and turned towards the dance floor, scanning it for potential threats. Like, Harmony, for example. Or any of her little minions who might interrupt the second she tried to say anything to Spike.

But none of them were to be seen. Rumor had it they were holed up in the bathroom after pre-partying a little too hard, trying to fix their makeup after vodka-induced vomiting sessions. Secretly Buffy hoped one of the chaperones would find out and kick them all out.

But if that happened, Spike might go too, which meant she had to make her move right now.

The lacrosse guys had disappeared, and he was alone, sipping on a glass of water, staring out at the dance floor in the same way that she was pretending to. His jacket was off, sleeves pushed up…Lord, he was pretty.

Suddenly her eyes were filled with blue. He had caught her looking, was staring straight at her! She felt frozen in place, pinned by his eyes, and hardly noticed that he was standing up. Oh, but she noticed as he walked towards her, the blue got brighter and brighter, her hand shook and the lemonade sloshed around in its little cup.

“Hi,” she blurted out when he was within hearing range.

He smiled. “Hey, Buffy. Lovely dress. Red’s my favorite color, you know.”

Yes, of course she’d known that. It was one of the many facts about Spike Kent that she’d memorized. For instance, his favorite beer was Guinness, but not the kind that came in cans at the grocery store, no, the real Guinness he got at pubs in Dublin when he visited his cousin Liam. Liam, who went to Trinity College, and came to visit last summer and had hooked up with Cordelia. The whole school had talked about it. She also knew that Spike liked punk music, and that his favorite thing to do on the weekend was take long drives and end up inland in weird little farming towns. And she knew he liked football, real football, not the American kind, and he liked poetry.

She’d been quiet way too long.

“Are you having fun?” she blurted out just as he’d started to turn away.

“I am, thanks. You?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

Silence again, or not really, since an obnoxious rap song was currently blasting from a speaker just fifteen or so feet away. This was it, she should ask. But she really wanted a slow song, not a fast, because she wasn’t exactly the best dancer. She couldn’t do the sexy thing like Harmony and Cordy and all of them. But if she waited for a slow song, he might disappear, especially if she couldn’t come up with something to talk about until then.

“So, is that bloke you’re always with your boyfriend?” Spike asked suddenly, breaking the silence she was sure was painfully boring for him.

The question took a moment to register, and when it did, she almost laughed that annoying hyena awkward laugh of hers, but managed to stop herself. “No! No, Xander and I are just friends. He’s my date, but he’s not…my date…”

“Got it.” Oh God, he smiled at her again, and he was reaching his hand out to her, and he was saying the words she’d wanted to say to him and why wasn’t she more prepared? “Wanna dance?”

If Spike Kent asks you for anything you do it. Even if he asks you to jump off a bridge. And she did want to, she really did, but this song was too fast and she was going to look like a freak.

“I’m not a very good fast dancer.”

“It’s not so hard,” he insisted, grabbing her lemonade from her and setting it on the table. “Come, I’ll show you.”

She followed him out onto the dance floor, her hand in his, burning up from the feel of his rough skin. Rougher than most boy’s hands, but she knew Spike had lived a lot more of life than most of the jerks she went to school with every day. His hands had character.

Everything seemed dreamlike in the moment he pulled her into his arms. The tacky strands of white lights around the room softened, like little stars twinkling around them, the music transformed into a soothing background of steady beats, the smell of his cologne was almost enough to get her drunk. Everything seemed to slow down, except her heart was beating so fast she was afraid she’d die right then and there. Her body was shaking as she felt his hips press against hers.

Then the steady beats faded away, and the soft sounds of guitar took their place.

“Ah, you’re saved,” Spike teased her, breath hot on her ear. In her high heels she was able to just peek over his shoulder. Her head tucked perfectly beneath his chin.

“Uh huh,” she managed to get out.

“I prefer slow dancing anyway,” he said softly.

His arms slid around her waist, his hands touched the bare skin of her back. He pulled her closer. Her hands instinctively went up to lace around his neck. His hair brushed against her palms.

She hadn’t heard this song before but she loved it instantly, would look up the lyrics and memorize every word. This would be their song, a song he’d probably forget within a few minutes but one she would remember forever.

His hands were moving, ever so slowly. She felt him playing with the braided silk of her dress, fingers tickling her spine. Her breathing felt labored, just that slight touch was driving her crazy and she inhaled deeply, the smell of him, it made her nerves tingle and her entire being felt alive, sensitized.

“You smell good,” he murmured against her hair, she could feel his lips on her scalp and it was a wonder she hadn’t fallen down by now. She was wearing new perfume, expensive and brand name, an early graduation gift from her mom. She would wear this perfume for the rest of her life because he liked it.

In his arms she knew it wasn’t some puppy love, some crush she would move past the second she graduated. Her mom teased her about it all the time, told her she’d forget all about “that boy” once she met a nice boy at community college, but Buffy knew that wasn’t true.

She would love Spike Kent until the day she died, and that was just a fact.

The song ended, and she didn’t want to pull away, but the song was fast now, and he started to move differently.

His hands slid up her sides, stopped on her ribs, thumbs spread across her front, just a few inches below her breasts. His stance widened, his hips began to move, and he whispered, “Just let me lead.”

He could lead her anywhere.

Sparks of something new and unfamiliar ignited in her stomach as he rocked his body against hers. They ignited in time with the beat of the song, and she began to move her hips back against his, since it felt like the thing to do. Her hands moved to his shoulders, then his biceps, gripped tightly to the muscles she found there and her face stayed pressed against his chest. They moved as one, faster and faster, and suddenly Buffy became aware of something hard pressing against her belly.

Just as she noticed it, just as she started to realize what it meant, Spike spun her around and pulled her back against him in one fluid motion. She didn’t trip on her high heels, not that he would have let her fall, and now she felt that hardness against her ass, as his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her to him tightly. They danced like that, hips moving together fluidly, her head tilted back and resting on his shoulder. Her eyes stayed closed, keeping the rest of the world out just for a few minutes more.

Her body was liquid, merging with his, his lips brushed against her ear and she almost wanted to cry, because nothing else would ever be this good. The rest of her life would be a disappointment if she wasn’t in Spike’s arms just like this, and she hated the idea that she had peaked at seventeen.

The song ended, and he pulled away and spun her back to face him.

“I think my group’s leaving,” he said, and he almost sounded regretful, but Buffy knew she had to be imagining things. “Enjoy the rest of your night?”

“Oh, okay,” she nodded quickly, trying to clear her mind, a definite impossibility when he was still touching her bare shoulders. “You have fun too.”

He dropped his hands, took two steps backwards, eyes still on her. Then he turned and she watched him go, watched Harmony wrap herself around him like an octopus and they disappeared out the double doors towards the parking lot.

She still wanted to cry.

~*~*~
¬
He said hello to her on Monday, as she walked past him in the hallway.

Shocked, she could barely respond, she made some sort of high-pitched noise, but next to her Xander spoke for her, and it became clear the two had met before as they chatted for a few minutes. She stood quietly next to them, mind reeling.

When Spike had headed off to class, Buffy asked quickly, as casually as she could, “Since when do you know Spike Kent?” Her voice came out high and shrieky.

Xander shrugged. “We talked in EZ Games when we were at the mall last weekend. He’s pretty cool, actually.”

She had so many questions to ask. What did they talk about? Were they going to hang out? Could she come? If they’d met before, why did Spike ask if Xander was her boyfriend? Did Spike mention her? Why would he? Were they friends now?

But Xander had been acting weird ever since prom, and besides, those weren’t the questions you asked a guy anyway. They didn’t really care, and it was at times like this she wished she had a girlfriend to confide in.

On Tuesday, he waved at her from across the parking lot, and her legs—without permission from her brain—started heading in his direction. But then Harmony had appeared at his side, and she’d veered to the left and headed for the science building, even though her next class was clear across campus. She ended up being late to class, but it was worth it not to have to see him with that bimbo.

It hadn’t ever hurt before. Her feelings for Spike had been new and exciting, fresh and light. She looked forward to seeing him each day, dreamt about all the ways they could be together, but deep down she’d known it was all just fantasy. It was safe that way, she kept her distance, and it couldn’t hurt when he didn’t want her because he never had the chance to say no.

But now there had been too many moments of reality, too many times when he’d come close enough to her that she could imagine truly being with him, and now it hurt. Hurt to see him back with Harmony, hurt to watch him laugh when she didn’t know why, watch him live his life without her in it.

Wednesday he was out sick, Thursday he didn’t acknowledge her at all, but Friday she went to her locker after last period to find him leaning up against it. Spike was leaning against her locker. How many dreams had she had that started exactly like this? The locker was a crucial prop in many of her fantasies, fantasies that had become dirtier ever since that dance they’d shared.

He’d sparked something in her, something she didn’t understand and didn’t really want to. Every night in the last week, as she lay tossing and turning in her bed, she would remember the way his body felt against hers on the dance floor, and her hands would creep down her stomach, dip under her panties, tentatively caress the soft, wet flesh she found there. Only for a few minutes at a time, but the tingles her fingers would create made her ache until she fell asleep.

And seeing him, seeing the star of her new dirty dreams, made her want the earth to open up and swallow her whole. But it didn’t, and she really did have to go to her locker, so she slowly made her way down the hall.

He noticed her approach and stood up straight, smiling. “Hey, Buffy,” he said.

She had stopped counting words by now, but she did know exactly how many times he’d said her name.

This was the third.

“Hi, Spike,” she replied. Robotically she reached for her bright pink lock, and forgot the combination for one humiliating moment, but luckily it came back to her quickly. She spun the numbers slowly as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. Right 32, which were the last two number of his license plate. Spike scratched at his cheek and she envied his fingertips. Left 14, his birthday, January 4th. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, opened it. Finally, right 19. That was his house number. His voice made her shiver.

“I’m having a big graduation party next weekend, on Friday,” he said. Graduation was Thursday, and for months she’d been sure that would be the last day she’d ever see him. Sure, he was going to UC Sunnydale, but she was going to the community college and the chances of random interaction was about as good as her chances of winning one of the Senior Awards they gave out at graduation. She had prepared herself for the depression that would ensue when he was gone from her life, but here he was, offering one more chance to see him. “You should come. And Xander, bring him too.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said, doing what she thought was an excellent job of hiding her internal squeals. “Where do you live?”

She knew exactly where he lived. The big white house on Maple Drive, down the road from Cordelia’s, where she’d been once to work on their project. Occasionally she rode her bike that way, even though she had to climb a huge hill that made her legs burn. It was worth it to see his car parked in the driveway, though, to know he was so close to her. She was pretty sure his window was the one on the right side, because once she’d seen a flash of blonde hair there before she’d pedaled furiously away. His mom had said hi to her once.

“Here.” He took out a pen, blue, and grabbed her hand. He held it gently as he scribbled down a bunch of numbers that didn’t make any sense to her whatsoever. “My address, and my phone number. In case you get lost.”

He was still holding her hand. She now had his number. She’d never really given much thought to karma before but in that moment she was sure that she must have done something wonderful in a previous life, like invented the wheel or something, because this was more than she ever deserved. “Okay,” she squeaked out.

“So you’ll be there?”

“Of course!” She tried to calm down. “I mean, yeah, I’ll try to come.”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards a bit. “Great. Any plans for your last weekend as a high school student?”

He was still talking to her. He’d invited her to his house and gave her his number and he was still talking to her. “No plans,” she heard herself saying, which was only the stupidest answer she could have possibly given. Sure, tell the coolest guy in school how you’re a loser and have no plans. “I mean, nothing besides the usual.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He had to be lying. He had millions of things to do every weekend. He had places to go and people who liked him and he could do whatever he wanted and he was standing here talking to her.

Someone called his name from down the hall and he straightened up, held up one hand in a sort of backwards peace sign. But he didn’t move to leave, his eyes returned to her face.

“Looking forward to grad practice?” Those words actually came out of her mouth. They came out and they didn’t sound stupid, and he was replying. They were having a conversation.

“Yeah, can’t wait.” He rolled his eyes. “Hours of being taught how to walk in a straight line. The ultimate conclusion of our public school education. Bloody brilliant, isn’t it?”

She giggled, and he smiled the most adorable little smile she’d ever seen and it almost looked like he blushed and then that idiot called his name again.

“I should go,” Buffy said quickly, sure she was keeping him from something important, grabbing her purse and sweater before shutting her locker. It stuck, as always, and she sighed and pushed it weakly.

“Let me.”

He moved her aside gently, slammed his palm down on the metal, and it snapped shut easily.

“See you Monday?” He took a few steps closer to her.

She could reach out and touch him.

“Yeah, see you.”

She watched him walk away, and when he was gone, when the hallway was empty and her mom was probably throwing a fit in the parking lot waiting for her, she let go. She spun in a circle, dropping her bag and her books to the ground, so overtaken by a sudden rush of euphoria that she couldn’t keep herself from squealing.

The sun was high and bright in the cloudless sky and the maroon silk of her graduation cap and gown conducted heat a little too well. Buffy was burning up, sweating through her new white sundress, stuck in the middle of the football field between Stevens, Alison and Sutner, Michael. They were talking over her like she didn’t exist about the grad night festival she wasn’t going to, but she didn’t really care.

Spike was two rows in front of her and three seats to the right. This meant she had an excellent view of his ear and cheekbone, and when he turned to talk to Kendall, Harmony—alphabetical order really never worked out in her favor—she could see his face, and she would chant over and over in her head look at me look at me look at me.

He had a few times that week, a nod or a wave, but he hadn’t talked to her once, and she hadn’t gotten a smile.

His smiles were what she needed to keep going. Each gave her a rush of such intense happiness that she sometimes could hardly breathe. She saved them up, catalogued them in her mind, gave them names, needed them like oxygen. But she hadn’t gotten one in almost a week.

It was driving her absolutely up the wall. It was all she could do to drag herself to school each day, go through the motions of classes. Finals were over, they were graduating, and each day was filled with hangman and heads up seven up. There was nothing to distract her, nothing to focus on. He was always around, skirting the periphery of her vision, but she hadn’t talked to him.

And he hadn’t smiled.

Xander had reluctantly agreed to go to the party with her, and she’d lied her way out of having to go home that night. She’d figured out an outfit: cute, but not too fancy, sexier than usual, but definitely not slutty. She’d found out that technically, he and Harmony were not together, a fact that made her a little more willing to give in to that flicker of hope.

Plan one had gone off without a hitch. She’d danced with him at prom.

Was it too much to think that maybe, just maybe, he’d kiss her?

~*~*~

Her stomach felt wrong.

The drink had been called an Adios Motherfucker, according to Bryan Gregory, who’d shoved it in her hand in the kitchen and said, “Hey, gorgeous, do I know you?” They’d been in four classes together sophomore year and he’d been the one guy she’d ever liked besides Spike.

She’d chugged the sweet blue drink down quickly while Xander looked on in surprise. She just felt way too awkward being in Spike’s kitchen, with Spike’s friends, and he was nowhere to be seen. Her plan was starting to sound pretty damn stupid and she needed something, anything to calm her down.

Alcohol had seemed to be the solution. But she found out five minutes later that an Adios Motherfucker was comprised of basically every single kind of hard alcohol.

Ever.

And it hit her hard.

So she may or may not have done lots of stuff that was embarrassing. Her brain seemed to have blocked most of it out. And now her stomach was all wrong, and people seemed to be moving way too fast around her but her legs were all shaky and she wanted to sit down. So she did, on the stairs up to the second floor, her black skirt riding far up her thighs but she didn’t really care. The wall she was leaning against seemed to be wobbling a bit and she closed her eyes, hoping that would make it better.

It didn’t.

She hadn’t even talked to Spike! He invited her and why would he have invited her if he didn’t want her to come? She’d seen him across the party and he’d sort of waved but maybe he wasn’t waving at her considering there had to be at least a million people in his house. She really didn’t need a pity invite if that’s what this was and Xander had tried to kiss her when they were outside and they’d had “the talk” and he was so mad. So that prompted her to hunt down another drink and this one was bigger but Xander was gone now and she needed to feel less guilty. Because now he was broken, and he didn’t want to talk to her and she didn’t really know anybody else and besides, she couldn’t talk. The wall was moving way too much, and if she could sleep that would be really nice.

“Oh kitten,” she heard what she imagined was his voice but she really knew it wasn’t, because why would he be here and why would he think she was a cat?

A hand stroked her hair, and another gently brushed her skirt down her thighs, and she managed to pry her eyes open enough to see blue and blonde and the white of a smile, that smile she hadn’t seen in far too long.

“How’re you feeling, sweets?”

“My head hurts,” she mumbled. His hands felt nice.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he chuckled. “Your lips are blue.”

She lifted her fingers to her mouth, but missed, and they landed somewhere near her nose. “I didn’t know.” She sighed, eyes fluttering shut again. “Stupid Adios…es.”

The party was still loud around her, rap music and laughing, but she couldn’t really hear anything, just his breathing as he sat next to her, and she felt herself lulled to sleep under the gentle touch of his hands. She wanted to stay awake, wanted to savor if this was really happening, which she still wasn’t sure it was, but her body was falling in on itself and why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Buffy?”

She didn’t reply, but she liked when he said her name. Four times now! Four! And he could say it again if he wanted, he could whisper it in her ear and she wouldn’t mind, he could scream it too. Anything he wanted was fine by her.

“I’m gonna take you upstairs, all right?” he asked. She didn’t quite know what he meant but she nodded anyway, and her head was too heavy to move again so when he wrapped his arm around her waist, she let herself sag into his shoulder. He still smelled so good. Her lips were brushing his skin as he lifted her. This was seriously not happening.

The night fuzzed over then, blackness taking over much of her memory. There were three bright bursts of consciousness, three moments that would rush to meet her first thing in the morning.

He laid her gently on a soft surface, covered her with a velvety soft blanket, and brushed her hair away from her face. “I’m so stupid,” she slurred, struggling to sit back up, wishing she was home in her own room and had never come to this stupid party, wishing everything in her life was different or wishing for it to end because that’s how completely horrified she felt.

“I’m really, really sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he soothed. “Happens to everyone.”

The next memory was much later. The music from downstairs was a lot quieter, and she was alone in an unfamiliar bedroom. Her realization that it was Spike’s room—punk rock posters, his leather jacket over the chair, a guitar in the corner—she’d devolved into a giggle fit. But that little fit soon made her realize her stomach was still not quite right, and she had lain back down as the room began to spin again, whispering aloud her prayers that she was not going to throw up.

Memory three was the best one.

She woke up again, it couldn’t have been that much later, but the house was quiet now, and she wasn’t alone in the room. A dark shape hovered by the door.

She tried to sit up and her head spun and she whined, low in her throat.

“It’s just me, pet.” His voice was so sweet and dreamlike, and she lay back down instantly, calmed by just his presence.

“I shouldn’t be in your bed,” Buffy blurted out, head buried in the pillow that smelled just like him, bare legs caressed by sheets that had touched his body. “I want to but I shouldn’t be.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Spike said from somewhere in the dark. “Just get some rest.”

“Do you want me to go home? I can go—”

“Don’t be silly. Just go to sleep, yeah? We can talk tomorrow.”

He laid his hand gently on her shoulder.

And she did fall asleep, sunk back into the sweet blackness that would keep away her total humiliation for a few more hours.

~*~*~

Buffy liked the way his hair curled.

It softened him, made him more real to her. One of his layers of perfection was scrubbed away and she was seeing the real Spike, William, the man she knew she loved. With his hair curly, she could imagine him as a kid, bright and happy, not tinged with the hardness that made her sad for him sometimes. Or she could think of him as her lover, mussed and raw, at his most vulnerable and willing to share that with her.

So when she woke up in his bed, groggy and confused, and the first thing she saw was him sleeping in a chair next to her with his hair messy and curly and hanging on his forehead, she assumed she was still dreaming.

Then she remembered what she could from the night before, sat up straight and realized how very hung over she really was. Then she wanted to die. Wanted to crawl in a hole and never emerge. Because she was completely and totally humiliated.

Drunk Buffy? Not attractive.

He stirred a bit, one bleached curl shifting across his forehead, then he tucked one hand under his chin and sighed. She almost moaned, seeing him like that, being so close to him. It was more than she’d ever dreamed.

Her fantasies were in the abstract, the exaggerated. They were like movie scenes.

He would come up to her in the hallway, eyes dark with passion, coat trailing behind him. He would grab her shoulders and press her up against her lockers. The sound of clanging metal, then his harsh breathing, then her own gasp of surprise. His voice, low and throaty, his lips on hers. Something theatrical, almost porn-like.

She’d found a video-tape once under Xander’s bed, and she couldn’t help but steal it and watch it once before sneaking it back. It was a doctor and a nurse, all, “Fuck me now!” and “Do you like my big hard cock?” She’d begun infusing most of her dirtiest fantasies with that kind of ridiculous over-the-topness. Everything she imagined Spike saying came out sexy.

Or sometimes it would be softer, sweeter. He’d come to her apartment, knock on the door, be polite to her mother. He’d enter her room and pick up Mr. Gordo and stutter a bit and blush and then say, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you forever, Buffy.”

Because she knew he’d be that guy, that guy from her Sweet Valley High books or her teen soap operas. She could imagine the best possible scenario and put herself and Spike as the main characters. She could imagine falling in love with him for real. There would be a fairytale wedding and adorable children and when they were old and gray, he would read to her because her eyes were failing.

It could happen.

Her fantasies weren’t anything like reality, though, anything close to the total sweetness of them waking up at the same time. He was yawning as his eyes were still closed, and then when they opened, he shifted his posture and looked up at the ceiling. Then his head rolled, he looked towards her, and he smiled.

She would die for that smile.

His voice was sleepy and thick as he sat up straight, rubbing at his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

She was miserable. Elated. Embarrassed. Turned on just by his nearness but sick to her stomach because of it and hoping for the best but knowing it was the worst. She was possibly going insane and she was nervously twitching and she was in his bed.

“I’m okay.”

He shifted, stretched his arms up high. He was in pajamas, red sweat pants and a white shirt with a small rip on the shoulder, a shirt that lifted up to show an expanse of pale skin when he moved. She closed her eyes again, truly sure this had to be a dream.

But when she opened her eyes he was still there, inspecting her closely.

“I should call a cab.” Buffy blurted out the first though that came to her mind. Escape route.

His face fell and she was taken aback at the obvious disappointment in his eyes, and she really couldn’t believe she was so stupid as to make him think she actually wanted to leave, when in fact she would love to stay forever. But now she’d made the offer and she couldn’t take it back, and she held her breath as she waited to hear what he’d say.

“I was thinking I could make you breakfast and we could hang out for a bit. Then I could drive you home,” Spike finally offered quietly, with a bit of shyness she’d never seen in him before.

“Okay,” she replied immediately, a little too eagerly.

His eyes brightened again. “Okay. Um, there’s extra toothbrushes and stuff in the bathroom across the hall, my mum’s crazy about—anyway, you can go in there if you want. I’ll be downstairs.” He stood quickly and slipped out of the room.

Buffy sat on his bed for a moment, frozen in place, then reached up and pinched her own arm. Just to make sure.

He wanted her to stay? He did. He really did. He’d apparently slept all night by her side and now he wanted her to stay. There was no logic to it, no rhyme or reason, the why and the how completely eluded her but the fact of that matter was, it was true. He wanted her to stay.

At first, she moved slowly. Savored every second, let her eyes drink in every bit of his room and his hallway and his bathroom and his house. She inspected his bookshelves and his bulletin board but touched nothing. She made his bed and inhaled the scent of his sheets.

Then she realized how very weird he might think she was if she took ages to come downstairs and began to move at lightening speed. She fixed her mussed and frizzy hair, wiped off the dark makeup smeared under her eyes, straightened the clothes that were a little wrinkled from sleeping in them. The fact that Spike had seen her like that, looking a little like road-kill, made her want to fall into a crater and die but she tried hard to just get over it and not run screaming out of the house. She brushed her teeth with one of the adorable little mini-toothbrushes arranged ever so cutely on the counter, twice, just to make sure every trace of bad breath was gone, and gave herself one more critical look in the mirror.

She managed to make herself look sort of presentable, if not exactly attractive, and with a deep breath to steady the pounding of her heart she made her way down the stairs. The living room was a mess, every available surface littered with cups and cans, and the kitchen was no better. An empty bag of chips crunched under her bare foot as she entered, and Spike turned from the stove and chuckled, low and deep.

“The house is a pit, yeah? Good thing my parents are out of town until Monday.”

If only she could think of something funny to say. “Yeah, that’s good.”

“I’m making pancakes. Or, trying to, rather. I’m not the best cook.”

If only she didn’t look like such a disaster. “I’m not either.”

The kitchen was quiet for a minute, save for the sound of metal spoon on metal bowl as Spike stirred the batter, his eyes on her.

“You can come in, you know,” he finally said. “I don’t bite.” He paused, then added a teasing little wink. “Hard.”

Oh, she was blushing bright red. She could feel it creeping on her cheeks as she tiptoed over the mess and made her way to him. He was humming softly, nothing she recognized but she wished she did, as he poured the batter onto the pan. Buffy watched the movements of his hands closely, all too aware of how near he was to her, of how he was still looking at her.

“Buffy?”

She raised her head immediately, her eyes met his, and she knew he saw the way she shivered. He blinked once.

There were a lot of things Buffy expected in that moment. She thought maybe he’d finally realize what a complete loser she was and kick her out. She feared he might ask if she often got drunk and passed out in other people’s houses. She figured he might tell her there were five other people asleep throughout the house and she wasn’t so special, so stop staring at him like he hung the moon, and they all got their pancakes before her because they were just more deserving.

But instead, he kissed her.

Spike Kent kissed her.

He leaned down quickly and touched his lips to hers in the softest, most gentle way, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should. It was a quick and fleeting kiss, just a brush of the lips, but it was still more wonderful than any kiss she’d had before, more wonderful than anything she’d ever imagined.

It was over before Buffy had really realized what was happening, and she hadn’t even had time to close her eyes.

Spike started to move away, his own eyes still closed, his lips slightly parted slightly in invitation, and something inside Buffy made her reach up and wrap her arms around his neck, made her pull his mouth back to hers with confidence she didn’t feel. It was purely instinctual, the only thing she could think to do in the moment and the one thing she wanted to do more than anything. She couldn’t let him pull away, couldn’t let this end, couldn’t believe it was happening but knew she would regret it if she didn’t ask for more.

With a little clumsiness she pressed her lips on his, in a way she hoped didn’t seem desperate or reveal how few times she’d actually done this. She felt his lips open against hers immediately, felt him take control as he slid his arm around her waist and brought her closer to him. His body was warm and firm, everything she’d ever imagined, molding perfectly to hers as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth and she was aware that she squeaked. But what else could she do? Spike Kent was kissing her and a squeak was totally justified.

The kiss tasted like mint and coffee, it felt like heaven on earth. After a few seconds with her thoughts running a mile a minute, worrying and wondering and wishing it would never end, her mind went deliciously blank and she cared about nothing but the feel of him.

His lips were soft and warm, his hands gentle as they stroked her hair and her hip and her back, his tongue wet and hot as it slid against hers. Electric shocks sparkled wherever he touched her. He deepened the kiss, hugged her tighter, took her breath away and sighed into her mouth. She was dizzy and she was shaking.

Buffy could smell the pancakes burning. She knew she should say something but that would mean ending this kiss and she would never, ever be the one to pull away.

But then he did and she felt like she might cry, even as he kissed her softly on the tip of the nose and murmured, “I burned your breakfast.” He sounded as out of breath as she felt.

“I really don’t care,” she replied instantly. Her eyes were still closed because if she opened them this all might go away, and then she really would cry. He was still holding her close and she imagined she could hear his heart beating.

“You don’t, huh?” His voice sounded amused and she knew that if she opened her eyes, he’d be smiling at her.

And she couldn’t miss that.

When she finally looked at him and he didn’t disappear, when she saw the sweet way he was looking at her and saw that smile she would never ever forget, she finally allowed herself to realize this was truly happening. She didn’t know what to say or do, she didn’t know what he was thinking and she wasn’t sure she should ask. Everything was happening so fast and it was like she was frozen in this moment and nothing before or after it mattered.

The pancakes were still burning but neither of them moved.

Spike was just smiling, a secret smile just for her, and all she could do was kiss him again.

Mrs. Buffy Kent. It had a nice ring to it.

The end.