“If it isn’t the enigmatic Ms. Summers.” The dark haired, dark eyed bartender announced as the flouncy, jovial blonde plopped down on the barstool like she was at home. “What’ll it be?” He then added.

“I dunno. What do you recommend?”

“Honestly? That you slow down, before we have a repeat of last weekend’s performance.” Despite this warning, his hands, seemingly with a mind of their own, began grabbing various bottles and pouring measured amounts of their contents into a shaker.

“God, Xander, what are you? My big brother or something?”

“As a matter of fact…”

“We’re just steps, you big dork.”

“Close enough for me. Besides, I have solemnly sworn to protect you from the evils of public drunkenness and the not so pleasant after effects of mixing hard liquors.”

“You’re still mad that I puked in your car last weekend, aren’t you?”

“Little bit, yeah.”

“But I cleaned it out! It doesn’t smell or anything!”

“Your cleaning prowess will never be disputed behind this bar. Here. Have another one of my famous ‘Mai Tai thingies’.” He handed her the drink he’d been steadily shaking and mixing as their exchange took place. There was about 50% less rum in it than usual.

“Mmmm. Thanks, Xand. How much?”

“Your money’s no good here. You know that.”

“Such conflicting signals I get from you. Slow it down, but everything’s free. What’s a girl supposed to think?”

“I don’t have to charge you, Buffy. Your tab’s already been picked up by that guy and that guy and that one down there.” Xander replied, pointing out several college aged guys seated around the bar.

“Awww. Thank you boys!” She said in an elevated voice, lifting her drink in a toast-like fashion.

She leaned towards Xander conspiratorially.

“You have the number to give them if any of them ask, right?” She asked, barely above a whisper.

“The rejection hotline?” He whispered back. “Armed and ready, Buffster.” He finished when she nodded.

“Do not- I repeat- do not give out my real number, no matter how funny you think it’d be, or you’ll buy me a new phone number next time.” Xander laughed.

“Scouts honor.” He said, holding up three fingers.

“You got kicked out of the scouts.” She pointed out.

“I can still have honor.” He said defensively. She eyed him warily.

“All right.” She said, drawling. “I now return to the safety of my no guys allowed girl’s night out.” Then, with a wink and a grin (and a curious glance at the white haired stranger directly to her right), she grabbed her drink and was gone.


The white haired stranger eyed Xander curiously.

“That’s your step-sister, mate?” He asked. Xander was immediately defensive. Or, rather, protective.

“Yeah. Why?”

“She’s gorgeous enough, I’ll give you that. Seems a bit heartless, though. Rejection hotline?” Xander shrugged.

“Yeah. It’s a number you give out when you don’t want to give your real number…”

“I know what it is. Seems a bit harsh. Like I said.”

“Well, when you get hit on or asked about as much as Buffy, it’s best to have a back up plan. And all these guys know I’m her step-brother. What am I supposed to do?”

“Think like Nancy Regan. Just say No.”

“That’s less harsh than a rejection hotline?” The stranger looked at him with an expression that said, clearly, “Duh.”

“Hell yes. You’re a guy mate, you know how it is. No is just no, right? But a phone number is a phone number. It’s like… hope, yeah? Until you call it and get some cheesy automated voicec cheerfully telling you you’ve been rejected, treating you like a joke. It’s heartless.”

“I take it you’ve been rejected.” Xander said slyly. The white-haired fellow smirked.

“No, actually. Mate of mine told me about it.”

“Uh-huh.” Xander intoned with much sarcasm.

“Believe me or don’t. I don’t rightly care. I will have another one of those ‘fancy European beers’, though.”

“Comin’ right up.”

~*~

The club was emptying out and Buffy was more than a little drunk as she stumbled back up to the bar.

“You okay, little sis?” Xander asked.

“Peachy keen. And you’re only like a month older than me so…” She ended the statement with a strange, garbled noise that sounded vaguely like “pssshaw.”

“A month is enough.” Xander replied wisely.

“Whatever, Xander.” Buffy was going to say more when something distracted her. “Why’s your hair that color?” She asked, thoroughly invading the man to her right's space to bury her left hand in the hair in question. His hand immediately snapped up and grabbed her wrist, an action that, while it seemed to thoroughly escape Buffy’s attention, did not escape Xander’s.

“It’s called Peroxide.” He said through gritted teeth.

“But your hair’s so soft…” Buffy pressed on, burying her right hand in his hair instead.

“Uhhh… Buffy… remember that little chat we had about personal space recently?” Xander attempted to interject. Buffy looked at him, thoroughly confused.

“What? No. He doesn’t care. Do you?” She looked at the man now tightly gripping both of her wrists for all of a second.

“Well, actually…” He started to say.

“Nooo.” Buffy finished. “He doesn’t care, Xand. No big.”

“Actually. I. Do.” He emphasized each word and let go of her wrists with an emphatic thrust. Buffy’s face immediately grew shocked an offended.

“God, I’m sorry.” She spat. “I didn’t mean to offend your sensitive hair sensibilities or whatever.”

“Listen, girl, just because you’re cute doesn’t mean you can go ‘round doing whatever you like, putting your nosey little hands all over anybody within reach.” She immediately started sputtering.

“That… that is not… I did not… I’d hardly say all over… and you know what, you’re cute, too, so just… just…” She knew after she’d said it that it wasn’t particularly logical, but it had made a weird kind of sense in her head.

“And yet, I have somehow managed to keep my hands to myself, all night.”

“God, whatever. It’s not like I groped your crotch or something.” What? “Not that I would, I mean…” Stop. Stop now. Abort! Abort! “I mean, whatever, I wasn’t hitting on you or anything, Mr. Keep-to-Myself, so don’t worry.”

“Oh, I wasn’t worrying, pet. You’re not my type. About a thousand miles from it.” Was he enjoying how flustered she was getting right now? He almost couldn’t wait to see how she’d respond to that one. Her eyes narrowed and the dark red blush faded a little from her cheeks. Uh-oh.

“What is your type, huh? No, no, let me guess: dark haired, gothed out, and tragic, right? Like I’d even want to be ‘your type’.” She finished with a bitterly sarcastic tone and finger quotes, swaying on her seat a little. Something flashed behind his eyes—something dark— and he clenched his jaw.

“I’m gonna get you some water, Buffy. Some cold water. From the back.” Xander once again tried to interject, but was ignored by both parties. With a worried glance and a sigh, he went to fulfill his stated mission.

“And you know what? Don’t just assume ‘cause I’ve got blonde hair I’m all… stupid and slutty. Like you’re even one to talk you… you… Billy Idol looking freak!” Buffy continued.

He noticed that, good god, he hadn’t been this frustrated by a woman in… ever. Then he noticed something else. Something he hadn’t noticed in a good, long while. Before he even thought about it, he stood, took her face in his hands, and kissed her, hard, his tongue lashing fervently and invasively against hers.

“Mmmf!” She intoned angrily, wiggling her shoulders and trying to twist away, until he pulled back just a touch, and kissed her with slightly less gusto and slightly more tenderness, his tongue sliding gently against hers.

“Mmmm.” She moaned and buried her hands in his hair, and this time, he didn’t mind a bit. “Mmmf!” She called out again as he pulled away.

“Come with me.” He said huskily. He said it firmly, if not gruffly, and did not phrase it as a question, though he knew all along that it was. A very important question.

“O-okay.” She answered, a bit breathlessly. He grabbed her hand and led her resolutely to the door.


“Okay, Buffy. Let’s have some cold water and leave the nice rock star a… lone?” Xander said, trailing off as he emerged from the back room. “Buffy?” He asked the empty bar, but of course, there was no response. The guy had, at least, left a $100 bill on the bar to pay for his tab, which was only about $14.95 in the first place.

“Closing time, gather up your jackets and mooove out innnto the woooorrld” sounded from Buffy’s purse almost as soon as they were outside. She pried her lips off of his just long enough to fish around for it. With a sigh she stopped the ringer and turned it off.

“The bartender?” the white haired man asked. Oh god! The white-haired man? I don’t even know his name!

“Yeah,” she answered.

“Clever ring.”

“Thanks.” Then he was kissing her again and somehow simultaneously opening the back door of a cab. He slid in first, however, and quickly instructed the cabbie to the Regent Hotel before pulling Buffy in after him. And then his soft, ridiculously soft, lips were on hers again.

“Mmmf… what’s your name, anyway?” she twisted away long enough to ask.

He tilted his head to the right and gave her a strange look. “Spike,” he replied in likewise strange tone of voice.

“Oh. I’m…”

“Buffy, yeah.” Then he was kissing her yet again, long and languidly, at once both tender and fierce.

Pushy, it occurred to her to think. But that’s okay... god, he’s like an expert at this.

And, his hands were slowly getting braver and more ambitious, sliding up her sides, tentatively squeezing her breast, sliding back down, tracing her leg just at the hem of her dress. With every strategic, barely-there touch, she arched or moaned, squeezed his hair in her hands—his unbelievably soft, unnaturally colored hair that had started all of this in the first place—and grew steadily more passionate in her own kisses.

Soon his fingers were treading lightly up her thigh, grazing against the seams of her barely-there anyway panties.

“Mmmmf,” she said. He was getting really annoyed with that sound, as it always signaled a sudden pull-away on her part. “Do you have any of the things?” Worry briefly clouded her big green eyes. “You know… for protection?” she clarified for the sake of his furrowed brow and mystified gaze.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, though not as if he were angry, but more as if he’d just realized that he, in fact, did not have any of the things… you know… for protection. “Pull over at the next gas station, mate,” he called up to the front of the cab.

Buffy fidgeted relentlessly while he was in the store. The phrase: “Oh my God, what am I doing?” had just begun to form in her mind when he leapt back into the cab and pulled her to him once again. Then all conscious thought faded away as he kissed her with twice the confidence—and insistence—as he had previously.

She barely remembered being pulled through the hotel lobby by her waist, but she very much remembered the elevator, and how he pressed a button, inserted a key (Oh. One of those floors), then pressed her up against the mirrored elevator wall, his body coming into full contact with hers for the first time. She remembered, vividly, how impossibly hard his… that… had felt against her. One of her legs instinctively came up and hooked slightly around his. He caught it by the thigh, pressed closer still, and moved his mouth to her earlobe, where he nibbled for a moment before moving on to her neck even as his palm moved slowly up her thigh… then around to her ass, that was almost bare, thanks to the thong. He squeezed as the elevator dinged, and then he was away and she was being pulled out of the elevator and down a hallway to a door.

A door that was opened and shut, quick as a flash, and then she was pressed up against it, his mouth back on hers, his hands running up her sides, squeezing both breasts gently and running his thumbs over her already hardened nipples as a low moan escaped his throat.

She pushed his coat off his shoulders and immediately started clawing at his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. She was fumbling with his belt when his fingers found the zipper to her dress. She nimbly stepped over it after it had fallen to the floor.

His hands were back on her hips and he was pulling her to another door. Another door? Oh, it’s a suite. And this other door must be to the… bedroom. Gulp.

By the time he’d gotten her to said other door, she’d finished her task with the belt and made quick work of the button and zipper. He sprang eagerly into her waiting hand, that barely fit around it in the first place, and her eyes flew open and grew wide as she slid her hand up his length. And up. And up. And…

“Woah,” she whispered, looking down, almost involuntarily. He couldn’t help but grin. That reaction never got old.

“Up here, pet,” he whispered, placing a finger underneath her chin to lift her lips back to his. And bloody hell if he couldn’t get enough of those lips. Soft and candy-sweet.

She was suddenly nervous. She didn’t think she was ready for this—for that—for the massive thing her hand was slowly stroking and squeezing as if it had a mind of its own, and coincidentally, as if it were currently attempting to memorize every inch, every contour of the pulsing, warm length it thought itself very fortunate to be attending to.

The grip on her hips grew urgent as he kicked back against the bedroom door, sending it flying open.

Then there was no more time for misgivings, because suddenly she was on the bed and he was looming over her, and she didn’t even know how he’d gotten his jeans completely off without breaking contact with her or her lips.

Her skimpy little thong was still there, though, and two of his fingers were sliding over her inside of it, teasing her clit only a little before finding exactly what they were looking for—her silky, wet opening.

“Fuck you’re wet,” he groaned in her ear as his fingers rubbed and teased her slit before slowly venturing inside.

“Unnnh,” she replied as he pumped his fingers in small, slow circles, hooking them slightly on the upshot. Her legs spread wider around him and she thrust her hips gently against his hand. He worked her slowly, gently, until he felt the tightness encircling his fingers start to give.

She heard the crinkle of packaging. She felt his weight shift as he pulled his hand away and lifted the condom. She was grateful that he had remembered, because she certainly hadn’t. He lifted his head and tore the small, square package open with his teeth, and she quickly decided that it was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. His eyes met hers.

“Ready, pet?” he asked. She bit her lip and nodded nervously, not entirely sure that she was. He slid her thong down her legs and repositioned himself between them. He rolled the condom on before leaning down over her, putting the palm of one hand on the mattress next to her head and gripping himself with the other.

“Let me,” she said, sliding her slender fingers around his throbbing width, rubbing his equally throbbing length one last time, and guiding him to her. She arched her back and pushed forward with her hips as he entered, slowly.

He moaned, loud and long, until he was fully enveloped by her also throbbing velvet heat. There was lots of throbbing going on.

“Fuck you’re… so tight,” he said huskily as he pulled back, as slowly as he’d entered, and pushed forward again.

“I haven’t… I haven’t done this much,” she admitted in a whisper, gasping as he filled her, stretching her farther than she’d ever been stretched.

“That’s okay, baby. I have. Just relax,” he whispered back, pressing a soft kiss on her lips. He pumped into her slowly, letting her get used to him. “Just move when I move,” he whispered in her ear.

Soon she was moving, her hips thrusting in time with his, her perfectly manicured nails clawing at his back as he moaned vocal encouragements into her ear.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that. Just like that, baby. God, so tight, so… so fucking tight. Unh, yeah, like it when you twist like that. Fuck, pet, so good, feel so good…”

Between the expert roll of his hips and the low husky growl of his voice, she felt her first orgasm of the evening building at an alarming pace. He felt her start to flutter, felt her legs start to shake, and increased the rhythm of his thrusts, aiming his cock at her inner walls, trying to find it- the spot he knew existed there.

Her arms clenched around his back, her nails dug in, her thighs clenched, and her hips gyrated beneath him madly when he did find it. He thrust her into a frenzy, teasing and pounding at it as she came, screaming around him.

Then he was on his back, her nails were digging into his chest, and he was grinning—almost laughing—up at the fierce, fiery look in her eyes. I think I just created a fucking monster he thought. Her long, golden hair bounced around her face as she ground into him, rocking her hips as fast as it seemed she could. He reached up and curled her locks around his fingers as she pistoned above him, moving faster and more ferociously than any woman he’d ever been beneath before.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Ride me. Fucking ride me,” he called out.

“Unh- like-like this?” she ground harder, moved faster, and does she sound nervous?

“Yeah, god, fuck yeah. Just like that,” he encouraged as he gripped her hips and just tried to hold on. God damn, it felt good. Too good, he realized, almost too late. He gripped her back, then, and flipped her back over in one smooth movement.

“Turn over,” he growled in her ear as he pulled out of her entirely.

“Huh?”

“On your knees.”

“O-okay.”

He lifted himself away as she obliged. “Grip the mattress, baby.” She did. He spread her legs apart with his knees, put himself in position, and slammed back inside without warning or ceremony. She cried out.

“Too much?” he asked against her ear.

“N-no!” she replied, firmly, and arched back into him.

“Good girl,” he growled and started thrusting, hard and fast. She moaned, louder and louder and pressed back into him, using the mattress as leverage. He admired her spirit.

“Feel good? Huh?” he asked, urgently, mouth right against her ear.

“Uh-huuuhh.” she moaned in reply.

“You like this Buffy? Hmm?”

“Yes. God, yesss.”

He got braver. “You like being fucked like this?” he ventured. Instantly, she pressed herself back harder.

“Yeah. Unnnh. Yeah.”

Right. Time to go to work, he thought. “Say it,” he growled.

“I-unnh- I like being fucked like this,” she cried out.

“Yeah. Just like a,” hard thrust, “bitch,” harder thrust, “in,” still harder thrust, “heat.” He gave one last, powerful thrust, putting his entire weight behind it, and she came, again, hard and screaming as he pulled back, gripped her hips, and fucked her, hard and furious.

It seemed like she hadn’t stopped coming when he felt it start to well up again. No stopping it this time.

“Fuck,” he put his mouth against her ear and stilled his motions. “Over. Roll over,” he commanded, pulling out. She obliged, quickly, and soon her ankles were locked behind his ass and he was thrusting inside her again, her skin on his, his face buried in her neck. He bit his lip as he felt the familiar tightening in his balls. His head whipped up.

Her eyes were closed, her hips liquid fire, moving in perfect time with his. Her inner walls were still spasming, despite the little break to roll over, and continued spasming as silken liquid flooded over his aching cock again and again.

A tender finger brushed her cheek.

“Fuck, Buffy. Look at me. Need- need you to look at me.” He said breathily. Her eyes fluttered open, and he saw pure, gaping pleasure radiating out from them. Pleasure he was giving. Her fingertips dug into his back and she bit her bottom lip as she stared- a bit nervously- up into his eyes.

His eyes grew dark and intent as his thrusts sped up and his arms began to shake.

“Spike. Yes, god, Spike. Come. Come with me,” she moaned breathily. And that was it.

“Oh, fuuuuck., he moaned, long and low, as he came, hard and shuddering. Then he collapsed against her chest.

He lay against her, getting his breath back and letting her run her fingers through his hair for several moments.

“Jesus. I haven’t gone like that since I was twenty,” he said eventually.

“How old are you?” she asked with a giggle.

“Twenty-six.”

“Ah.”

His head jerked up. “How old are you?” he asked, a small shard of panic in his eyes.

She laughed. “Twenty-one. We met at a bar, remember?”

“Oh. Right. Though- the bar where your brother works.”

“Step-brother. And he’s worked there since before I was twenty-one and didn’t let me drink.”

“Ah. Good on him, then.” He rolled over onto his back. There was a long moment of awkward silence.

“Do you—would you like some water?” he asked at last.

“Love some.”

He got up and walked out into the living area of the suite, returning after only a few moments with twin bottles of water.

“Thanks,” she said gratefully before drinking greedily. He downed half of his in one long swallow before lying down beside her again. He stared up at the ceiling as the awkward silence rolled over them, then looked disbelievingly down his torso.

“Are you… are you still horny?” he asked with trepidation.

“Little bit, yeah,” she said, looking over at him with an impish grin.

“Oh, thank God,” he said, pulling her to him in another kiss.

She sat up with a start the next day, and took in the lavish hotel bedroom around her, the sunlight streaming in through the windows, and the pale, Adonis-like naked torso lying in the right-hand side of her peripheral vision with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Good morning.” She heard his deep, English accented voice rumble forth from behind her. “Or, afternoon, actually.”

“What… what time is it?” She asked, staring straight ahead.

“One-thirty.”

“Oh, god.”

“Want some… breakfast or something? I could call down…”

“No! Er… no. I should… I should probably just go.” Panties? Oh, God, where are my panties? She was thinking the fairly typical morning-after phrase. She spied them next to the bed, reached over and grabbed them.

“Right.” He sounded strangely dejected. “Let me just call someone to help you out of here.” Her blonde head whipped around for the first time.

“What? I don’t… I don’t need help getting out of here.” She said, more than a little confused at this strange offer. “I’m… I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” He said, a weird smirk on his face as she got out of bed, dragging the spread with her, surprisingly modest all of a sudden. God, had she actually let him tie her up at some point last night? Yes. Yes I did. She shook her head violently.

“I don’t… suppose you’ll believe this, but… I don’t normally do things like this.” She said as she walked through the rooms, looking for her dress, picking it up and trying to pull it over her head without letting go of the spread once she found it. She didn’t know quite why she felt the need to-to- explain? Justify? Excuse?—herself to him, but she did.

“I believe you.” He said, laughter in his voice. Dismay fell over her face. Of course. Because I’m obviously such a complete novice… “Not because you were bad, luv, quite the opposite, in fact, but because girls who do normally do things like this are a whole lot more smug and a whole lot less with the blushing the next day. It’s adorable, really.” She hazarded a glance at him. He was still in bed, leaning casually back on his elbows, intently watching her every move, still unabashedly naked and… semi-hard. Perfect. He chuckled as she blushed deeper.

“Oh. So, I guess you do normally do things like this.” She said, looking away.

“Not really. But I used to.”

“Right, well… Thank you for a lovely evening.” She said with a big, plastic smile. “I’ll see… I’ll be… Good bye.” She stammered out and practically ran for the door.

“’Bye.” He called out, sing-song like, even as she flung herself out of the suite.

The hallway was filled with women. Slutty looking, scantily clad women. There was a male here and there, but mostly just… women. Several other suite doors were open and people were walking around, back and forth, like a college dorm in a teen movie. Or, they were walking around, until Buffy emerged from Spike’s suite. Then they all stopped, en masse, and turned to look at her.

The eyes of most of the women narrowed, and a low, angry buzz started to rise and thrum through the suddenly narrow hallway. Buffy, who was not one to be intimidated easily, especially by other girls, was suddenly scared shitless.

She turned around and started pounding on Spike’s door. She only had to pound twice when the door opened just enough to allow a petite body through, and a firm, white hand wrapped around her arm and pulled her back into the safety of the room.

She leaned against the door in panic for a moment before gathering herself.

“You were saying about help getting out of here?” She asked sheepishly. Spike, now wearing jeans again, at least, smirked.

“Let me make a call.” He turned his back to her and made his way to a phone, picked it up, and dialed a few numbers.

“Yeah, Bruce? Need some help up here. Crowd control. No, need you to escort a friend of mine out. Oh, and Bruce? Treat her like a lady, yeah? Hm? Oh, Buffy. Buffy Summers. Thanks.” He put the phone back in its cradle, but didn’t look at her.

“Who are you?” She asked. He smiled bitterly, though she didn’t see it.

“Haven’t heard that in a while.” He said to himself. “Nobody, pet. I’m nobody.” He told her, turning to look at her at last.

“Last I checked, nobodys didn’t have groupies and entourages and… and bodyguards or whoever you just called.”

“Look, I’m gonna go hop in the shower. Do you… need anything? Else?” He asked breezily, ignoring her quieries.

“What?” She was utterly bewildered, and it showed. He tilted his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Wassa’ matter, pet? Not five minutes ago you were aching to be out of here? Now I’m somebody you want to stay and chat?” She sputtered.

She wanted to run to him, bruise his mouth with more kisses, beg him to make her body sing like he had last night. Tell him she didn’t want to leave—just, in the light of day, after a night of doing things she’d never done before or ever dreamed she would do—she’d panicked.

Instead…

“That- that’s not it at all.” She said defiantly.

“Right.” He sneered and left the living area for the bedroom. She heard a door shut- no, slam, really- and the shower start.

She wanted to go yell at him. Scream. Pound on the bathroom door if it was locked. State her case, whatever case there was. Instead, she plopped down on the couch with a pout and waited.

She didn’t have to wait long before there was a knock on the door.

“Ms. Summers?” A clipped, no nonsense English voice called out. Buffy rose from the couch and opened the door to a massive, broad shouldered man who was shaped remarkably like a refrigerator and an eerily quiet hallway.

“Come with me, ma’am.” He said with a kind smile that looked almost out of place on his stern, hard face. She nodded dumbly as he led her away.


Spike turned the water on hot as he could stand and stood underneath it, head bowed beneath the spray. He thought about the unlikely girl sitting out in the middle of his suite. He really hadn’t fucked like that since he was twenty, and he wasn’t entirely certain he remembered fucking like that ever. He’d unleashed something in that girl, he knew. She’d insisted on being on top the second time ‘round, but that time, he was ready for her. He’d braced himself, held on to her hips for dear life, curled his toes, and taken it until she’d fallen limp against him, then he’d wrapped his arms around her like steel and thrust up into her furiously until she thrashed and flailed and rolled over, pulling him back on top.

And when he’d pulled out a set of silk scarves and asked, simply, “Do you trust me?” She’d swallowed, nodded, and said “Yeah. Don’t see why not.”

Then he’d tortured her with his mouth, first taking his sweet time to get to the place she craved it the most, then stayed there, long after she’d started bucking, thrashing, begging, and pulling against her restraints, to no avail, she quickly found. He knew how to tie a knot, dammit, even with silk.

If he was being perfectly honest with himself, she’d unleashed something in him, too. Something he’d thought long dead. When he finally did crawl back up her body, he’d thrust himself inside and started fucking her furiously, even as he fumbled with his own knots so that he could free her and promptly roll her back on top to vent the frustration he’d just spent the better part of an hour helping her build up. The whole time, he’d growled things in her ear that he, frankly, blushed to recall.

What he wanted to do, was walk out there, (leave the shower running), and pull her back against him in another one of her soft, fiery kisses. Slide that dress back off her body and rip that flimsy little thong to shreds, pull her into this shower and fuck her up against the wall until the water turned cold.

But she’d hurt his feelings, dammit, with her little disappearing act. Wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to be nice, offering her breakfast and all that. Sure, she’d just woken up in a strange hotel room after going home with a strange man who’d fucked her up, down, and sideways (literally, at one point) all night, which was something she was clearly not accustomed to doing, and had probably just panicked, but still. A man had his pride. And, currently, yet another erection.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He muttered as he stared down at his traitorous dick. “Where were you all year, mate? Hmmm?” He sighed as he wrapped a firm hand around it.



Buffy hesitated on the sidewalk once Bruce led her out of the hotel, but he turned to her with a gentle smile.

“This way, ma’am.” He then led her to a boxy black town car with dark tinted windows and opened the back door for her. He even helped her get in.

The car rocked as Bruce settled himself behind the steering wheel.

“Where to, ma’am?” He asked.

“I- um… my apartment, I guess.” Bruce raised his eyebrows expectantly in the rearview mirror. “Oh! Oh- um- it’s on Vermont Avenue.” Bruce nodded and started the car.



Buffy was no sooner on the sidewalk outside her apartment than she fished her cell phone out of her purse and turned it back on.

She’d missed about twenty calls from Xander. She rolled her eyes and called him back.

“Buffy!” Relief very clearly washed through his voice.

“Hi, Xand!” She said, overly cheerful.

“Where are you? Are you okay? What happened to you last night?” He asked, all in a rush.

“I’m fine, Xand. You- do you remember that guy? With the white hair?”

“Ye-eah.”

“Well- we were arguing. And then there was kissing, then a cab ride, and then there was a hotel—a really nice hotel—and I suddenly don’t want to be discussing this with you anymore.” She was met with shocked silence on the other end of the line. Briefly.

“Buffy! Don’t you know who he is?” He asked, stunned.

“No! No I don’t! Who is he, Xander? Was I supposed to know?”

“He- you didn’t recognize Spike Rock? Lead singer of The Players? Buffy, he’s on the cover of Rolling Stone right now!”

“I don’t read Rolling Stone!” She said defensively.

“They’re in L.A. recording their first album in, like, years!”

“So? I didn’t know, Xander, okay? Jesus, what’s the big?”

“The big, Buffy… I don’t know what the big is, but it’s big!”

“Got that right.” She muttered.

“What? Oh God. Did not need to know that. I can’t believe my little sister fucked a rock star.”

“Step-sister. And I’m not little, okay? I can- I can fuck whoever I want!”

“Okay, okay. Are you… where are you?”

“I’m at my apartment. And I’m done with this conversation. I was just calling to let you know I wasn’t dead or anything anyway.”

“Well… thanks. You know you’re never leaving my sight at the club again, right? I turn my back for one second and you’re out the door and on your way to sexy fun time with England’s baddest bad boy.”

“He’s not- he’s not bad.”

“Again with the not needing to know.”

“No, I mean—he was nice. Sort-of.”

“Sort-of?”

“Goodbye, Xander.”

“What’s sort-of mean?” She hung up the phone before he could continue. She was in her apartment by now. She looked around and sighed, then looked back down at her phone. Truth was, she did want to talk about it, just… not with Xander. She quickly dialed another number.

“Hello?” A small, female voice asked after the second or third ring.

“Will! Oh my god, Will. I just had the best sex of my life.”

“What? With- with Parker?”

“No, god, not with Parker.”

“Oh, cuz you said he was disappointing. And then with the not calling…”

“Yeah, he was disappointing. And also, no, not with Parker.”

“Who, then?”

“Can we- can we meet up for coffee or something?”

“Yeah. Meet you at Ozzy’s in 10?”

“Uh, more like thirty. I need a shower. And to change.”

“Oooh. Okay. See you there.”

“Oh my God, Buffy, you’re glowing!” Willow exclaimed as Buffy sat down across from her at the little table in the back corner of the coffee shop.

“Shut up! I am not!” Buffy exclaimed back with a grin.

“Okay, so, who’s the mystery man? No, wait, let me guess… that dishy T.A. who’s always checking you out during Psych?”

“Riley isn’t always checking me out during Psych. And, anyway, it isn’t anybody from school. Oh, god, this is so bad but… I just met him last night.”

“Whoa, what?” Sure, Buffy didn’t have great taste in the men department so far, but she usually at least got to know a guy before making the mistake. Willow was appropriately scandalized for a fellow twenty-one year old girl who was, after all, young too. She gave the disapproving face required of her, then greedily asked for every single detail.

Buffy obliged, telling her the whole sordid tale, from the stupid argument over his hair to the all-night debauchery that ensued once inside his hotel room. Willow seldom interrupted, unless she felt it was absolutely necessary, like when Buffy brought up the scarves, for instance.

“Oh my god, Buffy, that’s so dangerous! He could have…”

“I know, Will, but he didn’t. He just- gave me lots and lots and lots of orgasms instead.”

“Still, Buffy…” Willow was wearing Disapproval Face.

“I know, Will, okay? I know. I do. It’s not like I’m gonna start going to bondage clubs looking for a cheap thrill- it just seemed like the thing to do. At the time.” Willow regarded this statement for a moment, searching her friend’s features. Buffy looked happier than Willow had seen her in a while. Willow sighed.

“Okay. Then what?” She asked excitedly. Buffy grinned and finished the tale, omitting only the weird scene in the hallway with the groupies or whatever they were.

“So, did you ever catch this handsome stranger’s name?” Willow asked when Buffy stopped talking.

“Um… Spike… Rock, or something.” Buffy said uncertainly. Willow’s eyes flew wide open.

“Spike Rock? From The Players?” She screeched.

“God, Will, keep your voice down. And, also, maybe?” Willow lowered her vocal register.

“Buffy! Oz, like, worships him! You know those top 5 lists he and his friends do? Well, Spike Rock is the number 1 person Oz would go gay for.”

“Uh… okay.”

“OZ!” Willow shouted across the coffee shop suddenly and started waving frantically for him to come over.

“Will, no!” Buffy vainly attempted to avert disaster.

“What’s up, babe?” Oz asked, planting an easy kiss on Willow’s cheek once he’d approached.

“Buffy just had a one night stand with Spike Rock!” Willow said in an urgent stage whisper. Buffy buried her face in her hands.

“What?” Oz’s eyes flew open wide and he leaned down. “How did you meet Spike Rock? How was he? Was he good? Is he big? I heard he was big. I want details.” He at least had the sense to keep his voice down as he shocked Buffy with this litany of questions, which happened to be the most she’d ever heard him say at one time. When he wasn’t high and doing Top 5s, that was.

“Oh my God, Oz.” Buffy said, half embarrassed, half amused. “And- and no! I’m not giving you details. I already gave Willow all the details. Will! This was supposed to be a private conversation.”

“Sorry Buffy, it’s just… Oz worships him, like I said.”

“I really do.” Oz confirmed. “Which leads me to how? Spike rock doesn’t do one night stands. He’s very adamant about that in his interviews.”

“Well, maybe he… lied? I don’t know.”

“Spike Rock doesn’t lie.” Oz insisted in the same cool, confident tone of voice he said everything in. Buffy didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. “You’re sure it was him?”

“He said his name was Spike, and Xander said it was him.”

“Wait- you didn’t know?” Oz asked, dumbfounded.

“No, okay! I still don’t know who he is.” She didn’t think Oz’s eyes could get any wider, but they did.

“Yeah, okay. You’re coming with me. Now.” He glanced at Willow. “Us. Coming with us.” He put his arm around his girlfriend and squeezed her shoulders affectionately. “Hey Larry! Take over, I’m leavin’!” He then called to someone behind the counter.

Soon, Buffy was being dragged helplessly into Oz’s van and herded helplessly into Oz’s basement apartment where she was thoroughly educated on the finer points of British punk rock, British modern rock, and Spike Rock and The Players.

Even after it was over and she was free, Buffy didn’t have the heart to tell Oz that she still didn’t really care.

Ch. 5: Wishin' and Hopin' and Thinkin'


After going nearly a year without so much as a hint of an erection, it seemed that, suddenly, Spike could not get rid of one. After the night he’d had, he expected a little white flag to shoot out of the end of his penis, rather than the pathetic little spurt of semen that, in fact, had during his shower. And now, here he was, not five minutes out of said shower, dressed in fresh jeans and a fresh black T-shirt, and one look at the rumpled, thoroughly disheveled bed had him instantly hard again.

He fluttered around his suite like bee in a bell jar for several restless minutes before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

Instantly, scantily clad women of all shapes, colors, and sizes were harassing him, grabbing at his clothes, and winking and licking their lips. Their various meant-to-be-sexy greetings all bled together.

To his immense relief, his erection vanished. Instantly. At least he hadn’t sunk that low yet.

“Piss off, you blood sucking harpies!” He yelled as loudly and menacingly as he could. About three of them backed off, but mostly, they laughed and doubled their whorish efforts. He growled and shoved through them, none too gently, and got into the elevator. A couple of the braver ones attempted to get in with him.

“No, no—you come through those doors, and I swear I will kick you right in your bloody faces.” He warned. They backed away, knowing he’d do it. Had done it once, in fact, to prove a point. He’d been arrested, of course, but none of them thought that’d keep him from doing it again.

The elevator doors closed and he sighed. Meanwhile, a half dressed bloke with shaggy brown hair came out of one of the open suites.

“Awww, ladies, don’t be sad. Jimmie Jazz is here, and there’s plenty of him to go around.” The girls giggled and swarmed around the new arrival.

He wandered aimlessly around downtown, trying to avoid crowds and any groups of women, and a dress that looked very much like the one she’d had on last night caught his eye in a shop window, and his painful, persistent erection was back.


And it was still there the next day, and the day after that. And the day after that. No matter what he did until he was, frankly, tired of masturbating and cursing himself. Why didn’t you get her number, you stupid git? Oh, right, ‘cause she was in such a hurry to leave, you probably would have gotten the bloody rejection hotline anyway, you stupid, stupid fucking bugger. Stupid blonde bitch and her stupid hips and stupid glowing green eyes and that ‘Come with me’ shit. What was that anyway? Besides aloof rocker Kryptonite. And am I really ready for this anyway? Really?

Clearly, part of him was.

His resolve crumbled after almost a week and he made his way back to Xander’s club.


The bartender’s eyes fixated on him as soon as he walked in and followed him mercilessly until he was standing at the bar.

“What’ll it be, Rock?” Xander asked, hoping his voice sounded hardened and intimidating. To his credit, it almost did. Still, Spike couldn’t resist tilting his head slightly and smirking.

“Is your- is ah- is Buffy here?” He finally managed to ask, sounding far more nervous than he looked. Xander appreciated this. So much so that he found himself nodding his head forward.

Spike followed his new line of sight to the dance floor. There was Buffy, in another skimpy dress, dancing semi-provocatively with her back turned to some college-age git who looked like he was struggling to keep up with her. And the song wasn’t even that fast.


Buffy had long ago turned her back to Mr.-Can’t-Dance-Worth-A-Crap and closed her eyes in a vain attempt to imagine a better dance partner. She wondered if Spike Rock was a good dancer—not that Spike Rock would be caught dead on the dance floor in a club like this one… and why was she thinking about Spike Rock again? Hadn’t she had a conversation with herself about this very thing? Or several, in fact? But he kept coming back, like a Terminator. A big, stupid, good-in-bed, had-made-her-do-things-she-never-in-her-wildest-dreams-she-thought-she’d-do-especially-with-a-perfect-stranger Terminator. She sighed and seriously considered just going and sitting at the bar and giving up on this dancing thing.

And then she heard a gruff, English voice say, in a tone of voice that brooked no argument, “Piss off.” And suddenly, the, big, meaty, awkward hands on her hips were replaced by firm, slender, confident hands. She gasped as her hips were pulled back against a hard body- and was that also a hard? Oh. And the motions behind her got a lot more graceful and a lot more provocative. Her heart raced as she twirled around to face him.

“Hello, Buffy.” He said casually as he rolled his hips into hers.

“H-hi, Spike.” She replied as, despite the fact that her brain had more-or-less shut down, her body responded to his, as if on autopilot. He smiled an insanely sexy smile as he ran his hands down her arms to her wrists, which he gripped and brought upwards, to join around his neck. She latched on instinctively and started running her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck.

“How’ve you been?”

“Good. You?” Why was she nervous? She was never nervous, not around guys. And why were her knees so weak? If his arms weren’t around her, she very well might have sunk right down to the floor.

“Mmm- lonely, mostly. And horny.” Even in the not so well lit club he could see her blush. She started to stammer incoherently. “Do you want to go out sometime? You know, dinner or something?” He abruptly cut her off.

“What? But… you don’t even know me.”

“Yeah, that’s the point of the date, luv. To get to know you.”

“You want to get to know me?” The awe in her voice surprised him. He just raised an eyebrow, but didn’t answer. “O-okay. Yeah, we could do that- but not dinner. I hate eating in front of people on dates. I always order something stupid and saucy and make a mess.” He chuckled.

“What about coffee, then? You like coffee?”

“I like coffee.” An evil thought occurred to her. “I know just the place, even.”

“Oh, do you now?” Was he closer to her? When did he get closer to her? And how?

“Mm-hmm.” His hands swept up her back and she shivered. “Do I- do I have to know you to leave with you again?” She decided quickly that it was worth the venture.

“You can do anything you want. You’re a big girl, right?”

“Yeah.” She said huskily and pressed against the back of his head with her hands while elevating herself up onto her tip toes, the result of which was, their lips touched, ever so gently—at first. His lips burned against hers and he slid his tongue forward to deepen the kiss as the grip on her hips became urgent. Desperate, even.

Meanwhile, behind the bar, Xander dropped the glass he’d been compulsively wiping. There was a break in the music that could not have been timed any better if someone had planned it, such that everyone in the bar heard the glass shatter. Most of the people present turned collectively to look at the bar, Buffy and Spike included. Buffy bit her lip and gave an apologetic look to Xander’s wide-eyed expression. Spike, too, even managed to look apologetic despite the victorious smirk on his lips that was pretty much habit at this point in his life.

“Wait for me outside? Maybe get a cab or something?” Buffy looked up and asked Spike.

“Yeah.” He replied, and left her to do just that. Buffy slowly made her way towards the bar.


“Xand.” She said as disarmingly as possible.

“No.” He said resolutely.

“What do you mean, no?”

“You’re not leaving with him.”

“What? Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Oh, well, too bad you don’t have any say in the matter.”

“Buffy, he’s…”

“He’s what? You don’t even know him.”

“Neither do you!”

“He’s gonna take me out…”

“When? After you sleep with him again?”

“Probably.”

“Buffy…”

“Xander.” She held up a hand. “I’m going. I want to go, okay? And I don’t care. I don’t care if he takes me out or doesn’t. I don’t care if you think he’s using me. He’s good at it and I want to and I’m going.” She put on her Resolute Face and he knew there was no stopping her. He sighed, big and exaggerated.

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

“And- and call me if he gets creepy. Or if anything happens. Or- or if you end up at an orgy or something.”

“Xander!”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know. I’ll call you if I need you, okay? Scout’s honor.” He knew she was never a scout.

“Yeah. You better.”

“Bye, Xand.”

“Bye, Buffy.” She turned and bounced out of the club, and even Xander noticed the spring in her step.

He was standing in front of the car that had driven her home that day. Or one that looked just like it, anyway.

“Everything okay?” He asked as he opened the door for her.

“Yeah. He just thinks he’s my dad as well as my step-brother.”

“He’s in love with you.” Spike said, casual as you please, and helped her in.

“What?” Buffy asked sharply, but wasn’t answered by Spike.

“Hello, Ms. Summers.” A familiar clipped English accent called back from the front.

“Oh. Hello, Bruce.” She replied.

“How have you been?”

“Very well, thanks. Yourself?”

“Quite well. Ms. Summers. Quite well.”

“Good.”

“Goodbye, Bruce.” Spike interjected in a playful sing-song and pushed a button. Buffy saw Bruce grin in the rearview mirror just before a partition slid up, cutting off access to the front seat. Buffy turned to Spike.

“What do you mean, he’s in love with me?”

“Blind man could see it, pet.”

“He’s my brother.”

“Step-brother, as you’re so fond of pointing out.”

“Still- no—no way.”

“Sure, all right.”

“Ugh, you know what? Less talky, more kissing.”

“I like your style, pet.”


The night was more-or-less a sweeter repeat of their previous encounter—without the convenience store stop-off. No, Spike had sent out to Costco for the biggest bloody package of condoms they had, considering the last time they’d run out of the twelve pack he’d originally bought, and he’d had to call down to room service for more.

Also, they’d waited ‘patiently’ (read: while making out like horny teenagers) in the lobby after Spike sent Bruce up to check on the hallway situation. It was early yet, and who knew what shenanigans his band mates and their whores were up to. Consequently, the hallway was, once again, eerily quiet when Buffy and Spike exited the elevator. It erupted into noisy chaos approximately ten minutes after Spike’s hotel door shut behind them.

“What are they doing?” Buffy stopped what she was doing to ask.

“God only knows. Less talky. More stroking.” He said with a boyish grin, and she had to stifle a giggle as her hand restarted its slow, squeezing movements.

She pushed him down on the bed this time once they were both quite naked. She broke the kiss they were engaged in to open the drawer on the bedside table. The top drawer was literally full of condoms. She laughed.

“Ambitious, are we?” She asked with a raised eyebrow of her own.

“No. Realistic. Remember last time?”

“Every day.” They exchanged a surprisingly tender smile. She opened the bottom drawer and found what she was looking for, along with several other eyebrow-raising curios.

“Do you trust me?” She asked, devilish twinkle in her eye, holding the silk scarves in the air.

“Yeah. Don’t see why not.” He replied with a smirk.

“Hands up, then.”

She didn’t just torture him with her mouth—she worshiped him. She’d spent the last week hardly believing how incredibly attractive, no, beautiful really, his physical body was. Not to mention what he could do with it. He looked a lot like a Greek statue come to life to her, just way more well endowed.

She kissed and sucked and licked every muscular contour in triplicate, from his wrists down to his ankles. She briefly considered giving the same attention to his feet, which were just as attractive as the rest of him—adorable, even, the way his toes curled and twitched when she suckled or nipped a sensitive area just right—but she decided to hold off until some post-shower point in the future.

She paid special attention to his inner thighs as she started her slow movement back up his body, letting her warm breath waft over his balls, traced her fingers ever-so-lightly up his throbbing, straight-up-in-the-air appendage. When he groaned, she hazarded a glance up at his face. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back, and he was biting his lip. Hard. She just knew his toes were curled. Yep, one backwards glance confirmed.

His eyes opened when she looked back at his face, and their eyes met. She smiled mischievously and suckled a spot on his inner thigh, achingly close, even let the very tip of her tongue graze against one ball as she moved her head to his other thigh and gave it the same treatment, ceremoniously avoiding the prodigious centerpiece between his legs.

“Come on…” He moaned in a strained, husky voice as she twirled her tongue on the skin of his inner thigh for good measure.

“Say ‘Please.’” She said with a playful pout, and looking back, he would probably say that was how he fell in love with her, really: looking down his torso at the impish light dancing in her eyes, the coy smirk that would have looked perfectly at home in the pages of Playboy, the girlish giggle that came out of her throat when he did say it, plainly if not huskily, “Please.” The impish light that danced faster as she licked the underside of his cock, from base to tip, followed quickly by the look of rapture that came over her face as her eyes rolled back and she sucked the tip into her mouth.

He really couldn’t tell who enjoyed it more—her or him. Insistent moans tore from her throat as she sucked in her cheeks, pressed her tongue against his length, and tried her damndest to relax her throat enough to take him all in. She couldn’t of course; he sincerely doubted anybody could, but her determination felt almost as good as the blow job itself. She finally brought one hand up to cover the distance her mouth couldn’t and stroked him in perfect synchronicity with the movements of her mouth.

He moaned and thrashed and bucked his hips and quickly discovered that Buffy, too, knew a thing or two about knots, for try as he might he could not get out of his silken restraints. He also couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

When his moans turned to groans and growls, her eyes fluttered open and quickly locked with his. He bit his lip and thrust his hips and fucked her mouth with abandon. She kept up, tonguing the sensitive hole on his tip with every up sweep, sucking in her cheeks on every down sweep and moaning louder and louder, sending extremely pleasant vibrations through his cock as he was suddenly inspired to thrust into her mouth harder.

“Fuck, baby, gonna…” He struggled to say, after several incredible minutes.

“Uh-huh.” She moaned in response and his eyes rolled back. And then her tongue was… doing something… against his shaft. Undulating or… something.

“Fuuuccck.” He groaned, long and low as he came, spurting fairly violently against the back of her throat. She swallowed expertly and crawled up his body.

She crossed her arms on his chest and rested her chin on them.

“Great blow job or greatest blow job?” She asked, all traces of her previous shyness gone.

“Greatest. By far.” He replied with a twinkle in his eye. She grinned wide even as her cheeks turned red, and reached up to untie him.

By the time she’d finished, he was thoroughly turned on again, after staring up at her bronzed, naked, perfectly proportioned body. He gripped her sides and sucked the nipple of one breast that had been dangling tantalizingly over his face into his mouth, even as one hand fumbled at the top drawer of the bedside table and she heard a now-familiar crinkle.

She squealed as he rolled her over on to her back and giggled as he tore the small package he now held open with his teeth. Once it was all rolled in place, he quickly sought her entrance with his hard-again cock.

Despite the fact that she was soaking wet, he met an invisible membrane of resistance when he thrust into her. She cried out, and it was not a pleasant, nor a pleased sound.

“Shit! Shit, I’m sorry…”

“No, no… it’s okay, just…”

“Yeah.” He pulled out slowly, but not all the way, and pushed back in gently, sweetly, and with sublime slowness. She sighed and mewed and clutched at him, pushing her hips up against his, determined to work through the tightness.

Soon, though, she was grunting and thrusting with her hips, screaming ‘Yes! Yes! Okay! Yeah! Now! Now! Now!” His rumbling chuckle rolled over her as he thrust, hard and powerfully, and her head rocked back as she constricted and was coming already.

“Fuck—you- you come so easy, baby.” He panted.

“I really don’t. It’s just- it’s just you. God, don’t stop!” She panted back.

“Not for the world, baby.” He breathed, and didn’t stop, for a very long time.


He rolled over onto his back after another explosive orgasm on his part and at least four long, continuous ones on hers. A not-so-awkward-anymore silence washed over them.

“Mind if I smoke, pet?” He asked after his breathing had slowed.

“You smoke?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh—no, I don’t mind.”

She actually snuggled up to him after he’d lit up and exhaled his first lungful. He smiled at the ceiling and snaked his free arm under her.

“So… you’re like a rock star or something.” His smile dissipated.

“Or something.” He said, more gruffly than necessary.

“Huh.”

“Don’t… don’t act all smug and nonchalant about it. I hate that more than when girls are obsessed with it.”

“I’m not… smug.” She said defensively, tilting her head up to look at him. “I don’t care. I didn’t know before, you know, last time… why should anything be different now?” He stared up at the ceiling, running this through his head, analyzing her tone of voice, trying to determine her motivations for bringing it up in the first place. It was a defense mechanism, really.

“You’ve got a point there.” He said at last.

“I mean—your music’s all right, but… it’s not really my thing, anyway.”

He laughed. “Is that so?”

“Though, a friend of mine, who’s totally in love with you, apparently, held me hostage and made me listen to all your albums and then all your influences, so he might have ruined it for me.”

“So we’re already at the telling our friends stage, are we?” He tried to keep his tone light, but even he winced at how bitterly it actually came out.

“Friend. I told one friend. My best friend, who, under normal circumstances is very trustworthy—and I didn’t tell her so that I could brag or whatever—I mean, yeah, okay, I did, but not because of who you are, but more because it was the best sex ever and Xander’s not great with the girl talk—and, anyway, your name didn’t even come up until the end.”

His brow furrowed. “Ah. And then she took you hostage?”

“No. She went all flippy-outy and called her boyfriend over and told him and then he took me hostage.”

“Her boyfriend is in love with me.” He said it flatly and not really as a question, trying desperately keep up with, not to even mention process the stream-of-consciousness manner in which this girl talked.

“Yeah.” She said, her tone of voice saying, cheerfully: “You caught up! Good for you!” “Oh, but he’s not gay or anything, but he would be, if you asked him to be, apparently.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

“Oh, but first you have to provide Heidi Klum as a distraction for his girlfriend.”

“That’s a tall order. I’d better get right on that.” He said with a laugh, extinguished his cigarette, and turned back towards her.

“You better not!”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll stop doing this.” She said mischievously, sliding her hand down his torso and gliding one light finger up his fast-hardening length.

“You wouldn’t!” He gasped in mock shock.

“I would.”

“Like you even could stop. You’re bloody insatiable, pet.” He mumbled as he nibbled at her earlobe.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Permanent Hard-on.” She scoffed, squeezing his nearly fully hard length.

“Your fault. I was fine before you started in with your- your hands, Devil Woman.” As if to emphasize his point, she gently squeezed the tip through her fist, causing a fairly adorable gurgling noise to bubble up out of his throat. So he retaliated by moving one of his hands between them and began slowly circling her clit in strokes as light and languid as she was currently treating him to.

“I’m not the devil here—you’re the devil. I was a perfectly good girl before you and your lips—I never went home with strangers or anything.” Her hand went down and back up.

“And I never took strange girls home before you rubbed your evil little hands in my hair then yelled at me for very politely asking you to stop. Devil woman.” The soft pad of his thumb found its mark.

“That’s your idea of polite?” She grazed a thumb over his tip.

“You should see me when I’m being rude.” He dipped a finger inside.

“You never answered my question, you know.” She slid her palm back down to his base.

“What’s that?” A second finger joined the first. Her free hand slid up and entwined itself in his hair.

“Why’s—ahhh—why’s your hair so soft, if you bleach it?”

His fingers started pumping languidly. “I condition.” He said huskily as he kissed her at last.

“Mmmm.” She replied as he leaned her over onto her back and fumbled once again with the infamous top drawer. A crinkle and a rip later and he was thrusting inside of her yet again, hard and deep, his mouth latched onto hers, swallowing her moans with every gentle lash of his tongue against hers.

When he woke up the next day, she was curled around him, one leg entwined with his, her arm slung over his chest. He sighed and ran his fingers gently through her hair. She stirred with a cute little moan.

“Morning, baby.” His sleep choked voice drifted down to her.

“I’m your baby now? What happened to pet?”

“You can be whatever you want to be.”

“Think I’ll just be Buffy for now.” She replied enigmatically.

“Okay, Buffy. How about that coffee?” She giggled.

“I need a shower. And clothes.”

“The first one I can help you with. The second one’s a little trickier, but I’ll do what I can to keep you from runnin’ out of here again.” She blushed and nervously fidgeted with her hands.

“Yeah, about that…” She started.

“You woke up in a stranger’s bed and panicked?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow and looking down at her.

“Pretty much, yeah.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“’S okay. I’m over it.” She giggled. He ran his fingers through her hair reassuringly.

“Obviously. Then, I guess my dress will have to do another day… but when do I get this shower?”

“Whenever you want, Buffy.” She purred and nuzzled his neck like a cat. Then she rolled right over him, planted her feet on the floor, and darted away.

“Last one in’s a rotten something-or-other!” She called over her shoulder. He growled playfully and was on his feet in a flash. He was about to reach out and grab her when the bathroom door shut in his face. Almost instantly, the shower started.

With a laugh, he yanked the door open and rushed up behind her, grabbing her by the waist before she could step in.

“Let’s be rotten together, yeah?” He rumbled in her ear. She nuzzled her head back against his cheek and sank backwards against his body.

“Okay.” She conceded with a grin. Smiling and eyeing each other warily, they stepped into the shower at the same time, his arms still somehow wrapped around her. Like a gentleman, he let her have the water first.

“So, Buffy likes to play, hmm?” He asked, nipping at her neck.

“Sometimes. What about Spike? Does Spike like to play?”She wiggled her butt against the hardness she felt growing behind her.

“Sometimes. Mostly, though…” He spun her around and pressed her against the wall at the back of the shower. “Spike likes to fuck.” He growled before kissing her roughly. She responded with equal fervor. He lifted her up, smoothly and easily, never breaking contact with her mouth.

“Unh! You’re strong!” She felt the need to proclaim.

“I work out.” He groaned. “Guide me in, baby.” He commanded. She reached down and griped his erection, pumping it the rest of the way to full mast before using his shoulder as leverage to lift herself slightly up, and guided him home.

He groaned as her wet heat surrounded him, matching the temperature of the shower spraying against his back. Ordinarily, the shower was one of his favourite places for foreplay, but something about her playful display and the way she’d looked under the water-even for the nanosecond he’d let her stand there- had him aching to be back inside, despite the all-nighter they’d just pulled. This girl was going to be the death of him.

And speaking of…

“Unh! Harder! God, yeah, harder!” She was yelling while clawing at his back. He obliged, plunging up into her ferociously. Her head whipped back and forth as she screamed “Yes!” over and over.

“Fuck, baby, gonna be a quick one.” He growled into her neck as he already felt his balls tightening.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, just… make me cum…” She moaned desperately.

“What do you need?” He growled commandingly into her ear.

“Just like this, just… just a little more…” He held himself at bay and kept up the pace. She screamed and moaned and clawed but wouldn’t go over the edge.

He growled and bit her neck- hard- to hold himself back. And that did it. Her nails dug in, her heels dug in, and her walls clamped around him, squeezing his own orgasm out of him as she threw her head back and wailed his name.

He pulled out and lowered her gently and proceeded to simply hold her against the wall, panting. She gripped him numbly and panted back. And then she started to panic a little.

“There- um…” She started to say.

“Whatssat, pet?”

“A condom… there… there wasn’t one. Just now.” She managed to squeak out. His body tensed and he took a couple of steps back so that he could look at her.

“Right.” She bit her lip, wondering if it was rude to ask the obvious question, and how exactly to frame it. So, got any new and interesting diseases you need to tell me about? Somehow, she thought that would go over like a lead balloon.

“I’ve uh… I’ve been tested for everything under the sun, and… well, I don’t have any of it.” He said, mostly because of the abject fear in her eyes. Fear he really, really hoped wasn’t there because her record wasn’t clean.

“I’ve never had unprotected sex.” She blurted. He blinked. A lot.

“Wha… really?”

“Yeah.” She said with a little shrug, biting her lip. She looked a little embarrassed. He felt like an ass. Her first time without a net had been hard and absurdly fast, against the wall of a hotel room shower, and now she was the one that was embarrassed. He stroked her cheek.

“Fuck, pet, I’m… I’m sorry.” He said softly.

“What? Why?”

“Well, because… it shouldn’t have been like… like that.” She laughed.

“What? I mean, it’s not like I was a virgin or anything. And, I mean, I forgot, too. I didn’t even think about it when you… and then…” She was blushing.

“Still, I mean…” He shrugged and felt more like an ass. “I’ve had a vasectomy.” He blurted out, thinking for some reason it would help ease the tension. It, in fact, had the opposite effect.

“Really?” He nodded. “Why?”

“Long, long story, pet. I’ve uh… I’ve got the results of my… you know, tests… with me somewhere. It’s kind-of a pick-me-up when I’m feeling down.” God, this was awkward. And why the hell was he suddenly blurting out every little thing that came into his head. Why don’t you tell her you keep the results with you ‘cause you’re bloody amazed your whore of an ex girlfriend didn’t give you SuperAids? Think that’ll ease the tension here, you ruddy jackass?

“That’s um… that’s good. Can we… Can we just shower now?” She asked, in a light tone of voice, trying to wriggle out of this godawful conversation.

“Yeah, pet.” He nodded. A lot. “Think you’ve worn me out, anyway.” He added with a smirk and a nervous laugh. She snorted, taking his cue to break up the seriousness and the tension, pronto.

“I wore you out? Reverse that and then we’ll talk.

“How about we just agree that we’ve worn each other out?”

“Psshh. I think we’ll just have to agree to disagree on this one, Mr. Half Mast This Very Moment.” She said with a glance down and sidestepped around him and into the water.

“Oh, no you don’t…” He pulled her out of the stream by the waist and stepped in himself, then promptly started making a show of wetting his hair.

“You big jerk!” She cried out and pushed him lightly forward and out of the water. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘Ladies first’?” She asked smugly. He looked around, confused.

“I don’t see any ladies here. A dirty little sex pot, maybe, but no ladies.” He laughed at the genuinely shocked expression on her face. To her credit, she quickly recovered.

“Well, if I’m so dirty, then I should shower first.” She reached for the soap. He stepped under the stream with her.

“Shower together?” He asked, taking the bar from her hand and lathering up a washcloth.

“You and your stupid compromises. I’m trying to be difficult here.”

“I get the feeling you could never be anything but, Buffy.”

“Hey!”

“Turn around.” He instructed, twisting her shoulders to aid her in following his directions. He silenced any and all forthcoming protests by starting the slow, sweet process of washing her back. All of the playful fight drained out of her as she sighed and tilted her head forward and let him half-bathe, half-massage her.

She returned the favor in kind.



By the time they’d finished languidly bathing each other, the water was running cold. He turned off the water and leapt out of the shower, grabbing a towel.

“Brrrr.” She said, goose pimples poking up all over her arms.

“C’mere.” He said, holding said towel open for her. She stepped into it and he rubbed her shoulders vigorously.

“You’re real sweet for a guy that gets arrested all the time.” She teased. He chuckled.

“Trumped up misdemeanors, mostly. Any random North London punk would be given a slap on the wrist and sent back out to cause more trouble. But, ‘cause I’m famous and make loud music, they feel they’ve got to make an example of me.”

“Uh-huh.” Buffy said incredulously. “Aren’t you a little old to still be committing misdemeanors?” She teased.

“If Mick’s not too old, I’m sure as hell not.”

“Yeah, but, you don’t want to look like that when you’re his age, either, do you?”

“Well, I don’t shoot heroin into me eyeballs, so, I think I’m safe.” Part of her wanted to ask if he shot heroin anywhere else—or did any other drugs—I mean, hey, rock star and all. Sex, drugs, and rock n roll, right? But she was more than a little afraid of the answer. Besides, he looked healthy enough, there were no funky track marks anywhere that she’d seen yet, and she’d seen a great deal of him, intimately, so far, and let’s not forget the virility. She opted to say nothing, but took the towel from him and flipped her hair over, turbaning the towel around it. Then she asked for a second towel.

“It always amazed me how all women just instinctively know how to do that.” He said as he fulfilled her request, grabbing a third towel for himself.

“What can I say? It’s part of the girl genetic code.”

“I’ll alert Watson.”

“Huh?”

“The guy who started the human genome project? They’re trying to…”

“To decipher human genetic code, yeah, I know what it is, but there are lots of famous Watsons, you know. And, also, didn’t they finish one a few years ago? A guy was on Colbert talking about it.” He tilted his head

“There is more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?”

“You already knew that.” She said with a wink and sashayed out of the bathroom.

They entered Ozzy’s together, his arm draped casually around her shoulders. Buffy saw that Oz was, in fact, there—behind the counter, pouring a cup of coffee. She offered a small discreet wave as his eyes flew open wide as saucers. Buffy led Spike to a table in the back and Oz cursed as he over filled the cup he was pouring.

Oz took several deep breaths and approached the table where both his friend and personal rock god were currently sitting. He kept his face straight and his eyes trained on Buffy.

“Hey, Buff, what’s up?” He asked, his voice squeaking embarrassingly on the word “what” like he was still an adolescent going through the change. He cleared his throat.

Between hearing his band’s third album playing somewhere in the atmosphere of the coffee shop and the short redhead boy’s overzealous coffee pouring, Spike knew instantly that he was dealing with a fan. The casual, nonchalant type, apparently, which was far better than the hyperventilating oh-my-god-oh-my-god-it’s-you type.

“Oh, nothin’ much. Just having some early afternoon coffee. You?” Buffy’s eyes danced with that impish, mischievous light again and Spike knew she’d brought him here on purpose. He also instinctively knew that she knew that her friend would be cool. So he relaxed and went with it.

“Nothin’ much. Servin’ early afternoon coffee.” He replied, casually.

“Oh, Oz, this is a new friend of mine, Spike. Spike, this is an old friend of mine, Oz.” Spike cocked an eyebrow at Buffy and turned to look at the young man. He smiled brightly and offered his many-ringed hand.

“Nice to meet you.” Spike said casually. Oz’s hand trembled only a little as he shook the rock star’s hand.

“Likewise.” Oz replied, just as casually.

“Oz, as in Ozzy? As in the name over the door?” Spike asked.

“Uh-yeah- it’s my mom’s place. She used to call me that when I was a baby but I don’t really like it…” Shut up shut up shut up! Oz’s head started screaming mid-ramble. Well, rambly for him, anyway. “So, Buffy, you having your usual?” He steered the conversation suddenly away from himself and back to business. Spike smirked and Buffy grinned like a jackass.

“Yeah, sure.” She chirped.

“And-uh-what about you, man?”

“Coffee. Black.” Oz nodded and turned abruptly away, and left. Spike leveled his eyes with Buffy’s.

“Something tells me Buffy isn’t being a very good girl today.” He said in a sing-song fashion. Buffy just grinned wider.

“Remember my friend that took me hostage?”

“The one that’s in love with me?”

“Uh-huh. That’s him.” Buffy said, pointing. Spike turned his head for a second look at the boy.

“Hmm. I might have to give ‘ol Heidi a call after all, then.” He said, rubbing his chin. Buffy laughed.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” She asked, suddenly nervous. Spike turned back to face her.

“Nah. He seems cool enough.”

“That’s the understatement of the year. Oz is cool. Like, really cool. As in, ‘as a cucumber’ cool, not ‘drives a fast car and smokes cigarettes’ cool, though everyone generally agrees that Oz is cool cool, too… He doesn’t drive a fast car or smoke cigarettes, but he does play bass. That’s why I brought you here: first, as revenge for the hostage taking and second, ‘cause I knew it’d make his day and he wouldn’t cause a scene.”

“Well, I can respect anyone who chooses to play bass. They’re the red-headed step-children of the music biz. Literally, in his case, yeah?”

“Yeah. Oh, and FYI, you could make his life complete if you compliment the coffee or something. That is-if you actually like it. Oz would see right through insincerity and he wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Sounds like my kind of guy already.”

“Don’t make me jealous, now. And the coffee really is good…” She trailed off as Oz returned with their coffees—or, in Buffy’s case, cappuccino with extra nutmeg and cinnamon. The slight rattle of Buffy’s cup against the saucer it was served on was the only thing that belied Oz’s famous and recently much talked about cool.

“Thanks, mate.” Spike said.

“Yeah, no prob—uh, Buffy… there’s a phone call for you?” Oz said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the counter, and scrunching up his face in confusion.

“What? From who?” Oz swallowed.

“Uh, Will- Willow. Yeah. Willow.”

“What?” Buffy furrowed her brow and fished her cell phone out of her purse. “She didn’t try the cell…” Buffy commented, looking at her phone.

“Yeah, I know, it’s weird right? She says its urgent.” Oz gave her a look of pure desperation and Buffy got the hint to stop asking questions, just before she asked the all important “How’d she know I was here?”

“Okay.” She replied instead and, struggling to stifle her laughter, slid out of the booth and followed Oz behind the counter, past the phone, and into the back storage room.

“Spike Rock is in my coffee shop, Buffy!” He exclaimed, grabbing her shoulders and looking at her wild-eyed.

“I know, Oz. Breathe.” Buffy replied, still struggling to stifle her laughter.

“You brought Spike Rock to my coffee shop!”

“Surprise?” He looked at her, stunned, for a moment, then gathered her up in a fierce hug.

“I think I love you.” She laughed at last and patted his back in an exaggeratedly friendly manner.

“So are you finally leaving Willow and running away with me?” She asked, pulling back.

“Yep. Let’s leave later tonight. We’ll cross the border at dawn.” They grinned at each other. “Okay, spaz attack is through.” He said, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head.

“You sure?”

“Not really, no. I told you he didn’t do one night stands, though, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“So, what, are you guys dating now?”

“I don’t think we’re dating… more like… hanging out.” Oz nodded sagely. “And I should get back to that.”

“Yeah. Oh, don’t tell him I’m a spaz, okay?”

“Why not? I already told him you’d go gay for him.” Oz’s eyes flew wide and his cheeks flushed as red as his hair. He was still sputtering when she walked out of the storage room.



Buffy sat back down with a grin.

“What was the ‘emergency?’” Spike asked, voice dripping with knowing sarcasm.

“Oz is a spaz.”

“Ah.” There was a semi-awkward silence as they sipped their coffees. “So, what kind of music does Buffy Summers like to listen to?” He asked at last.

“What’s with you and the third person thing?” She asked back. He shrugged, but said nothing. Just looked at her expectantly. She shifted uncomfortably.

“I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t really listen to much music.” His eyes narrowed.

“Everybody listens to music, Buffy.” He said incredulously.

“I know, I just…” She let out a nervous little chuckle. “Chick music, I guess. Like, female singers, mostly. Sarah McLaughlin and Alanis Morissette—her later stuff more than the Jagged Little Pill stuff—and I like that new singer, Sarah Bareilles.” She shrugged nervously. He withheld any comment, as she looked very much like she had more to say on the matter. She looked at him. “There’s this song, called… ‘Hallelujah,’ I think… and this guy is singing about, well, music, and then he goes ‘But you don’t really care for music, do ya’?’ This… guy once gave me a CD with just that song on it, once, because of that line. I guess he thought he was being deep or something.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed and he felt a strange, flushing heat rush through his face. Yeah, he was familiar with the song. He’d listened to Jeff Buckley’s cover of it over and over while drinking himself into a stupor, all day, nearly every day, not so very long ago.

“Why?” Spike asked.

“’Cause he was an asshole.” Buffy replied bitterly.

“Sounds like there’s a story there.” Spike commented.

“Yeah, one that I do not feel like telling at the moment.”

“Fair enough.” He had his own stories that he didn’t feel like telling, either. “Ever heard of Joni Mitchell?” He asked casually, trying to cut through the tension that had suddenly arisen. She shook her head. “You’d like her, if you like female singers. She’s, well, she’s one of the original female singers, really. Brilliant lass.” Buffy smiled.

“Oh, I like cheesy 80s rock, too.” She offered. “I mean, I’m not all ‘Yeah! 80’s rock!’” She made the rock hand sign, “but Xander and the gang and I like to cruise up and down Sunset Strip screaming cheesy lyrics at the top of our lungs to piss off all the annoying hipsters who think they’re so much cooler than us just because they paid too much for their used clothes and listen to a bunch of bands that start with ‘Thuh’” She said that last word with as much derision as she could muster, then immediately flushed bright red as her eyes went into backpedal mode. “I mean, I didn’t mean, you know, not your… shit. I forgot.” She said sheepishly. He laughed. He was charmed that she'd forgotten.

“’S okay pet. I know exactly the kind of people you mean. I like to think my band’s one of the ‘Thuhs’ they don’t like.”

“Yeah. And there are lots of good ‘thuh’ bands, too. ‘Thuh’ Beatles. ‘Thuh’ Rolling Stones…”

“’Thuh’ Clash. ‘Thuh’ Sex Pistols.” He chimed in. She crinkled her nose.

“What’s up with you British bands and ‘thuh’ anyway?” She interjected. He laughed. Loud.

“You know, I don’t know. Never really thought of it, ‘til now.” His accent suddenly switched into the so-called upper class and far more pompous version. “Naming your band ‘thuh’ something and talking in the third person are a few of the more curious traits of the native Briton, I suppose.” This got an appreciative chuckle out of her, and they shared a decidedly more comfortable coffee sipping moment. “So you listen to 80s rock ironically, then?” He asked at last.

“Oh, god!” She put a hand over her eyes. “That makes me as bad as them, doesn’t it? But, come on, anyone who, in all seriousness, wrote the lyric ‘Hit me like a bomb, baby, come on get it on’ probably meant for his music to be listened to ironically, right?”

“You’d be surprised, pet.”

“Oh, what has seven arms and sucks?” She asked suddenly, eyes all bright and childish and excited. Bloody adorable, she is, he found himself thinking for about the 87th time that morning.

“Def Leopard?” He didn’t miss a beat before replying. She squealed and laughed, then put her hand in the air. A high five? Seriously? She expects me to high five right now? He thought, then was quite surprised to find his hand rather enthusiastically meeting hers and laughter rumbling out of his chest, her enthusiasm for horrible, cheesy jokes apparently being infectious. What the hell is she doing to me? He wondered. Turning me into a bloody ponce, is what. Soon I’ll be writing stupid poems and buying her flowers. I wonder if she likes roses. Nah, too cliché. Every beautiful girl in the world has some idiot buying her roses. Lilies? Irises?

“That joke is so mean, but I love it.” She said with a laugh, interrupting his train of thoughts. He cleared his throat.

“That’s why it’s funny, pet… ‘cause it’s mean.”

“Yeah. Needless to say, Xander has helped to instill in me a healthy appreciation for novelty.”

“Xander’s into to cheese, then, is he?” Spike’s voice once again dripped sarcasm. Both times he’d met the bartender, the bloke had been wearing a garish Hawaiian shirt; a different one on each occasion, in fact, which was the thing that baffled Spike the most. Why anyone would choose to own one Hawaiian shirt, much less more than one, and much less to wear any of them was quite beyond him.

“Oh, yeah. Next to bartending, his dream job would be to run a joke shop. The Number 1 Fictional Character(s) that Xander identifies with most are the Weasley twins from Harry Potter.” Spike smirked. Buffy’s face grew nervous and concerned.

“You don’t… you don’t really think he’s in love with me, do you?” She looked at Spike earnestly. It was his turn to squirm. “God, I’d hate to think I’m just, like, constantly hurting his feelings. He’s my… He’s my brother, you know? I mean, yeah, yeah, step and all that, but… ever since we met, he’s always just been like… my big brother.” She looked miserable. Spike looked stricken.

Great. Not only is she a stubborn, fiery little minx who’s amazing in the bedroom, she’s a kind, compassionate, caring, stubborn fiery little minx who’s amazing in the bedroom. Good fucking luck, mate. He took a deep breath.

“Always? Right from the very start, he’s just been… brotherly?” Spike asked.

“Yeah.” She said with an uncomfortable shrug. “I mean, we met for the first time at our parents’ wedding. He stuck out his hand and said ‘I’m Xander. I guess I’m your new brother.’ Then he shocked me with one of those hand buzzer thingies. So I dumped my paper plate of wedding cake on his head and said ‘I’m Buffy. I guess I’m your new sister.’ Then he said ‘Fair enough’ and went to the bathroom to clean cake out of his hair. I never told him he walked around all day with cake in his ear and that everybody could totally tell… but that’s the way it’s been, ever since. Sure we’re playful, but not, like, sexy playful. It’s always been more about practical jokes than ‘last one in the shower’s a rotten egg.’” Spike chuckled a bit, but cleared his throat when she gave him a look that said “I’m being serious here.”

“I think he gets it, Buffy, how impossible the situation is. I shouldn’t have said anything, it was just an off-hand remark. I’m brilliant at buggering up off-hand remarks. But, I can’t say as I blame him. I’d probably fall for you, too, if I lived with you, too.” Buffy blushed and suddenly became very interested in the bottom of her cup. He grimaced Case in point, he thought. “I think I might know just the person to introduce him to, in fact.” Spike said, not really realizing he was thinking aloud.

“You do?”

“What? Oh. Yeah, actually.”

“Who?”

“All will be revealed.” He said cryptically as he wiggled his fingers in the air. “So, when did your parents get married, then?” He asked, to distract her from what he’d just said. “Your mum and Xander’s dad, was it?”

“Yeah. When we were fifteen, just before my sophomore year of high school.”

“And what was Buffy Summers like in high school?”

“A lot like Buffy Summers is now, just younger.”

“Yeah? No cheerleading squad for you?” He asked, a dash hopefully.

“Nope, sorry. I do not have one of those little outfits stored away in the bottom of my closet. Sorry to burst your bubble.”

“Damn. Still, there are stores that sell them.” Her mouth dropped open in that cute little ‘O’ and she looked positively scandalized.

“Oh, no. I hated cheerleaders in high school. Sorry to ruin your sex fetish fun, but I have deep seeded issues that prevent me from ever wearing one of those little outfits.” He pouted.

“But you could be the stuck-up head cheerleader and I could be the devilishly handsome bad boy that yanks you down off your golden pedestal to roll around in the mud.”

“Why do I have a sneaking suspicion that this little scenario of yours involves actual mud?”

“’Cause it does.” He grinned and touched his tongue to the top of his teeth. She rolled her eyes and the blush he’d been thoroughly encouraging deepened.

“Nuh-uh. Parochial school girl and devilishly handsome priest, maybe, but no cheerleaders.” His nostrils flared and he shifted in his seat at the sudden onset of his very large, almost painful new erection. So much for being worn out.

“Were the cheerleaders in your school really that bad?”

“God, you have no idea. Poor 15-year-old Xander was so awkward and gangly and had dreams of being a pro-skater that he unfortunately had to abandon after two broken wrists and a broken ankle, and they were awful to him. Like, leading him on, asking him to the Sadie-Hawkins dance then announcing ‘Yeah, right, as if I’d ever go out with a horrible geek like you!’ in really loud, obnoxious, bitchy tones and also in front of everybody kind of awful.” Spike winced.

“Bloody hell.”

“Yeah. They were all on board to accept me into their little clique, cause, you know, cute, blonde, blah blah blah, until I stood up for Xander and punched the head cheerleader in the nose after that aforementioned incident. Then suddenly I was a social pariah.” And Spike could see her doing it, too. In vivid colour. And that turned him on more than imagining her in the outfit, anyway.

“Poor Buffy.” She laughed.

“Nah, I didn’t care. I’d rather have Xander and Willow on my side any day than those fake bitches. At least they come through, you know?”

“That is an important quality to have in a friend.” Spike agreed. Buffy’s face grew thoughtful and he could almost feel another random tangent coming on. Conversing with this girl was a game of verbal chance. You never knew what you were going to get.

“It’s weird, Oz was the only one who was ever able to navigate the cliques in high school, truly get along with everybody, hence the cool thing. But I think he got special immunity ‘cause his dad was famous and his mom was this ultra cool new agey type that bought kegs for his parties as long as everybody stayed overnight and paid off the cops to stay away.” She mused, and Spike’s ears perked up.

“Oz’s dad is famous?” Buffy grinned.

“Yeah. His full name is Leonard Osbourne Rockstein the Second.” Spike’s eyes widened and it was his jaw’s turn to drop open.

“He’s Leonard Rockstein’s son? The same Leonard Rockstein who died in a plane crash in the early 90s?”

“Way to somber it up, but yeah.”

“And he chooses to play bass?”

“Hey Oz!” Buffy called out in reply and started waving the redhead over. Once Oz had sauntered up, hands in his pockets, Buffy very casually asked, “Why don’t you play guitar again?” Oz shrugged.

“That was my dad’s gig. If I’m gonna make it, I don’t want it to be because I’m somebody’s kid, you know?” Oz replied. Suddenly Spike was the one who was nervous and staring at the other slightly in awe.

“You-uh… you probably hear this all the time…” Spike chuckled nervously, “but your father was a huge influence on me.” Oz nodded.

“Yeah. I know. I read that somewhere.” He replied.

“I-uh- I’m real sorry about what happened to him. Real tragedy that.” Oz just nodded, again, more solemnly this time.

“Yeah. Oh, hey, man… I was sorry to read about your mom last year. That sucked.” Spike clenched his jaw and looked down, trying to suppress the irrational burst of anger that swept through him. “Oh, shit. Lame. That was pretty tactless of me, huh?” Oz added, quickly.

“No, it’s only fair.”

“Nah. My dad died when I was a kid. I’ve had time to get over it, not to mention a short lifetime of people saying ‘Oh, I was so sorry when I heard about the crash.’” Spike managed a small smirk.

“It’s not even that. She was sick for a long time… it was almost a relief when it happened. Just… that was the start of a pretty rough year.” Oz nodded again, sagely.

“More coffee?” He asked.

“Sure.” Spike replied gratefully.

“Buffy?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Oz.” Spike kept looking down after Oz walked away.

“Don’t worry. I won’t ask.” Spike smiled bitterly and looked up at her.

“Thanks.”

“But, if you do want to talk, you know, ever… feel free.” He just nodded. “Jesus, listen to me. Like you don’t have plenty of people to talk to if you want.”

“You’d be surprised how few there are, pet.” He said softly.

“So it really is lonely up at the top, huh?” She said, trying to keep her tone light. He shrugged and took her cue.

“’S not so bad, really. Got all the free booze you can drink up here, plus any other vice you might want to participate in.”

“Get your money for nothing and your kicks for free, huh?” She asked with a smirk.

“Chicks for free, too.” He amended with a smirk of his own, though, if he thought about it, her version actually made more sense. “Can you smoke in here?” He asked, looking around.

“Yeah.” He went about pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his inner coat pocket. “So… what are your vices?” She asked, hoping she sounded casual and nonchalant as he lit one. “Besides those.” She added, fanning smoke away from her face.

“What are yours?” He asked back after taking an abnormally long drag and considering her with a tilted head and narrowed eyes.

“I asked first.”

“Tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“All right. Xander’s blue Mai Tais, the never ending quest for the perfect pair of shoes and matching hand bag, guys that never call, and Godiva Cappuccino with Chocolate Hearts ice cream, mostly.” She raised her chin as she listed them off. “Pushy rock stars are kind of a new addition to my repertoire.” She made sure to add.

“Don’t forget cheesy 80s rock.” He reminded.

“And cheesy 80s rock.” She conceded with a grin.

“Well, I assure you that casual encounters with handsey blondes are new to my repertoire as well. There’s these.” He held up the hand with the cigarette, “Jack Daniels and most of his companions, girls that are batshit insane, and anything home baked. Cakes, cookies, turkeys… I’m an absolute sucker for a home-cooked meal.”

“That’s it?” She asked, incredulously.

“That’s it.”

“You’re pretty square for a rock star, then.”

“If you base squareness on substance abuse, then you’re pretty square for an L.A. girl, you ask me. Figured you would have graduated from rum and ice cream to snorting coke off the toilet seat in bloody grammar school.”

“I have no problems being square, thank you. And, also, ew.”

“You’re not square, luv. Not where it counts.” He said in a low, sexy tone of voice coupled with a suggestive leer as a particularly vivid image of her head craned around to look at him as he plowed vigorously into her from behind, while she screamed “Harder, goddammit, fuck me harder!” came to mind. She looked down and blushed deep crimson, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking at that very moment. God, she is adorable. He thought, yet again. “And neither am I, for that matter.” He added.

“Okay, so we’re not squares. Unless it’s hip to be square…”

“Stop quoting cheesy 80s songs.” She blushed and grinned.

“Sorry.”





Oz sauntered back to their table to check-in on them again, looking much more relaxed than on previous check-ins.

“Can we get the check, mate?” Spike asked. Oz looked confused.

“Buffy doesn’t get checks here.” He turned to her. “You know that.”

“Well, well. Looks like I’ve found a girl with connections.” Spike commented.

“Only for coffee and free drinks, within reason, at Xander’s club.”

“You also got a late bat mitzvah, too, thanks to Willow’s dad.” Oz reminded. Buffy laughed.

“Right. So if you ever need a Jewish coming-of-age ritual performed despite the fact that you’re not Jewish, I’m your girl.” Buffy said, grinning at Spike.

“You lead a charmed life, pet. Or so it would seem.”

“So not.” Buffy said with an eye roll. Then Oz casually placed a CD down on the table in front of Spike, whose heart then sank a little. Not a bloody demo, mate. I was just starting to like you. He thought to himself. Oz leaned in conspiratorially.

“In high school, Buffy, Willow, and Xander were forced to be in the school’s talent show. They performed a scene from Oedipus Rex. To date, it is the funniest thing I have ever seen. I bequeath it unto you.” Then Oz straightened up and trained his gaze on a rather wide-eyed Buffy. “You violated the sanctity of the top five, Buffy. You should have known better. Nice hickey, by the way.” Then, with a grin that could only be described as cool, he turned and walked away.

Spike picked up the CD and eyed it like a kid eyeing the cookie jar.

“You are so not watching that.” Buffy said with all the authority she could muster, which was quite a lot, considering her petite frame and pretty face.

“Oh, I certainly am.” Spike said back joyously, not phased in the least.

“No. Give it to me.” She swiped at it. He jerked it out of reach.

“Uh-uh-uh.” He tutted.

“Spike, I’m not kidding.” There was venom in her voice now.

“Neither am I.” Her eyes never left the CD, until he slid it into the inner pocket of his duster. Buffy considered her options. She couldn’t just attack him in the coffee shop… the car. She’d get it back in the car. This guy did not know who he was messing with. Spike could see the gears turning.

“Come on, Buffy. You embarrassed the boy. You earned it.” She huffed.