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“Do you want to go to prom with me?”

Buffy paused, eye shadow brush halfway to her face, and turned away from her mirror to look at Xander, already in his tux and sitting awkwardly on her bed.

“I thought that was established,” she joked. “I mean, we have the tickets and we’re leaving in an hour, if I ever get my hair right.”

“No, no, I know,” he said, twisting his fingers in his lap. “I know we’re going together, but I was wondering if you wanted to…go together. If you wanted to be my date.”

There was a pause. Her old stereo were blasting some extremely girly CD that Xander had made a token protest against, but she’d caught him singing along twice already. The sound quality was slightly tinny, since they weren’t such great quality, and just her luck the CD finished just then and the room was filled with nothing but the sound of static coming from the cheap pink speakers.

“Xander, I—”

“Look, I know you don’t like me like that. And that’s fine, and I’m not expecting anything not that you’d think I would expect anything or there’s anything to expect…but I was just hoping that maybe, just for tonight…” His face was red. “I’d like you to be my prom date, Buffy. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” she heard herself saying, and from the way his face lit up she knew it was the right answer. She felt instantly better, actually, knowing that she officially had a date. She wasn’t going alone.

Spike was taking Harmony Kendall. Why, she could not understand for the life of her! Especially after their drama filled affair sophomore year, which ended with the skank totally cheating on him for the whole world to see in the back alley behind the Bronze. Not that Buffy saw, she wasn’t there, but she definitely heard about it later. And now he’d asked her to prom? Didn’t he know he could do so much better?

Xander had returned to the comic book he was reading, and Buffy returned to her make-up.

Just a few hours, and she’d be in Spike’s arms.

Hopefully.

~*~*~

Luckily, Xander was not the most attentive date.

He was off with Oz and Devon in the back alley, even though he didn’t even smoke. Buffy had seen how happy he’d been when they invited him to go, like she knew she had looked when Cordelia had invited her to that party, so she didn’t mind being left alone. Besides, it meant she could start putting her plan in motion.

Spike was to her left, perched on the edge of one of the tables circling the dance floor. His tux was all black, to be expected: black jacket and pants, black shirt, black tie. But a little red flower peeked out from his jacket pocket.

Harmony wasn’t wearing red. She was wearing pink.

First, Buffy made her way casually in that direction, and didn’t even look over at where he was cracking jokes with the lacrosse team. She poured a glass of disgustingly sugary lemonade, and turned towards the dance floor, scanning it for potential threats. Like, Harmony, for example. Or any of her little minions who might interrupt the second she tried to say anything to Spike.

But none of them were to be seen. Rumor had it they were holed up in the bathroom after pre-partying a little too hard, trying to fix their makeup after vodka-induced vomiting sessions. Secretly Buffy hoped one of the chaperones would find out and kick them all out.

But if that happened, Spike might go too, which meant she had to make her move right now.

The lacrosse guys had disappeared, and he was alone, sipping on a glass of water, staring out at the dance floor in the same way that she was pretending to. His jacket was off, sleeves pushed up…Lord, he was pretty.

Suddenly her eyes were filled with blue. He had caught her looking, was staring straight at her! She felt frozen in place, pinned by his eyes, and hardly noticed that he was standing up. Oh, but she noticed as he walked towards her, the blue got brighter and brighter, her hand shook and the lemonade sloshed around in its little cup.

“Hi,” she blurted out when he was within hearing range.

He smiled. “Hey, Buffy. Lovely dress. Red’s my favorite color, you know.”

Yes, of course she’d known that. It was one of the many facts about Spike Kent that she’d memorized. For instance, his favorite beer was Guinness, but not the kind that came in cans at the grocery store, no, the real Guinness he got at pubs in Dublin when he visited his cousin Liam. Liam, who went to Trinity College, and came to visit last summer and had hooked up with Cordelia. The whole school had talked about it. She also knew that Spike liked punk music, and that his favorite thing to do on the weekend was take long drives and end up inland in weird little farming towns. And she knew he liked football, real football, not the American kind, and he liked poetry.

She’d been quiet way too long.

“Are you having fun?” she blurted out just as he’d started to turn away.

“I am, thanks. You?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

Silence again, or not really, since an obnoxious rap song was currently blasting from a speaker just fifteen or so feet away. This was it, she should ask. But she really wanted a slow song, not a fast, because she wasn’t exactly the best dancer. She couldn’t do the sexy thing like Harmony and Cordy and all of them. But if she waited for a slow song, he might disappear, especially if she couldn’t come up with something to talk about until then.

“So, is that bloke you’re always with your boyfriend?” Spike asked suddenly, breaking the silence she was sure was painfully boring for him.

The question took a moment to register, and when it did, she almost laughed that annoying hyena awkward laugh of hers, but managed to stop herself. “No! No, Xander and I are just friends. He’s my date, but he’s not…my date…”

“Got it.” Oh God, he smiled at her again, and he was reaching his hand out to her, and he was saying the words she’d wanted to say to him and why wasn’t she more prepared? “Wanna dance?”

If Spike Kent asks you for anything you do it. Even if he asks you to jump off a bridge. And she did want to, she really did, but this song was too fast and she was going to look like a freak.

“I’m not a very good fast dancer.”

“It’s not so hard,” he insisted, grabbing her lemonade from her and setting it on the table. “Come, I’ll show you.”

She followed him out onto the dance floor, her hand in his, burning up from the feel of his rough skin. Rougher than most boy’s hands, but she knew Spike had lived a lot more of life than most of the jerks she went to school with every day. His hands had character.

Everything seemed dreamlike in the moment he pulled her into his arms. The tacky strands of white lights around the room softened, like little stars twinkling around them, the music transformed into a soothing background of steady beats, the smell of his cologne was almost enough to get her drunk. Everything seemed to slow down, except her heart was beating so fast she was afraid she’d die right then and there. Her body was shaking as she felt his hips press against hers.

Then the steady beats faded away, and the soft sounds of guitar took their place.

“Ah, you’re saved,” Spike teased her, breath hot on her ear. In her high heels she was able to just peek over his shoulder. Her head tucked perfectly beneath his chin.

“Uh huh,” she managed to get out.

“I prefer slow dancing anyway,” he said softly.

His arms slid around her waist, his hands touched the bare skin of her back. He pulled her closer. Her hands instinctively went up to lace around his neck. His hair brushed against her palms.

She hadn’t heard this song before but she loved it instantly, would look up the lyrics and memorize every word. This would be their song, a song he’d probably forget within a few minutes but one she would remember forever.

His hands were moving, ever so slowly. She felt him playing with the braided silk of her dress, fingers tickling her spine. Her breathing felt labored, just that slight touch was driving her crazy and she inhaled deeply, the smell of him, it made her nerves tingle and her entire being felt alive, sensitized.

“You smell good,” he murmured against her hair, she could feel his lips on her scalp and it was a wonder she hadn’t fallen down by now. She was wearing new perfume, expensive and brand name, an early graduation gift from her mom. She would wear this perfume for the rest of her life because he liked it.

In his arms she knew it wasn’t some puppy love, some crush she would move past the second she graduated. Her mom teased her about it all the time, told her she’d forget all about “that boy” once she met a nice boy at community college, but Buffy knew that wasn’t true.

She would love Spike Kent until the day she died, and that was just a fact.

The song ended, and she didn’t want to pull away, but the song was fast now, and he started to move differently.

His hands slid up her sides, stopped on her ribs, thumbs spread across her front, just a few inches below her breasts. His stance widened, his hips began to move, and he whispered, “Just let me lead.”

He could lead her anywhere.

Sparks of something new and unfamiliar ignited in her stomach as he rocked his body against hers. They ignited in time with the beat of the song, and she began to move her hips back against his, since it felt like the thing to do. Her hands moved to his shoulders, then his biceps, gripped tightly to the muscles she found there and her face stayed pressed against his chest. They moved as one, faster and faster, and suddenly Buffy became aware of something hard pressing against her belly.

Just as she noticed it, just as she started to realize what it meant, Spike spun her around and pulled her back against him in one fluid motion. She didn’t trip on her high heels, not that he would have let her fall, and now she felt that hardness against her ass, as his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her to him tightly. They danced like that, hips moving together fluidly, her head tilted back and resting on his shoulder. Her eyes stayed closed, keeping the rest of the world out just for a few minutes more.

Her body was liquid, merging with his, his lips brushed against her ear and she almost wanted to cry, because nothing else would ever be this good. The rest of her life would be a disappointment if she wasn’t in Spike’s arms just like this, and she hated the idea that she had peaked at seventeen.

The song ended, and he pulled away and spun her back to face him.

“I think my group’s leaving,” he said, and he almost sounded regretful, but Buffy knew she had to be imagining things. “Enjoy the rest of your night?”

“Oh, okay,” she nodded quickly, trying to clear her mind, a definite impossibility when he was still touching her bare shoulders. “You have fun too.”

He dropped his hands, took two steps backwards, eyes still on her. Then he turned and she watched him go, watched Harmony wrap herself around him like an octopus and they disappeared out the double doors towards the parking lot.

She still wanted to cry.

~*~*~
¬
He said hello to her on Monday, as she walked past him in the hallway.

Shocked, she could barely respond, she made some sort of high-pitched noise, but next to her Xander spoke for her, and it became clear the two had met before as they chatted for a few minutes. She stood quietly next to them, mind reeling.

When Spike had headed off to class, Buffy asked quickly, as casually as she could, “Since when do you know Spike Kent?” Her voice came out high and shrieky.

Xander shrugged. “We talked in EZ Games when we were at the mall last weekend. He’s pretty cool, actually.”

She had so many questions to ask. What did they talk about? Were they going to hang out? Could she come? If they’d met before, why did Spike ask if Xander was her boyfriend? Did Spike mention her? Why would he? Were they friends now?

But Xander had been acting weird ever since prom, and besides, those weren’t the questions you asked a guy anyway. They didn’t really care, and it was at times like this she wished she had a girlfriend to confide in.

On Tuesday, he waved at her from across the parking lot, and her legs—without permission from her brain—started heading in his direction. But then Harmony had appeared at his side, and she’d veered to the left and headed for the science building, even though her next class was clear across campus. She ended up being late to class, but it was worth it not to have to see him with that bimbo.

It hadn’t ever hurt before. Her feelings for Spike had been new and exciting, fresh and light. She looked forward to seeing him each day, dreamt about all the ways they could be together, but deep down she’d known it was all just fantasy. It was safe that way, she kept her distance, and it couldn’t hurt when he didn’t want her because he never had the chance to say no.

But now there had been too many moments of reality, too many times when he’d come close enough to her that she could imagine truly being with him, and now it hurt. Hurt to see him back with Harmony, hurt to watch him laugh when she didn’t know why, watch him live his life without her in it.

Wednesday he was out sick, Thursday he didn’t acknowledge her at all, but Friday she went to her locker after last period to find him leaning up against it. Spike was leaning against her locker. How many dreams had she had that started exactly like this? The locker was a crucial prop in many of her fantasies, fantasies that had become dirtier ever since that dance they’d shared.

He’d sparked something in her, something she didn’t understand and didn’t really want to. Every night in the last week, as she lay tossing and turning in her bed, she would remember the way his body felt against hers on the dance floor, and her hands would creep down her stomach, dip under her panties, tentatively caress the soft, wet flesh she found there. Only for a few minutes at a time, but the tingles her fingers would create made her ache until she fell asleep.

And seeing him, seeing the star of her new dirty dreams, made her want the earth to open up and swallow her whole. But it didn’t, and she really did have to go to her locker, so she slowly made her way down the hall.

He noticed her approach and stood up straight, smiling. “Hey, Buffy,” he said.

She had stopped counting words by now, but she did know exactly how many times he’d said her name.

This was the third.

“Hi, Spike,” she replied. Robotically she reached for her bright pink lock, and forgot the combination for one humiliating moment, but luckily it came back to her quickly. She spun the numbers slowly as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. Right 32, which were the last two number of his license plate. Spike scratched at his cheek and she envied his fingertips. Left 14, his birthday, January 4th. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, opened it. Finally, right 19. That was his house number. His voice made her shiver.

“I’m having a big graduation party next weekend, on Friday,” he said. Graduation was Thursday, and for months she’d been sure that would be the last day she’d ever see him. Sure, he was going to UC Sunnydale, but she was going to the community college and the chances of random interaction was about as good as her chances of winning one of the Senior Awards they gave out at graduation. She had prepared herself for the depression that would ensue when he was gone from her life, but here he was, offering one more chance to see him. “You should come. And Xander, bring him too.”

“Sounds like fun,” she said, doing what she thought was an excellent job of hiding her internal squeals. “Where do you live?”

She knew exactly where he lived. The big white house on Maple Drive, down the road from Cordelia’s, where she’d been once to work on their project. Occasionally she rode her bike that way, even though she had to climb a huge hill that made her legs burn. It was worth it to see his car parked in the driveway, though, to know he was so close to her. She was pretty sure his window was the one on the right side, because once she’d seen a flash of blonde hair there before she’d pedaled furiously away. His mom had said hi to her once.

“Here.” He took out a pen, blue, and grabbed her hand. He held it gently as he scribbled down a bunch of numbers that didn’t make any sense to her whatsoever. “My address, and my phone number. In case you get lost.”

He was still holding her hand. She now had his number. She’d never really given much thought to karma before but in that moment she was sure that she must have done something wonderful in a previous life, like invented the wheel or something, because this was more than she ever deserved. “Okay,” she squeaked out.

“So you’ll be there?”

“Of course!” She tried to calm down. “I mean, yeah, I’ll try to come.”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards a bit. “Great. Any plans for your last weekend as a high school student?”

He was still talking to her. He’d invited her to his house and gave her his number and he was still talking to her. “No plans,” she heard herself saying, which was only the stupidest answer she could have possibly given. Sure, tell the coolest guy in school how you’re a loser and have no plans. “I mean, nothing besides the usual.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He had to be lying. He had millions of things to do every weekend. He had places to go and people who liked him and he could do whatever he wanted and he was standing here talking to her.

Someone called his name from down the hall and he straightened up, held up one hand in a sort of backwards peace sign. But he didn’t move to leave, his eyes returned to her face.

“Looking forward to grad practice?” Those words actually came out of her mouth. They came out and they didn’t sound stupid, and he was replying. They were having a conversation.

“Yeah, can’t wait.” He rolled his eyes. “Hours of being taught how to walk in a straight line. The ultimate conclusion of our public school education. Bloody brilliant, isn’t it?”

She giggled, and he smiled the most adorable little smile she’d ever seen and it almost looked like he blushed and then that idiot called his name again.

“I should go,” Buffy said quickly, sure she was keeping him from something important, grabbing her purse and sweater before shutting her locker. It stuck, as always, and she sighed and pushed it weakly.

“Let me.”

He moved her aside gently, slammed his palm down on the metal, and it snapped shut easily.

“See you Monday?” He took a few steps closer to her.

She could reach out and touch him.

“Yeah, see you.”

She watched him walk away, and when he was gone, when the hallway was empty and her mom was probably throwing a fit in the parking lot waiting for her, she let go. She spun in a circle, dropping her bag and her books to the ground, so overtaken by a sudden rush of euphoria that she couldn’t keep herself from squealing.





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