Spike burst into the classroom, late as usual. Like many other times, Spike’s iPod broke world records in levels of sound for such a small device; even the nosebleeders could clearly hear the lyrics of the song blasting away. Spike often played songs that correlated to what he was feeling, and today was no different. Today Spike was listening to Sex Type Things by Stone Temple Pilots. Clearly, the lyrics were an attempt to convey some type of message to Buffy.
I know you want what’s on my mind
I know you like what’s on my mind
I know it eats you up inside
I know, you know, you know, you know
Mr. Davis, who was deep in the middle of his lecture, stopped teaching and glared angrily at the distraction. “Turn that music off, Spike.”
Spike had the whole situation planned out in his head. He would ignore Mr. Davis’ routine plea and continue listening to his music, acting like he hadn’t heard the poor powerless teacher. But Mr. Davis looked different today.
“Ah, Spike, but I’ve found a way around the principal,” Mr. Davis threatened in a scary combination of playfulness and discipline, knowing Spike could hear him. “It seems forced community service work does not have to go through the principal... so unless you want to retake drawing and painting with the third graders every afternoon...”
The contagious riff of the song immediately ceased tainting the room. “Bollocks! Since when did you grow a backbone, D?”
“It’s Mr. Davis,” the teacher corrected, feeling even more brave now. “And probably since we started reading 1984.”
Spike blinked. News to me. “We started reading 1984?”
Mr. Davis tossed a copy of the book over to Spike. He caught it, and if reprimanded about that, he’d just say it was good reflexes.
“Shit happens when you miss first block all the time,” the teacher commented.
What the buggerin’ bloody hell? Did a teacher just say “shit happens?”
“You okay, boss?” Spike asked. “You seem a bit... different today. Got a fever? You dehydrated or something? Want some water?”
Spike took out a silver flask from the inside pocket of his black duster, more to shock all the students than anything. Was Spike asking for it or something? Who really put anything besides alcohol in those things? Spike handed the flask to Mr. Davis.
Completely out of character, Mr. Davis calmly unscrewed the cap and smelled its aroma. “Hmm... just water,” he assessed.
“And it’s Mr. Davis,” the teacher corrected again. He handed Spike the flask back. “Take a seat, Spike.”
What the hell? What was wrong with Mr. Davis today? Usually a little illegal activity – or small suggestions of such – ruffled his feathers beyond belief and made him squirm. Did he take his teacher pills today or something? Gosh, the reborn man might go all Charles Bronson on the class any second!
Normally, Spike would continue the quipping, but he was kinda starting to respect Mr. Davis. And that was extremely weird for Spike, respecting a teacher and all that. But Mr. Davis had a truly different air about him today. He clearly had that easygoing “don’t fuck with me” vibe to him. In the five months of being Spike, the bleached boy only met a handful of people that could put him in his place. And those types of people, those relaxed “shut the fuck up” type of people, commanded attention and usually had something to say. Today, Spike knew he would learn something.
Spike slouched behind his small desk and let out a sigh, getting comfortable as Mr. Davis continued his lecture. Spike tried his damnest not to look at Buffy, but his eyes always seemed to find their way to her golden aura. The D the I the S the E the A the S the E. The soddin’ di-zeez.
Rather ironically, Mr. Davis wrote “Conflict” in big letters on the chalkboard. We got plenty o’ that here, boss. The teacher continued by writing three lines under it.
Man versus Man
Man versus Nature
Man versus Self
“Okay, class,” Mr. Davis addressed, chalk in hand. “These are the three basic struggles in a story. I’d like an example for each, from stuff you’ve encountered before this class.”
The whiplash must have hurt the students’ necks, because they all hastily jerked glances to the back of the room at Spike. Yeah, he was pretty much all those, right? All that and a bag of chips.
Spike, loving the attention, figured he would capitalize on the already open vein with some good ol’ fashioned criticism. He opened his mouth, about to speak, but Mr. Davis quickly cut him off.
“And yes, Spike, I know that there are more struggles than this, and that most books have multiple struggles. But we need to understand the basics first.”
Holy! He was countering Spike’s moves before he even made them! Spike would check his King at E-5 with a Bishop and Mr. Davis would slaughter his Bishop with a deceptively placed Rook. The man must’ve prepared for this... Spike decided it best not to speak.
“Ummm...”
Ah... Cordelia Chase, profoundly deep in thought. Sight for soar eyes, seeing her stroke her chin like in some seventeenth century play. “Isn’t that movie, The Day After Tomorrow, like, versus nature?”
Mr. Davis smiled at Cordelia’s innocent answer. “Not exactly what I was expecting, but it does adequately convey man versus nature.” And with that, he put the movie title next to the conflict.
“Ooo!” Parker must have thought of something really great, because his arm was waving raggedly in the air. “I’m always reading Ender’s Game. Isn’t that man versus man?”
What the fuck is this? Opposite day or something? Did my bloody memo get lost in the soddin’ mail or something? Spike was shocked Parker had read a book, rather on Card’s magnificent magnum opus. Mr. Davis wrote Parker’s contribution next to man versus man.
No one volunteered for the last one.
“Does anyone have an example of man versus self?” Mr. Davis asked the class. Man versus self wasn’t exactly a conspicuous conflict, at least in most elementary books.
“Voltaire’s Candide,” Buffy mumbled under her breath while doodling something in her notebook.
Since when did Buffy read college level books? From France, no less? And a satire... shouldn’t she be reading The Boxcar Children or something? Everyone’s eyes turned to Buffy.
Feeling the heated gaze of the class, Buffy figured she would explain herself. “Uh... Candide, the protagonist of the novel, believes in this ‘best of all possible worlds,’ that everything will always turn out for the best...” Buffy stopped doodling with her pen and looked up at Mr. Davis.
“But, really, things never turn out for the best...” she paused, and if eyes had some type of rearview mirror, she’d be glaring directly at Spike right now. “...especially in the book, and Candide displays little judgment because of his narrow mindset. So I guess he’s against himself, in a way.”
What the fuck was that? Some type of mock analysis on me or our “relationship?” At first, Spike was miffed that Buffy would use great literature to indirectly attack him.
But then Spike remembered the songs he blasted specifically for Buffy to hear everyday. Spike decided he could live with the Candide reference, so long as he could continue on the rampage of truthfully brutal song lyrics. He didn’t aspire to be a hypocrite, after all.
Spike felt compelled to continue Buffy’s argument, mostly because she forgot something important. “Candide demonstrates no coherent understanding or thought because of his philosophy of optimism, and his only goal in life is to get the girl.” Spike’s eyes fell on Buffy for a split second. “Our hero Candide thinks – like Buffy said – that everything will magically fall into the best place it can possibly be... he doesn’t have to worry about anything besides getting the girl because the best will inevitably happen... because it’s the only thing that can happen... because, well, redundancy aside, this is the best of all possible worlds because it is the only known world.”
He allowed that to sink in a little before he finished. “I dunno, that’s more like man versus his mindset, or man versus philosophy... close enough, I guess.”
Mr. Davis nodded his head and wrote Voltaire’s satire next to man versus self. “That’s good enough.”
Mr. Davis walked around his desk so he could address the class fully, without the desk in the way. Soapboxin’ time. “Almost all stories have conflict, struggles, enemies... these are the things that make plot...”
Spike wanted to pay attention to the spiel that followed. He really did. Mr. Davis threw Spike a repertoire of perplexing curveballs that day, and he wanted to know if the teacher put anything special behind it. But Spike was also a student, and when a note was passed to a student in class, all attention automatically fell to the little scraggly piece of paper in question, and words of even supreme enlightenment fell on deaf ears.
The almost unintelligible note had “meet me in five minutes - you know where” scribbled on it. That could only mean one person.
Buffy.
No, it wasn’t the bad penmanship that gave it away. Buffy’s penmanship normally ran from excellent to exquisite, and if Spike could digress, he’d say the impeccable handwriting was something of a turn on. But that was really weird, getting off on someone’s handwriting...
Spike guessed she was just a little sloppy with her penmanship today. But, yeah, it was the obvious dirty vibe the sentence resonated that made Spike know it was Buffy. And a “you know where” could only mean one place...
Spike opened his ears again to catch the tail end of the lecture. “Without conflict, a story usually isn’t all that interesting... the next time you read a book or watch a movie, take note of the type of conflict. You’ll understand and respect things a lot more if you do.”
An interesting and fundamental lecture, if Spike would allow himself to conclude. He wouldn’t dare voice his thoughts, though. Nah, he didn’t want Mr. Davis big in the head or anything. That’s the last thing that man needs right now. Vindication might make this little strict spell last longer, and Spike didn’t particularly crave teaching third graders the colors of the alphabet.
Mr. Davis started on a new subject. He was probably going to assign something reflective. Maybe an essay for college admissions? A poetry assignment? Or possibly a speech on something malignant in society?
He started. “I’ve been thinking...”
“Life’s just a bunch of ‘fuck you’ signs?” Spike finished crudely for Mr. Davis. The hell with it. “And if you had a million years to do it, you couldn’t rub even half the ‘fuck you’ signs outta the world?”
The class stifled giggles. Profanity was fun! Someone needed to bake Spike a cookie ASAP.
Mr. Davis was seething. “Spike...”
Spike continued flippantly. “I think, even, if I ever die, and they dig me a hole in the cemetery, and I have a tombstone and all, it’ll say ‘Spike’ in big letters on it,” Spike gestured widely with his hands, “and then what year I was born and what year I died, and then right under that it’ll say ‘Fuck you.’”
The class erupted in laughter.
“I’m positive, in fact,” Spike finished, proud that he made the difficult audience laugh.
“Funny,” Mr. Davis commented dryly, recognizing the line from a novel. “But the new and improved Mr. Davis with a backbone would probably not allow stuff like that, right?”
After several seconds, Spike finally nodded his head.
“Well, that’s good.” Mr. Davis let out a melodramatic sigh of relief. “I thought I might have gotten a little out of character if I asked you to take a walk.”
Thank you, kind sir. Spike rose from his chair. “Sure thing, boss. Just don’t talk in the third person anymore, okay? It’s kinda annoying.” A few minutes had passed, anyway, and it was time for blowjobs in certain closets.
Spike stalked around school for a few minutes, having himself a nice stogie or two, while analyzing the newly reborn Mr. Davis in his head. After some meditation on that, he scurried right over to the closet. Spike thought he might have been a little early still, but he was eager to get started.
He quickly opened the closet door and shoved himself inside. All Spike could see was black; he couldn’t tell a Buffy from a mop. He was just about to turn on the lights when someone unzipped his pants.
Could Buffy’ve gotten here already? That woman sure was quick when she wanted to be.
So there, in the pitch black darkness of the closet, Buffy got out his erection and started going at it. She was a little more aggressive this time around, especially in her bobs, if Spike had a say in anything. Not the complete pure surreal bliss he usually encountered in this type of situation with her... hell, he usually couldn’t think at all when she was in the process of doing it. Mind you, he wasn’t complaining; he was merely comparing this lackluster job to the ones she’d given him in the past.
Buffy’s teeth softly grazed his member. Spike twitched.
Buffy never used teeth... she never went that deep...
The door swung open. The light penetrated the spacious confines of the closet, blinding Spike for a split second. He wish he’d just stayed blind forever after he saw who was at the door.
Buffy.
It was fucking Buffy.
Buffy was at the door and not— What!!! Then who the bloody hell...
Horrified, Spike whipped back around to see who had ventured twenty thousand leagues under the sea.
Whomg!!!!ele1!!ven! Who could it be? It’s not suppose to be some big mystery, and I’m not even demented enough to introduce a new character via blowjob. With that in mind, it could positively only be one single solitary person.
Yes, you are right. It’s Riley... >_>
I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Things most obviously fall apart next chapter. And the unidentified flying blowjob (UFBs they call them) is just the tip of the iceberg, trust me. But don’t overhype it, because nothing ever lives up to its hype. :(
I desperately need everyone’s advice on something. I don’t know whether I will continue to have Spike as a Byronic character or not; it just doesn’t seem to mesh well with the romance that I want in this novel. I’m thinking I might have him curb his Byronic nature, at least so he isn’t as egotistical and close-minded as he is now. Possibly Spike as a Byronic character that respects social norms, school, government, and authority, but still strongly dislikes them? And, of course, he’d still retain the badboy qualities, conflicting emotions, cynicism, arrogance, self-destructiveness, and loner traits that make him Spike. Since the very beginning I’ve wanted Spike to see the world around him in a much more positive, ‘from all angles’ type of way, instead the clear black and white he sees now. With all that in mind, what’s your opinion on possibly tweaking Spike a little, maybe even having him go through a catharsis? Do you like Spike right now, not from the abuse standpoint but from the character trait standpoint? I feel I might have lost the Spike sympathy and support because he’s being really destructive and an anti-hero without the heroic goal, and I haven’t fleshed out the tyrant Buffy past enough for people to think his abuse is justifiable in the slightest.
Comments on the above are much appreciated, as are reviews on the chapter! :D