HAPPY BIRTHDAY vamptastica!!!
Let me tell you why I wish everyone had the pleasure of knowing vamptastica. She’s so talented, and so generous with it. Her art is gorgeous. She’s a big snuggly sweetheart, and at the same time fiercely protective of the people lucky enough to be her friends. She’s funny and pervy, and she’s so great at storming my brain when I get all hung up with a fic. I think I owe the completion of a good chunk of my porn to her. It’s been so great getting to know you over the last year, honey. I’m glad we met.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
She wasn’t supposed to like him.
Good girls didn’t like boys like him. He was crass and crude, and not at all what she was supposed to be looking for in a husband.
Not that she was supposed to be looking for a husband yet. Her mother said she was too young for that, and that serious dating could wait until she went to university.
The point was, she wasn’t supposed to notice boys like him. Boys who wore leather and slicked their hair back and smoked cigarettes in the parking lot after school, leering at girls like her. Girls they couldn’t have.
She wasn’t supposed to notice the way his long fingers cradled his homemade cigarettes, the hollow of his cheeks when he took a long deep inhale, or the knowing Cheshire grin he gave when he caught her staring, smoke spiraling out from his nostrils like the Devil himself.
She wasn’t supposed to notice the bunching muscles in his arms when he kicked his boots up on the desks at school, or his strange grace when showboating for his greaser friends, or how his waist was oddly slim when not cloaked with his leather coat, despite the impression he left on a girl that he was a bigger man. She wasn’t supposed to notice the cocky tilt of his head, or the stupid accent that had half the girls in school giggling over him in the hallways, because they were too dumb to realize that a guy like him would use them—eat them alive and leave them heartbroken. She knew he had done it before, and so would they, if they paid any attention.
She definitely wasn’t supposed to notice that the tight cut of his jeans showed anyone who cared to look that he had a really nice rear end.
And she wasn’t even supposed to notice that his eyes followed her everywhere. Not begging, not asking her anything, just…on her, all the time. Smug as anything. As if he knew something she was keeping from him, which was stupid. She could hardly even concentrate on her schoolwork anymore, because he was in all of her classes—and that was another thing she didn’t understand. Buffy was one of the few girls in their school taking advanced classes, and a loser like him didn’t belong. But somehow he was there, and somehow she could always feel him boring a hole into the side of her head with his stupid pretty blue eyes.
Lashes like that belonged on a girl. He oughtta be ashamed of them. Jerk.
~*~*~*~*~*~
The first time it happened, it was an accident.
Well, it was an accident on her part. Spike knew what he was doing, but Buffy hadn’t expected to find herself being kissed by someone like him behind the bleachers during a game, when anyone might see.
She would die if anyone saw.
It was just after halftime and everyone had returned to their seats, so the concession area was deserted when she broke away from the squad to use the ladies’ room.
When she stepped back out, he was waiting for her…lurking by the entrance to the women’s like he belonged there.
She tried to slip past him, not even wanting to acknowledge what a stalker he was getting to be, but he ground out his cigarette and grabbed her by the wrist. She probably should have screamed when he took her by the waist and pulled her around the side of the building, pushed her against the wall and stepped so close that he was pressed indecently against her, chest to knees.
Should have, but…didn’t.
And when she didn’t, he smiled—sharp and sharky—and he didn’t even have the courtesy to ask, or say anything at all, before he leaned down and pressed his mouth full-on to hers.
She probably should have slapped him. She’d never let Angel or Riley do more than peck her cheek when they took her to dances or the drive-in or to Harry’s Diner for a bite to eat.
And this was….lewd. His hand was in her hair, mussing it, and the way his mouth moved against hers had to be a sin, even before his tongue licked along her lips and pushed its way between them. She felt herself flush hot that he had the nerve…but then his hips were grinding into hers and his hands—surprisingly soft hands—were stroking the little strip of skin bared between her sweater and the skirt of her cheerleading uniform, and her knees felt like jelly.
When he pulled away, she was a little too stunned to string a thought together, and he looked like he knew it—eyes fixed on her lips as he licked his own, like a lazy, proud cat.
By the time she finally pulled herself together enough to go ape, it was too late.
He laughed at her—laughed!—low and husky and mocking, and then he turned and walked away.
She slumped against the wall while she caught her breath…just for a minute…then she went back into the bathroom to fix her hair.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The second time it happened, it was a mistake.
She should have just left well enough alone. It’s not as though, once confronted about what he’d done, she expected the jerk to be sorry, or—Heaven forbid—apologize, but the incident had haunted her all week, and she had to do something.
She marched up to him after school, when the parking lot had emptied and only losers and folks with activities were lingering, and his friends all watched her with raised brows and catcalls.
She ignored them. “We have to talk.”
He didn’t have any right to laugh at her that way, a low mirthful chuckle that caught on with the other boys after the sly look he gave her. He dismissed them with a glance and they all made their excuses and wandered off. Spike dropped his still-smoking cigarette to the pavement and opened the car door for her, holding it open in such a way that she’d have to crawl beneath his propped arm to get in.
As if she was getting in the car with him, anyway.
After a pointed look from her, he smirked. “Might as well let me give you a ride home, sweetheart. Friends have all left, yeah? You plannin’ on walking?”
Red-cheeked, she realized he was right.
“None of your friends around to know, Summers. Promise to be a gentleman, alright? You can tell me all about what a bad, rude man I am.”
He was trying to rattle her cage, and anyway, Buffy was pretty sure he didn’t even know what the word ‘gentleman’ meant. But she hadn’t left herself much choice, so she slid into onto the white leather upholstery and sat primly as he shut the door behind her.
This was a nice car. Real cherry, and brand new, too. She wondered how the likes of him got the bread to afford something like this.
He slid in behind the wheel, fired up the big rumbling engine, and laid rubber out of the parking lot so wildly that she had to hang on to keep from skidding across the bench and into his lap. That thought made her blush and brought back to mind what she was supposed to be doing here.
“You had some nerve…doing what you did the other night.”
He shot her an amused look, hands off the wheel lighting a cigarette, and she swore they were about to crash. “Might want to remind me exactly what it was that I did, luv. I’m a rather nervy fellow.”
Buffy scoffed, insulted at the implication that he might not remember kissing her. “I think you know,” she hissed.
He mumbled around his cigarette. “Oh. You mean that little kiss we had?”
He sounded so…so innocent that it made her want to do things no lady ought to do. Like sock him in the nose. “No, I mean the grody…slobbery kiss that you forced on me.”
Blue eyes were assessing and sardonic. “Funny, you didn’t sound like I was forcin’ anything. Made those little whimpery noises in the back of your throat.”
Her jaw dropped open. “I did not!”
He exhaled, laughing at her shock. “Close your mouth, Summers. Ladies don’t leave their mouths open ‘less they want ‘em filled.”
Buffy’s face flamed bright red. She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that, but…she could guess the worst, from things she’d heard. From the things he’d already done to her. “You…raunchy….!” She couldn’t even finish.
“I’m sorry, pigeon, did I interrupt your righteous little tirade with a spot of truth? Do carry on.”
“…It’s not the truth! I would never want you to do that! You’re slimy and common and completely unattractive, and I never would have let you touch me if you hadn’t…cornered me that way. You’re nobody. You’re a creepy nobody. And everybody knows you’re beneath me. Except you.”
There was a moment of dead air when she stopped ranting. He startled theatrically and looked at her. “Oh, sorry, were you still yappin’? I drifted off after the third lie.”
“I did not—!”
She was forced to brace herself as the car careened towards the curb and he slammed on the brake.
And then he attacked her or something. Buffy squeaked when he hooked his hand around the base of her neck and pull her across the seat towards him.
She recognized a split second of anger around his eyes just before he closed in on her mouth. So she was surprised when the kiss was…soft. A little politer than their first. Still not something she should have allowed him to do—still not something he should have taken the liberty of, but…. Her belly heated strangely as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth gently, and his hands cupped her face and neck carefully. His mouth teased over her lips for half an eternity, and he never once pressed against them with his tongue—something that still made her blush just to think about.
Buffy had honestly forgotten her own name by the time he pulled away and murmured, “We’re here.”
Her eyes blinked open. Disoriented, she looked around and saw her own mailbox, sitting in front of her own yard with the house where her own mother was waiting and could come out at any moment.
She would have yelled at him for kissing her again, here, but she was too busy scrambling out of his car before anyone saw.
Just before the heavy car door swung shut, she heard a deep voice laugh out “You’re welcome, pet.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
The third time was blackmail.
Buffy didn’t know why she kept expecting him to have manners, but he cornered her two days later just outside the cafeteria, blocking her path to the powder room and hemming her in against the wall when she tried to turn and walk away.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Nothing’s changed.”
He looked annoyed. “Exactly. You always avoided me before, as well.”
She sighed, looking over his shoulder as if she were bored and not feeling a little hot just from the way he loomed over her. “What do you want?”
When he gave her the Devil’s own smile, eyes skittering down and back, Buffy blushed at the clear direction of his thoughts. “Think you know.”
Before she could really flip, he shifted backwards a bit and his voice lightened. “But I’ll settle for a date.”
Somehow that was worse. She recoiled as if he’d spit in her face. “A date!?”
He looked amused in the face of her horror. Was he immune to being insulted? “Yeah, luv, a date. Would think your kind would approve of that kind of thing.”
“Not with someone like you.”
His jaw flexed, and she felt inexplicably guilty. “Friday. Or I tell all your friends that you let me cop a feel.”
Her eyes rounded. “You wouldn’t! I didn’t!”
He shrugged blithely. “All a matter of perspective, innit.” There was a chorus of girlish laughter from the direction of the ladies’. “Sounds like someone’s coming, Miss Buffy. Seem to remember seein’ Cordelia go in there earlier….”
Yikes. If Cordy saw her standing here with him, she’d be ruined. “Fine! Fine. You’re horrible.”
“Yeah, luv, but I’m the best kind of horrible there is.”
She was stunned when he pressed a swift but wet kiss to her mouth. He winked, and split.
~*~*~*~*~*~
She had to be crazy. She had to be outta her mind. Why else would she be sitting in her living room all dressed up, waiting for him?
She was just glad her parents were out to a dinner party, or her daddy would skin Spike alive as soon as he got a look at him.
And of course he was twenty minutes late, leaving her to stew. She was in for a real fake-out. He was the rudest pig of a boy she’d ever met. When he finally rang the bell and she saw him leaning against the doorframe, dressed like the stupid greaser he was, she was ready to give him a piece of her mind…
Then he handed her flowers.
She reeled in confusion.
Suddenly remembering her manners, even if his were spotty, she stepped back from the door. “Um, I…come in. I’ll just…thanks. Let me go put these in water.”
Clearly Spike didn’t understand that he was supposed to stay in the foyer, because he followed her into the kitchen. Stood so close that it was only natural he made her a little nervous, and then she turned and realized his eyes were fixed on her—
She crossed her arms quickly over her chest. “Spike!”
Sleepy blue eyes ticked up to hers. “Mmmm?”
“What are you doing?”
He blinked innocently and gestured toward her cardigan. “You’re wearing cherries. Just wonderin’ if you were tryin’ to tell me something.”
She couldn’t conceal her ick-face, and he didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed of himself. “Let’s get out of here before I change my mind.”
~*~*~*~*~*~
All the little steps were so innocent.
Buffy didn’t object to being taken to the drive-in. All the kids from school would be here, but they could hide out in the far corner of the lot, and at least it was better than him taking her to the diner where everyone could see…and talk.
What Buffy should object to were the moves he was making on her. A little at a time, but she was no dummy.
He scooted a little closer.
He put his arm around her.
He sniffed her hair and smoothed a hand over her chastely-covered shoulder.
It wasn’t as if a boy had never put the moves on her before at the drive-in. But for some reason she didn’t rebuff him the way she had the other guys. At each new move, she thought she might, but in the end, she didn’t. Instead, she just got warmer and jumpier and more self-conscious with each passing moment. She wondered why she had agreed to come here. Just being here with him was bad for her reputation.
It wasn’t until the sniffing turned to nuzzling that her fast-beating heart really started to pound. And when his breath brushed hot against her ear, Buffy’s eyelids slid down until that feeling—his lips on her earlobe and the dry warm palm cupping her other cheek—became her whole world.
Suddenly she was very aware of places that no lady was supposed to think about.
It was a long time—a long time of his mouth brushing every inch of her throat, a long time of his thumb stroking her cheekbone, a long time of Buffy’s breath getting shorter and faster—before he turned her face towards his and took her mouth. She placed the blame squarely on his shoulders that by the time he kissed her, she wound her arms around his neck to pull him closer, and opened her mouth eagerly for the slip of his tongue.
Maybe he did have some manners after all, because he didn’t laugh at her. She’d have died if he had laughed at her. Or maybe she would have killed him instead.
But he didn’t. He just exhaled eagerly when she parted her lips, and slowly eased her into his lap. Before she could object to his hands on her hips, they were gone again.
They made out for a long time. She didn’t even see the rest of the movie, and she really didn’t care. She’d never felt this way before. Half the school could have been standing at the windows in shock, and she wouldn’t have seen them, she was so focused on his tongue and his taste and the way he smelled.
Thankfully, she still took notice of his hand sliding up her calf. His fingers brushed the back of her knee and her body gave a strange pulse of excitement—and then she smacked his hand sharply until he pulled it out from under her skirt.
He didn’t even pause in kissing her. Just chuckled into her mouth as though he’d expected as much.
Later, when she was at home trying to make sense of the way she’d behaved, she decided that this time, the fourth time, must have been some kind of crazy witch-doctor hoodoo. He’d cast a spell on her that made her do things she ordinarily wouldn’t.
This same logic had to be the explanation for the fifth time, as well. And the sixth, and the seventh, and a dozen or two times after that.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Their dates were kept secret.
Her insistence, of course, because he’d probably tell the whole school if he could, but he mostly went along with it, which surprised her. At school she pretended like she didn’t especially know him, and for weeks, most of their nights together were spent in his car, away from people who might see them together. Her friends were suspicious of something, but she’d put them off and she was pretty sure they believed her.
Spike had convinced her that the back seat was a much better idea—the seat was wider, and there was no steering wheel. No horn to be kicked on accident when she got a little too cranked.
Spike’s chest loomed over hers as they kissed, pressed there against her warmly, but his hips were to the side. She didn’t like it when he pressed into her there. It made her nervous, and when she’d told him that, he had sighed a little, but he hadn’t argued.
Not long after that—almost as a concession—she had let him start touching her breasts. He was cupping one of them now as his tongue thrust against hers, hand slipped underneath the halter top of her sundress from the front, bare palm cradling the weight while his fingers…rolled her nipple gently. Two nights ago was the first time she had let him touch her this way—bare—and it was still new and a little scary.
But she may have worn this dress with him in mind.
By the time his mouth slipped away from hers to suck and lick and brush over her throat, she was so overheated she thought she’d burst out of her skin.
He was breathing heavily, and his hips rubbed downwards…something he did more and more the more serious they got. She was glad it was the seat he was grinding against and not her. The thought of that was far too much.
“Buffy…so bloody gorgeous….”
She shivered when his teeth scraped lightly over her skin, but he didn’t pause too long in any one place. The one time he had accidentally—or not so accidentally—left a dark, telling mark on her neck, she had refused to see him for a week. She had been so embarrassed. No one knew she had a boyfriend…or…something, so showing up with a hickey just made it look like she was fast. They had argued about it, and Spike told her there was an easy way to fix that little problem, and when Buffy burst into tears at the thought, they had dropped it. Spike was more careful after that.
He was good to her, in his own coarse, demanding, suggestive way.
When he reached around to gently untie the knot at the nape of her neck, her heart jumped. “Spike?”
“Shh, you’re alright, luv.” He kissed her cheek, and strangely, she was, even though he was peeling away her clothing above the waist and she wanted to cover herself up.
He nuzzled the hollow under her chin before he leaned down and lifted her breast to his mouth. She…hadn’t really thought about this before. His lips were closed around her nipple, gentle wet touches, and it was like…water. So soft around the sensitive skin. He moaned around her flesh and her breath hitched and she tried so hard…tried so hard to keep still even though her body wanted to move, tried so hard to keep quiet even though sounds tickled at her throat.
Spike’s head came up, and he pressed a few chaste kisses to familiar territory. “It’s alright, pet. You can show me. No one but us, yeah? No one needs to know what a hot little ticket my girl is.”
His girl. Her stomach squiggled.
This time when he put his mouth over her nipple—the other—she let some of the noises come through, even though she was embarrassed. She squirmed a little, restless and over-hot. She couldn’t help it, and he had given her permission, even though she still thought it wasn’t right.
He liked her response. She could tell.
The more she responded, the more insistent his mouth became. He sucked harder, fingers playing over the other, increasingly eager. He was almost rough, but it didn’t hurt. Just the opposite. It felt really good, so good that she was really going to have to hide this pair of panties from her mother, and by the time his teeth closed down carefully on her, tongue flickering, the familiar dull throbbing was not so dull. It was turning into something….
“Spike.” Suddenly scared, she pushed at his shoulders, and when that didn’t really work, she pulled him away by the hair. “Spike, stop. I don’t like this any more.”
He collapsed, forehead to her breastbone as he heaved air. She couldn’t see his face, but he sounded a touch impatient when he said slowly: “Kitten…it seemed like you liked it a lot.”
“Well. Now I want to stop.”
She stiffened when he released another smaller sigh—nodded without lifting his head from where it was buried. She still felt…jazzed, and a little jumpy about him being there. She wanted to put her top back where it belonged.
He was muttering quietly under his breath, and most of it was incoherent to her. But she chilled when she heard a particularly irate ‘’s what I get.’
“What?” There was a lump in her throat, and her vision was a little blurred with tears when he looked up, face shifting into lines of sorry.
He lay the fabric of her dress back over her chest without tying it. He crawled upward till his face was too close to hers, guiding hers back around when she turned away to wipe at her eyes. “I’m a bad man, luv. Please don’t cry.”
She was stricken with the familiar, alien urge to pummel him. “Why do you have to be such a jerk?”
Those pretty girl-lashes swept down and for a moment she was self-conscious that he was looking at her chest. Then suddenly he was looking her straight in the eye again. He sounded strangely annoyed when he answered her, even though the words were soft in his mouth. “’M in love with you.”
She stopped breathing, until it burned her chest and she had to inhale. She didn’t say a word, because she couldn’t. Was it better that she let a man who loved her do these things, or worse because on top of every sordid thing they did, he loved her?
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He sounded resigned, and a little sad, and the only thing she did know was that gave her an aching pang of guilt. She was pretty sure it was guilt. Worse when he pressed his lips to hers in a habit of affection. “C’mon, Miss Buffy. We’d best get you home.”
He used to only call her that when he thought she was being difficult, as an insult. Now, like everything else, it sounded softer.
She felt bad the whole quiet ride home.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
the "NC-17" rating is actually kind of a conservative rating. there's naughty touching, but because it's from the perspective of a girl in the 50s, the naughtiest word is "nipple" and I'm sure she blushed while thinking it *g*
oh, also...if anyone goes looking, my lj name has changed. it used to be the same as my name here, now it's thatotherperv. in case anyone gets confused.
oh, also...if anyone goes looking, my lj name has changed. it used to be the same as my name here, now it's thatotherperv. in case anyone gets confused.