Title: Black Satin and Plaid Flannel
Author: Pattyanne
snapkik@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: None of the BtVS
characters belong to me.
Feedback: Love some, thanks.
Rating: Up to NC-17
Summary: Buffy decides to have a
slumber party and invite the scoobies
and her vampire boyfriend.
AN: For anyone who is just picking up
this story, or has forgotten because it's
been so f **** ing long since I've updated
it, here's some background:
1. Angel is gone.
2. Spike and Buffy are in looooove!
3. The others are on board with it.
4. No chip, no Riley (!), no NONE of that
crap!
5. No angst (so sorry)
All right? Let's go then.
***************************************************
Part five: Bedtime Stories
"Love is lovelier, the second time around...just as
wonderful with both feet on the groounnndddd!"
"Oh, god....who let her start singing?"
"Hey!" Spike snapped, glaring at Xander. 'You just shut your
yap and leave her be. She's a beautiful singer." Smiling up
at the small blonde straddling his upper thighs, he folded
his arms behind his head and gave her a little bounce. "You
go ahead and sing all you want, baby. Don't pay a bit of
attention to that stupid prat."
Buffy made a face at Xander, then fell forward in a giggling
heap on Spike's chest. "I love you," she said, nuzzling her
face against the side of his neck.
"I love you, too," he replied, bringing his hands around
and running them up and down her slender back. "You
haven't had another nip at the tequila bottle, have you,
luv?"
"Nope." She shook her head. "Just feeling good. Life is
almost normal and ordinary tonight."
He chuckled. "You'd hate normal and ordinary, and you
know it."
"Maybe. But it's nice to give it a try every now and then."
"Ha!" Anya shouted from the other side of the room. "Gin!"
She laid a hand of cards down on the floor in front of Willow.
"You owe me ten dollars!"
Willow smiled, tossing her own cards down. "Will you take
a check?" she teased.
"No." Anya frowned. "No, I won't. Do I look like a bank? Cash
only, no checks."
Seeing how serious she was, Willow's smile began to fade.
"Anya....come on. We were just playing for fun. Ha-ha. Good
times?"
Anya folded her arms across her chest and whipped around.
"Xander!" she complained loudly. "Willow won't pay me the
money she owes!"
"I don't owe her money!" Willow chimed in. "We were playing
for fun. I THOUGHT she understood that."
Xander, who was lying stretched out on the floor in front of the
TV flipping channels, didn't reply.
"No one gambles for fun," Anya stated clearly. "The purpose of
gambling is to win and take money from the person you're
gambling with. You don't go to Las Vegas to gamble and let
them keep the money if you win."
"This isn't Las Vegas!" Willow retorted. "And we weren't playing
for real money!"
"I was!"
"Well, I wasn't!"
"Xander! Make her pay me!" Anya insisted stubbornly.
"I'm not paying her!" Willow added, just as firmly.
"You have to! A gambling debt is a debt of honor!"
"Oh, come on!" Spike exploded from the couch. Buffy
was still cuddled on his chest, dropping soft kisses all
over his face and neck. "How's a fella supposed to con-
centrate? Christ, Harris! Can't you control your bloody
women?"
"Nope," Xander replied, eyes still glued to the TV, ignoring
the squabbling girls. "Gave up trying long ago."
Tara walked in from the kitchen, carrying a can of
soda. "What's wrong?"
"I'll tell you what's wrong!" Anya said loudly. "Your girl-
friend is a welshman!"
"What?" Tara's brow furrowed.
"She means a welsher," Xander interjected.
"She played a game of Gin," Anya informed Tara, "with
clearly outlined stakes, then she lost...and NOW she
won't pay up!"
Tara looked at Willow. "You were playing for money?"
Willow sighed, rolling her eyes. "Not for REAL money. For
PRETEND money."
"Pretend money?!" Anya sounded scandalized. "As if!"
By this time, even Buffy was tired of listening to the
argument. "Knock it off, you two!" she said, sitting up
and giving them her best 'slayer' glare. "Anya....do you
WANT me to go and get that stuffed rabbit again?"
"You wouldn't dare!" Anya challenged, her voice not
nearly as certain as her words.
"Oh, yes I would," Buffy said. "There is no gambling
for real money allowed in my house. If you can't play
nice...." She let the rest of the sentence trail off, her
tone of voice making her point.
Spike grinned, pulling her back down. "Meanie," he
whispered in her ear.
"Damn straight. Now...where was I?"
"Right here."
****************************************
"Okay. Who's on first?"
Xander grinned. "That's what I want to find out."
Spike looked at him. "What?"
"No, what's on second base."
The vampire rolled his eyes. "No. No Abbott and Costello
routines or I swear I'll thump you good and proper."
"And I'll hold you down while he does it," Buffy added.
"Fine. You people wouldn't know funny if it came along
and bit you," Xander grumbled.
"Don't tempt me," Spike said. He turned out the lamps,
leaving the room in utter darkness save for the firelight.
Willow licked melted marshmallow off her fingers. "I'd
forgotten how good these are."
"And how addicting," Buffy said, reaching for another
graham cracker and snapping it in half.
Spike waited until she'd finished assembling her snack. "All
right, Miss Sticky-fingers, you gonna tell a story or not?"
"Not," she said, her voice muffled by the mouthful of chocolate
and marshmallow she was diligently trying to swallow. "My
stories suck. Besides, you were all there when they happened."
"Well, I'll tell one," Xander started to say, then was abruptly
cut off.
"I'm thinking...no," Spike said. "Your stories are even duller
than hers."
"Hey!" Buffy protested. "I didn't say they were dull. I said
they were all there when they happened."
"Same difference. No, Slayer, I do believe I'M the only one
qualified to tell a proper horror story."
She smiled at the others. "He really does tell them well."
"Uh, yeah," Xander put in. "Of course they're all TRUE, so
get ready to be seriously nauseous."
"Never mind him, honey," Buffy said, reaching up to pat
Spike's cheek.
He caught her hand in mid air, bringing it to his mouth and
pretending to bite. "Not until you wash those little hands,
baby face," he said, giving her hand back to her. "Now
everyone just shut up and listen."
****************************************
"A long time ago....a VERY long time ago...I lived in the
city of London. The times were much simpler then, and
true horror was much easier to find. It lurked in every dark
stairwell, round every street corner."
"It was 1888, and I was twenty-five years old at the time. I
had spent the evening in the home of a young lady I was in
the midst of...courting. We had dined with her parents, and I
had then been invited into her father's study for brandy. We
passed a half an hour or more discussing the latest news from
the Whitechapel district of East London. A few months previously,
a rather gruesome crime had been committed there. A young
woman of...questionable...propriety had been mutilated and
murdered. Her name was Maryanne Nichols. They found her
at 3:45 in the morning on Friday, August 31. A police constable
Neill, while in Buck's Row, had come across the body of a woman
lying on a part of the footway. On stooping to raise her up,
under the belief that she was drunk, he discovered that her
throat had been cut from ear....to ear."
"She was quite dead, but still warm. A Dr. Llewellyn of White-
chapel Road, whose surgery was less than 300 yards from
where the dead woman lay, was called out upon the solici-
tation of a constable. He inspected her body and pronounced
her dead. After making a hasty examination, he then discovered
that, in addition to the gash across her throat, the woman had
terrible wounds to her abdomen. After the body was
removed to the mortuary of the parish in old Montague Street,
steps were taken to secure identification, with little prospect
of success. Her clothing was of common description, but the
skirt of one petticoat and the band of another article bore
the stencil stamp of the Lambeth Workhouse."
"Now, if the woman was murdered on the spot where the body
was found, it is impossible to believe she would not have
aroused the neighborhood with her screaming...which must
have been horrible indeed considering how long and lingering
her death must have been. The pain...the terror...the awful
knowledge that the end was upon her, that she had nowhere
to go...no one to help...must have been agonizing."
As the fire burned low, Spike rose to his feet and grabbed
another bunch of kindling from the wood box. He placed it in
the dying flames, then used the poker to stir them up again.
"Bucks Row was a street occupied all down one side by
a respectable class of people, superior to many of the
surrounding streets, while the other side had a blank wall
bounding a warehouse. Dr. Llewellyn called attention to
the very small quantity of blood on the spot where the body
was found, even though the woman had been literally torn
apart. Disemboweled...her neck split open...and yet almost
no blood."
"The weapon used, he said, could hardly have been a
sailor's jack knife, but more of a short and pointed weapon,
one with considerable power being applied to it. He didn't
believe that the woman was seized from behind and her
throat neatly sliced, but rather that a hand was held across
her mouth, while her neck was punctured...and then ripped
open. The other wounds found on her body were of a
similar nature."
"Over the course of the next few weeks, four more of these
particularly brutal attacks took place. Annie Chapman, found
on the eighth of September. Throat punctured and slashed.
Her uterus torn out. Very little blood found. Elizabeth
Stride, found on September 30th. Throat punctured and
then ripped open. Catherine Eddowes, also found on
September 30th...forty five minutes after Elizabeth. Uterus
and left kidney removed...and not found anywhere near
the body."
Spike's captive audience leaned forward, hanging on every
softly spoken word he uttered. None of them had ever heard
him speak in this more cultured voice.
"The last one was the worst of all. Mary Kelly. Found on
November 9th, at 10:45 in the morning. Her entire body
mutilated beyond all recognition, her heart torn out of
her chest...and nowhere in sight. Her breasts, eyes, and
nose cut off."
Turned slightly away from the others, Spike stared into
the sputtering flames.
"Then...as suddenly as they'd started...the murders
stopped. And, to this very day, no one has ever been
able to identify the killer. There've been a lot of wild
theories. Some say he was a skilled surgeon, or a
member of the royal family. Who's to say?"
The fire had died down again, casting the room into
deep shadow. The silence ticked by for a few seconds,
then he turned on them quickly, his demon fully upon
his face.
"Would you like to hear MY theory?" he growled. "Be-
cause I was there!"
He lunged forward, making them all gasp and fall
back. Tackling Buffy to the floor, he buried his face
against her vulnerable throat, snarling and snapping
at it playfully while she squealed.
"Somebody get the lights!" Xander yelped. Jumping
to his feet and doing it himself, he turned on Spike.
"What the HELL is all THAT supposed to mean?"
he demanded. "Are you trying to tell us that YOU
were Jack The Ripper?"
Spike sat up and shrugged. "I didn't say that."
"Right!" Xander scoffed. "Puncture wounds...not
much blood...mutilated victims. Put 'em all together
and what do they spell? You! That's what!"
"Don't let your imagination run away with you,
junior," Spike replied. "It was just a story."
"Oh, yeah? Well....I'm keeping my eye on you!"
"Even if it WAS him," Buffy piped up from the
floor. "You're okay. Jack only killed prostitutes, so
unless there's something you haven't told us about
yourself....?"
"Hmmph," Xander muttered. "Just the same...you'd
best watch it."
The only reply Spike made was a two fingered one.
****************************************
"When are you going to do it?"
"Are you on about THAT again?"
"You'd better believe it."
"Well, sod off, will you?"
"Not a chance. You got dared, and you took the
dare."
"Didn't really."
"Oh, yeah...you did."
"Prove it, then."
"Well, I guess we know who the REAL welsher is
around here."
"Hey!"
TBC.....
Next: Five Minutes In Heaven
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