Spike tried to cover it up with a shrug and a cool grin. “I’ll help you. But if I get a disease or anything, I’m killing you.”
Buffy smirked. “Oh, no, you won’t. Maybe a venereal disease, but that’s a stretch.”
Spike was taken aback by that. Oxygen wasn’t reaching his lungs. Blood wasn’t coursing through his veins. The clock’s hand didn’t move. The particles in the air weren’t even colliding with each other. Time had stopped completely. And to top that off in a complete paradox, his libido was going crazy. ...did she just? This is Buffy, right? Same Buffy who’s going with the ape man? Same valley girl Buffy just used “venereal” in a sentence? What in the bleedin’ hell is she trying to pull?
He was about to respond, but the clock suddenly jumped five minutes and Buffy was nowhere to be seen. He put up his finger up to retort, but he was pointing at the Calculus books on the wall. He shrugged it off and went to find Angel.
As Spike walked through the corridors, he was tangled in thoughts of Buffy. A big part of Spike was still repulsed by her. The things she’s done to me... you’d expect I would burn her hair. But Spike didn’t feel malice, too drunk on the lust and the thought he craved for years. So she wants to shag, eh? I can do that. Spike wouldn’t just bang her senselessly; he would do that in the end, of course, but he would torture her first. He would make her beg for it. Slowly caress her smooth skin and explore her heavenly body, searching and finding her points of pleasure. He’d completely desolate the points. He’d lick her in big sensuous laps and make her writhe in pleasure. He’d do this until she was close to the edge, close to going overboard, closing the gap to the great abyss, and then he’d suddenly stop. He’d just stop. And Buffy would glance up at him, big beautiful eyes and a pitiful expression on her face resembling a little baby who’d just had her favorite toy taken away. And she’d plead for him to do it, too high and too close to care about the neediness. She’d beg him. And that, ‘mate, would be the best torture of all.
Spike grinned at the thought, happy that he’d made a reasonable alternative to his desire for Buffy. He’d fuck her senselessly after that, of course, pounding in and out of her so fast and hard that it made them both climax instantly. He couldn’t imagine what repercussions it would have on her relationship with Riley. And shagging me, probably still not the best option for popularity. Her walls would come crumbling down. She’d be left with nothing but the blissful memories of popularity that lay bleeding in her hands. And Spike would finally have what he wanted, to fuck her in both meanings of the word.
He finally found Angel, who was outside on some ledge eating his lunch. He was dressed in black pants and a nice button-down black shirt. The two of them were a black hole at school, sucking up all the energy, especially when compared to the warehouse of preppiness of the conforming students.
Spike immediately yanked Angel by the arm. Might ruin his stupid spiked hair if I pull him fast enough.
“C’mon,” Spike urged Angel. “We’re moving. No more of this soddin’ ledge crap.”
Angel obeyed, completely aware of reborn-Spike’s ability to lead. “You got Weight Training last period, too?”
“Yep,” Spike nodded wickedly. “We’ll be workout partners.”
Angel was happily content with following Spike until he figured out that they were heading to the cafeteria. He openly resisted. “Hey, no man. You know we can’t go in there.” He shook his head and gestured “no” with his hands.
“Because what? Because some soddin’ jock or skirt says we can’t?” Spike thundered this both bitterly and sarcastically.
Angel thought about that for a minute. He touched his chin. “Well, yeah.”
Spike sighed. “Just come the fuck inside with me.”
Angel shrugged and followed his friend. He called from tow, “You really have changed, y’know that.”
“I do,” Spike replied softly. “And so will everyone else soon enough.”
The twosome scared some third-string football player away from his table and sat down. Spike, of course, picked the table across from Buffy’s table. Both groups were facing each other. Parker had a stereo, and, as a result of his lackluster musical taste, had a horrible rap song playing. It blared through the cafeteria and made anyone who wasn’t a fan cringe at the lyrics. Something about humping hoes and dealing drugs, from what Spike could gather between the rapper’s grunts and moans.
Angel was looking intently at Cordelia as he sunk his teeth into his ham sandwich.
“You really do like her, ‘mate.” Spike sympathized matter-of-factly as he caught the stare.
Angel nearly choked on his sandwich. “Yeah,” he coughed. “You know that. She’s going with Parker, though. Whole thing’s not much different from your obsession with Buffy.”
Spike just nodded humbly. Normally, he would be upset that Angel had brought up Buffy, just as Angel would be upset that he had brought up Cordelia. Bringing up chicks you can’t have but desperately want isn’t the best subject unless you’re rating them on some skewed backwards scale. But I’m close to having her. I can feel her desire.
Another rap song started and Spike just couldn’t take it anymore.
Spike stomped over to Buffy’s table and violently swiped the stereo before anyone could respond. He thundered back over to Angel and slammed the stereo on the table, reverberating a loud sound throughout the room and effectively getting the whole cafeteria’s attention. With his back turned to shocked looks of the populars, he changed the station to hard rock. One of his favorite songs was playing. Spike slid the volume dial up.
I've got no soul to sell
Help me
The only thing that works for me
Help me get away from myself
This time he sat on the table and lit a cigarette. Spike gazed lustfully at Buffy as the next lyrics came up. It was painfully clear to everyone in the room who was still watching the debacle what Spike had on his mind. Buffy tried to ignore him, focusing on anything in the room besides his heated gaze.
I want to fuck you like an animal
I want to feel you from the inside
I want to fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to god
Now Riley was talking to Buffy, but she had started to stare back at Spike. Her eyes are so beautiful he pensively thought. So much depth in them. They are a million hues of color. I couldn’t ever pinpoint their color to merely one lame category; doing that would shortchange their ethereal qualities. And her radiant hair. And her effulgent skin. And I’m gonna fuck her until the neighbors send flowers. Spike didn’t even notice as Riley angrily stood up.
You can have my isolation
You can have the hate that it brings
You can have my absence of faith
You can have my everything
Help me
You tear down my reason
Help me
It's your sex I can smell—
Riley turned off the stereo with a loud bang, almost breaking the flimsy device.
Riley was over at the table now. Spike didn’t even notice. Spike had gotten lost in Buffy and the all too appropriate lyrics. But Riley looked mad. He glared at Spike.
“What’s your problem!? Buffy’s mine!” Riley barked possessively.
Now Spike was mad. He wasn’t sure if it was the possessiveness or the hostility in Riley’s words. But it was probably the fact that he had wanted to take a swing at Captain Cardboard for a very long time. Spike slipped off the table and popped the cigarette out of his mouth.
“You wanna scuffle, ‘mate?” Spike stood up tall. It looked like he was about to throw a punch, but instead, in true badass form, he pressed his cigarette into Riley’s blue sweatshirt, leaving a sizzling black hole that made everyone in the room scream “fight!”
I suck, I know. ‘Stopping right before the action. Next update probably not until Thursday. :( Tell me how much you hated the story. Because, really, self-esteem needs some breaking if I stop right before the bleedin’ action...