Really, it was starting to become cliché. The whole “let’s go study so we can makeout” routine. Spike and Buffy weren’t fooling anyone anymore, least of all themselves. As they drove to Spike’s house, they both knew the last thing they would be doing is memorizing derivatives. Maybe the shape and feel of certain body parts, but definitely not derivatives.
“Can I use your restroom?”
“Sure,” Spike replied casually. “Third door on the left down the hall.”
“Which one?”
Spike pointed to the left hall. “That one.”
“This house is ginormous, you know that?” Buffy called as she strolled down the hall.
Spike shrugged. “When your father owns most of the town...”
From the way Spike dressed, an unknowing person would think he lived in a crypt or on the streets. Maybe a small, beat-down house colored with mold and blood. But Spike... Spike lived in a mansion. It was the house you saw on television in those “Top Ten Houses You Can’t Afford But Would Die To Live In.” It wasn’t Spelling or Hefner or Hearst sized, but it could definitely fit a dozen or more people. Rather plain, though. White walls, white carpet, some random pieces of art scattered about, and mostly brownish furniture. But plain in the “this house is friggin’ huge and the white space makes it bigger” kind of way.
When Buffy returned, Spike was playing a song on his guitar.
Okay, so it wasn’t a real guitar. Spike wasn’t trying to serenade anyone. It was a plastic video game controller guitar with buttons as the frets. Spike was playing Guitar Hero, a video game where he played notes that came up on the television screen. And he looked like he was having an enjoyable time, too, shredding with the guitar behind his head in a Stevie Ray Vaughn fashion. What a show off. Buffy wondered if Spike played any instruments; he was certainly talented enough at the video game. The lyrics submerged into the depths of her mind and snatched any hope of whimsical thought.
I wanna push you around, well I will, well I will
I wanna push you down, well I will, well I will
I wanna take you for granted, I wanna take you for granted
I will, I will
It didn’t take a professor in English at Yale University with honorary degrees from Oxford, Harvard, and Duke to interpret the meaning behind the lyrics. Spike wanted to be rough. Well, Buffy was okay with that. Not like she hadn’t had rough all her life. As the song ended, Buffy remembered something else. “Um... where’s your computer?”
“Uh, upstairs,” Spike put the plastic guitar down and turned off the video game. “Let me show you.”
They both climbed the stairs, skipping three at a time, to the second floor and entered some type of entertainment room. Every square inch of wall was bookshelf, and every bookshelf was stacked with movies that probably chronicled every blockbuster back to the silent film era. All the movies had a rather overwhelming feel to the room, almost taking the role of an armada of soldiers sieging the room. A rather magnificent plasma television centered the room opposite a black sofa. The television was that special piece of art that just made everything “fit.”
The computer was tucked in a corner.
“What do you want to look up, anyway?” Spike asked curiously as he turned on the computer.
“Oh... just some lyrics.”
When the desktop wallpaper popped up, Spike immediately realized his lack of judgment and practically draped himself over the computer in a sad attempt to shield the screen from Buffy. At first she didn’t know what he was trying to cover it up. Porn? A robot club reminder? A poem to his mother? Gay porn? Slowly her eyes were able to see around his silhouette and at the screen.
Buffy could faintly see the desktop. Some computer icons were scattered about the side of the screen: recycle bin, Mozilla Firefox, and iTunes. Spike wasn’t trying to cover that up, surely.
“What are you trying to hide, Spike?” This was getting rather intriguing to Buffy.
“Uh... s’nothing,” Spike blurted. “Just look the other way for a sec.”
“Okay, Spike.” Buffy chuckled. “Your bisexual tendencies will be safe forever.”
And so she turned away. Spike opened an internet browser and maximized it so the desktop was covered.
Buffy jumped in the seat and immediately minimized the browser.
It was a picture of Buffy. Spike had a picture of Buffy on his desktop. His wallpaper. It was her yearbook photo. If that wasn’t obsession, Buffy didn’t know what was...
“So this is—” Buffy started in a playful tone, but Spike quickly cut her off.
“Disease,” Spike spit out. That one word exhaled a perfect explanation to Buffy.
Buffy sighed and typed something in on Google.
“Ah ha!”
“What?”
Buffy recited what she found.
“Just a burden in my hand
Just an anchor on my heart
Just a tumor in my head
And I’m in the dark”
Spike reddened and sheepishly scratched his head.
Buffy smirked and glanced back at Spike. “Something you want to say, William?”
The usage of Spike’s real name upset Spike. Spike’s real name was becoming a derogative term. But the desktop – kind of a William thing to do. So he could live with someone addressing him that way. But just this once.
“So I couldn’t think of anything original and used some Soundgarden lyrics,” Spike bit with a roll of his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I don’t feel that way...”
Buffy’s head fell. Another shard of shimmering hope was stomped on by Spike. She glanced to the side and spotted a warehouse of television seasons. One caught her eye.
“Hey!” Buffy grabbed a box set from the shelf. “I thought you didn’t like Dawson’s Creek.”
“Uh...” Spike was stumped. “That’s Mom’s...”
“Sure...”
“Hey! I got Prison Break...” He pointed to the first season of Prison Break.
Buffy nodded with a small smile. “That you do. Much more your style, really. Dramatic and suspenseful anal prison rape...”
Spike chuckled. Buffy probably didn’t watch the show, but she definitely got the gist of it. And the subject got them out of more embarrassing endeavors. “Actually, I watch it mainly for the relationships.”
Badass Spike watching a prison show for the relationships? Buffy was about to laugh when he continued.
“See, Michael, an inmate, is trying to get out of prison. And Sarah, the doctor at the prison, is his key out...” Spike stopped for a second to catch a breath. “...so he charms her. She falls for him even though it goes against everything that she soddin’ stands for. And he bleedin’ uses her... he secretly kisses her and swipes her keys so he can escape prison. In the end, she ODs.”
Spike didn’t mention the part where Michael fell for Sarah; he figured that would have been too hopeful. And he certainly wasn’t trying to give Buffy any hope. No, he was attempting to spill a little despair on her. The suggestiveness was screaming at her, telling her that this would be nothing more than someone using someone else. And Buffy understood this. She was a smart girl, after all. A smart girl that wanted something more, but was happily content with just sex. With just being used.
Buffy tried her best to shrug the whole thing off. “Did that little story have a point?”
“Eh...” Spike stroked his chin, thinking of the answer. “ODing is bad for you?”
“I’ve always hated those acronyms... they are just so, I don’t know, impersonal.” Buffy shook her head disapprovingly. “OD and DOA... just euphemisms to make it seem better.”
Now it was Spike’s turn to understand; he had a similar realization a little while back. It was like Buffy and Spike were both on the same train track as far as thought process went. When Buffy started speaking in that intelligent and well-educated manner, Spike started to get a little...
“Why do you want me, Buffy?”
Again Spike was being overly blunt to hide his insecurities. Buffy talked to the computer when she told him, too afraid to look him in the eye.
“I dunno... you’ve just changed... and you’re so...”
“Unattainable?” He finished for her.
“Yeah...” She glanced at him now. “And sexy and intelligent and caring sometimes, when you’re not being... well, you know...” Buffy secretly hoped for a similar confession of compliments from Spike.
She didn’t get that. “Mostly unattainable for you,” Spike responded with a shrug. “We’ll see about the intelligence Saturday at the SATs... and the other stuff...” There wasn’t much other stuff Buffy listed. Just the caring and... well... that... what was he suggesting?
“So...” Buffy batted her eyelashes. “Where do you sleep? In this big house all alone?”
Spike stammered with a gulp and a hue of red captured his cheeks. “I... uh... um...” He was a mess.
Buffy giggled. She was doing a lot of that today. Spike immediately straightened in response to the giggle; no symptoms of William would be regained because of a silly little bint.
“Same room as always... guess I could sleep in my parent’s room or any other bloody room in the house, but that room is... I dunno, special to me.”
It was a common feeling, really. When someone slept in the same room for extended periods of time, they became attached to the room. The room became a living, breathing person that viewed and experienced everything. It was like a friend. A friend that didn’t talk. But a friend that protected you from the harsh winter cold outside.
The “tour de casa” trick was pretty worn, especially with the usage in every b-list teenage flick, but Spike tried it anyway. She obviously wanted it. “You wanna... see it?”
Buffy titled her head sideways a little. The proposition entailed much more than merely perusing Spike’s room. “Sure.”
Spike’s room was downstairs, next to one of the guest rooms and the kitchen.
“Nice bed,” Buffy bounced a little on his fluffy bed. It had black satin sheets, of course. “And the posters...”
“Rock is my music,” Spike reminisced as he sat down, gazing at the posters. “I think I bleedin’ have every album of rock that was ever created.”
Buffy was becoming more and more interested in Spike. He was a puzzle waiting to be solved. A rough badboy on the outside, but definitely a soft and caring gentleman on the inside. He must have been that, why else would he help Buffy with stuff like the SATs and life?
“What else do you like?”
Spike looked flatly at her. “Why do you wanna know?”
“I dunno...” Buffy looked down and thought of a question. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Uh...” Spike was going to say gold, the color of Buffy, but that would be way too Romeo. “Black, of course. You?”
“Blue. Favorite book?”
Spike scratched his head. “Catch-22, I guess.” No need to hide dark comedy.
“Hmm... favorite beverage?”
Spike’s favorite beverage was Sprite. But that sounded way too wussy and personal. He didn’t want to be viewed as a girly man. And definitely didn’t want things to be personal. “Jack Daniel’s...”
“Oh?” Buffy crept a little closer to Spike.
“Does that ever make you...” she took his chin in her hand so they were heatedly staring at each other, “drunk?”
What type of question was that? I mean, really? Alcohol made you drunk; it wasn’t quantum physics. It wasn’t a question you asked. That was like asking if the grass was green or the sky was blue. They just were. You didn’t ask stuff like that. Not unless...
Buffy wrapped her arms around Spike’s neck. “You wanna know why I want you? It’s because your beautiful,” she kissed him on the cheek.
“And sexy,” a small lick trailed a little closer to Spike’s lips.
“And gorgeous,” a kiss caught the corner of Spike’s mouth.
“And...” But instead of saying anything, she dove in for the main event.
Spike pushed her away after a good minute or so. They were both catching their breath jaggedly, like lifeguards whose lunges were screaming after a rescue mission. “Buffy... not here...”
“Why not?” The classic Buffy pout formed. Did Spike not want to go for it? But why wouldn’t he? “Study” was their little inside term for a snogathon, just like “disease” was...
“Guest room...”
High on lust, yes. But even while high, some of the brutally obvious things were still understood. And Buffy understood this. Because it was brutally obvious. Spike didn’t want to do this in his own room. That was too close to him. Too personal. Spike wanted the affair to be anything but that.
They both slipped into the adjourning guest room. Buffy was hellbent on not having Spike’s subtle suggestions ruin her good time, so she playfully giggled.
“Shall we get started?”
Spike saw the girl he wanted. But he also saw the girl he hated. “Buffy... you wanna...” He looked down at his pants and...
Spike wanted that. He wanted Buffy to do that.
Buffy clicked open his belt with a clunk. She had chalky knuckles, a little shaken by the tawdry task to be executed. The zipper screeched as Buffy almost stagnantly pulled it down. The lower the zipper went, the more sordid and squalid the situation felt. Buffy jerked down his boxers in a tug and saw it. The King Cobra. Normally, Buffy would have been flabbergasted and blown away by the sheer size of that thing, but she... she was going to...
Buffy got down on her knees. It wasn’t just Buffy, though. No, it was the entire school, everyone that had made fun of Spike and picked on him and told him he was nothing. It was the cheerleaders. It was the jocks. It was the teachers. They were all on their knees begging for it. At the very mercy of Spike. It was just Buffy that was going to suck, yes, but Buffy was the embodiment of everyone Spike hated. This wasn’t an intimate or loving exchange, to show Spike how much love was in the air, but a vulgar, disgusting, and dirty tragedy.
Buffy put it in her mouth and started.
This is probably as bad as its gonna get, so stop screaming. No! Don’t press that little X! Stop creeping your cursor to the top right corner of the screen! Don’t do it! No! NOOOOOOO! And stop it with the back button. Me needs feedback. Tell me how much the situation sucks (yes, I realize it does in more than one way).