“Stop laughing!” she heard Spike growl from inside the bathroom.
She hadn’t realized he could hear her laughter. The fact that he had only made her laugh harder.
When she heard the shower turn off she stifled her chuckles and grabbed the rope, placing the chair that everyone sort of decided was Spike’s where they usually placed it, and waited for him to come out. She heard him shuffling around in the hallway and she heard him messing with the washer.
Finally when he stepped into the kitchen, Buffy frowned. He was shirtless. At least he had the decency to have a towel wrapped around his waist. He looked at her holding the rope, and smirked. “I knew you were into bondage,” he commented.
“I’m not tying you up like that,” she spat.
Causally, he leaned against the archway of the hall. “Wasn’t expectin’ you to.”
Buffy wasn’t blind. She knew Spike was attractive. It wasn’t like she hadn’t known that before. The first night she’d seen him, she knew he was attractive. It wasn’t like she hadn’t ever fought a good-looking vampire before. But seeing him shirtless was a different thing entirely. Seeing him wet and shirtless was even weirder. Vampires that good-looking shouldn’t be allowed to wander around in nothing but a towel, and especially not when wet.
She was used to his hair being slicked back, so when she realized it was sticking up in all directions, she also realized how endearing it looked on him. And the way the water travelled along the skin of his chest and abdomen was positively evil. It was evil. Just like the smirk on his face, and the knowing look in his eyes was evil.
Ooh, Slayer likes what she sees.
She hadn’t realized she was staring. She quickly shook her head and pursed her lips at him. No way was she going to let him notice how much she liked looking at him. It was okay to look. As Willow had said, he was attractive. It wasn’t bad of her to notice it, especially when he walked in looking like that. But judging by the obviously flirtatious look on his face and what he’d just thought, she knew it was too late.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Go get some clothes on.”
“Can’t. They’re washing.” He hooked his thumb through the top of his towel, and her eyes were suddenly drawn to the V his hipbones made. He puckered up his lips and Buffy forced herself to stare into his eyes and only his eyes. “If you’d put them in when I’d asked, they’d be done by now.” Kinda glad she didn’t though. Look at her starin’ at me like I’m bloody Adonis. Hmm, Slayer’s not wearin’ a bra today. Perky.
“Don’t you have any other clothes?”
“Not here, I don’t. Besides, seems like you don’t mind me walkin’ around like this too much. Can’t keep your eyes off of me.”
“Puh-lease, Spike.”
“You’re certainly doing a lot of starin’. It’s not a crime, luv.” And judgin’ by the state of those nipples, it’s either really cold in here or someone’s likin’ this a bit too much.
“Oh yeah? Well--you’re staring at my boobs,” she spat back childishly, putting her fists on her hips, making sure to keep her grip on the rope tight.
“Yeah, and? I can look away.” As if to prove his point, he stopped leaning against the archway and stared directly into her eyes. Her eyes kept flicking towards his chest against her will. “You can’t, luv. Admit it--I’m gorgeous.”
“You’re disgusting,” she responded. “And I can’t stop looking? Well watch this.” She turned around and stared at the blank wall. She felt so much like a child at that moment, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to give Spike the satisfaction of being right. So what if he was attractive? She still hated him. It was just too soon after Willow’s spell for her to see him shirtless, was all. Her stomach churned in disgust when she realized that had he walked out like that when she was under the effects of the spell, she would have jumped his bones.
Willow needs to die, she thought, hoping that Spike couldn’t hear her thoughts as well.
Well she’s not very smart. Turning her back on a vampire? What an idiot. Then again . . . Chipped. God, am I really that pathetic? She has no qualms whatsoever about turning her back on me? I am the epitome of wow she has a nice arse. Bad thought. So what? I can look. She can look. Looking doesn’t mean anything. Damn spell! I never cared about lookin’ before!
The fact that Spike had looked at her before filled her with an inappropriate amount of confidence. She smirked. So she hadn’t been the only one looking. It had never really occurred to her that he might take an appreciative glance of anyone, seeing as he had been so obsessed with Drusilla, but she realized that it didn’t mean anything. And the fact he had been appreciative of her, his enemy, well . . .
She felt his breath on her neck and she straightened. She hadn’t heard him coming. He hadn’t been thinking about sneaking up on her. It wasn’t right--if she was going to hear his thoughts, then she should be able to know when he was going to sneak up behind her.
When she felt him touch her shoulder so gently she wondered if she had imagined it, she spun around and glared at him. The fact he was so close surprised her, even though she’d know he was there. She reached back to smack him, but he caught her wrist deftly and smirked at her.
She ignored the sudden warmth between her legs.
“Let go,” she ordered, pursing her lips, hating him so intensely at the moment she would have staked him had she a stake on her at the moment.
What’s her problem? She’s acting like I was . . . Oh. Well, that’ll be a cold day in hell before I touch her like that without a spell to blame it on.
She didn’t know whether to be offended or grateful.
“Can’t sit in my chair if you’re in the way,” he told her, releasing her wrist and taking a step back. She was suddenly colder, as if his body had been radiating heat, which was impossible seeing as he was dead. She felt a bit stupid for assuming he was hitting on her.
She quickly stepped away and watched as Spike sat in his chair, hands behind his head. Well now that I know what she was thinking I can’t get it out of my head. Dammit.
“I’m not gonna tie you up,” she told him, figuring that would take his mind off of what she didn’t want to hear him thinking. Or worse yet, see him thinking.
“You said that part already. Can’t a man sit an’ relax without ropes?”
“You’re not a man, Spike.”
“Want me to prove you wrong ‘bout that?”
For a second she had no idea what he meant about that, but when she saw the way he waggled his eyebrows at her, she grimaced. “Ew, no, definitely not.”
“Well, guess it’s just me an’ you, no ropes, no shirts, until I can get my clothes dried. That about sums up the next few hours, doesn’t it?” A slow smirk crept across his face. “What can we possibly do to pass the time until then, I wonder?”
Buffy looked him over, eyes trailing over his perfect abdomen, and then back up to his taunting face. Then she returned the smirk.
“Have I told you lately that I hate you?” Spike snapped angrily.
“Oh, only about ten thousand times in the last hour.”
Despite the fact she had told him she wouldn’t tie him up when he was shirtless, she had done just that. Spike had struggled, but after his chip went off a few times and she’d assaulted him, he allowed her to tie him up. Of course, he’d griped the entire time, but she was used to that. He looked ridiculous, his hair stuck up, ropes tied around his bare abdomen tightly, and just because he’d been extra annoying, she even handcuffed his hands behind his back.
“These ropes chafe though,” he whined.
“Then you’ll have to deal with a chafed chest. Not my problem. Your clothes will be done soon enough, and then you can get dressed and then I’ll tie you up again.”
“You know what you are? You’re a bitch. I hate you.”
“Well this is all your fault anyway, with all the innuendo-y comments and waggle-y eyebrows.”
“Why does it bother you so much? Still hot for me?”
“Yeah, right, it’s called self-preservation. If I have to think about doing anything even remotely non-hate-y with you again, I’ll kill myself. And me? So not wanting to be in the land of the dead.” She folded her arms and looked him over. “Why do you keep up with the comments, Spike? You still hot for me?”
“No,” he snapped. Because I like to get under your skin. You’re so easy to irritate. I like pressing your buttons. I like brassing you off. I like hurting you. I want you to die. I want you to hate life. Why else would I do it? You stupid sodding bint. Why don’t you go off yourself? I hate you! “Same reason you like to taunt me, I imagine.”
“Well, it certainly isn’t to get into your pants.” She gave him a quick look over. “Or towel, as it were.” His thoughts were really disturbing. The sooner she didn’t have to watch him anymore, the better. Then she could tell Willow what was going on, and find a way to get rid of it before it overcame her. As much as she hated hearing Spike’s violent thoughts, she wasn’t going to leave just yet. One man’s thoughts, as horrible as they were, weren’t nearly as horrible as a thousand thoughts pouring into her brain all at the same time.
“Well, good, because I don’t want you in my pants or my towel.”
“Good,” she replied.
“Fine.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Perfect.”
“Fantastic,” he growled. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, turning around and heading towards the couch. “Ha, I win.”
She ignored him.
Buffy wanted to sleep. She wanted to lie down on Giles’ couch and just nap until the washer went off. She remembered that when the voices hadn’t been too horrible, sleeping made it better. She couldn’t hear anybody talking when she was sleeping. She couldn’t hear them thinking.
But none of them had been an irritating bottle-blonde named Spike.
Apparently, Spike’s thoughts were about as irritating as his words. The one thing she could say about Spike was that he often said what was on his mind. She liked that, because when he talked, he didn’t think, because everything that traipsed through his head, he said. She remembered admiring that trait in Cordelia for the first time in her life.
However, the fact that what he said and what he thought were both scathing and annoying didn’t help.
At first, he tried to goad her into conversation--rude, bickering conversation, of course, but she just ignored him, letting her eyes close as she felt herself drift into sleep. Then he started thinking. She knew he was thinking, because she had re-learned how thoughts sounded different from voices.
The images were worse. Every now and then, she’d have a flash of what he was imagining or remembering. When it was a memory, it was like she was seeing it. When it was what he was imagining, it was like watching a movie. The memories she didn’t mind so much, seeing as they were usually about Drusilla and some stupid, insane thing she’d said, and then Spike would ponder over its meaning for what seemed like forever. It was his imagination that bothered her, seeing as it usually involved him leaping over the couch and strangling her, snapping her neck, or tearing out her throat.
And God how could he stand thinking? Didn’t he annoy himself with his irritating thoughts? He made up songs about bathing in her blood to the tune of various Christmas Carols--stupid, pathetic songs. Songs that weren’t even well thought out. Even he knew that, because anytime his rhymes got too pathetic or the syllabic something-or-other he referred to was off, he would call himself a crass idiot not fit to know the English language. So then why did he continue to do it?
“Washer’s done,” he told her suddenly, and she jumped.
She got up off of the couch and moved the clothes from the washer into the dryer. The thrumming of the dryer was loud. She went to leave the laundry room, then looked at the dryer and at its loud noise. Sighing happily, she curled up on the floor, her spin curved against the cool metal, taking in comfort of the rhythmic thrumming of it, and the heat it emanated.
Sleep came easily for her then. She thought of how comforting it was, to be away form his irritating voice. She liked that her mind was her own again, not his to be barging into, although he didn’t really know what he was doing.
A loud, obnoxious trilling noise filled her thoughts and woke her up. She jumped at the noise, realizing it was just the dryer sounding off that it was finished. She blinked a few times, trying to wake herself up, as she took out Spike’s clothes and held them against her. They were warm and smelled of fabric softener. She breathed in their scent and left the laundry room.
“’Bout bloody time!” he shouted angrily, staring at her.
“What? It’s not like you missed me,” she snapped, just as angrily.
Look at her, all knackered an’ all. Aww, she fell asleep. Buffy furrowed her eyebrows at the tone of voice he’d thought that in. It was almost . . . adoring. Apparently it had bothered Spike too, because his brows were furrowed. Huh. That was odd. Anyway . . .
“No, but I miss those clothes. These ropes pinch and chafe.” All over my chest, which even she seems to appreciate. “And seein’ as you couldn’t take your eyes off my chest, I’m not the only one benefiting from getting those clothes on.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I was not looking at your chest.”
“Uh, yeah, you were.”
“You were looking at my tits, Spike, how do you know where I was looking?”
“Your nipples were pert, luv. Course I was looking. I’m a man, aren’t I? Men look. And, oh, before you even suggest I’m not, one little twist of my waist and the towel will drop.” She, without wanting to, glanced down at the towel and noticed that it looked about three seconds from falling off.
Buffy sighed and went over to him, dropping the clothes on the floor in a heap. She went to the back and untied the ropes, watching them slide to the floor. She reached into her pocket to grab the cuff keys, then remembered she hadn’t put them in her pocket.
Then she remembered that she actually had no idea where the cuff keys were.
“Uh-oh.”
“What uh-oh? Don’t like that.”
“Um . . . I don’t know where the cuff keys are.”
“What? You put them on me!”
“Well--I saw the cuffs--I just put them on--I didn’t think--”
“You didn’t think? Well, there’s a bloody surprise, Summers not thinking!” She grabbed the small chain and tugged on it, causing the metal to cut into his wrists. “Ow. That was uncalled for.”
“Sor--” She clamped her mouth shut. Spike barely glanced at her. “Um, I meant, get up and put your clothes on.”
“Can’t exactly do that without my digits, luv. Find the damn key.”
Sighing, she wrapped her fist around the chains that linked the cuffs together and yanked it. “There,” she snapped, ignoring his cry of pain and the clanking of the handcuffs hitting the floor.
She got up and watched him stand, holding onto the towel so it wouldn’t drop. “You’re a right piece of work, Summers. You know, I’ve killed two slayers. I’ve never hated one before.”
Something about his sentence bothered her and tugged at her memory, then she remembered saying something very similar to Angel the night he’d killed Darla. She folded her arms, stung at his unintentional barb. “Go to hell, Spike.”
“Ooh, incredibly witty tonight, aren’t we?”
She turned around so she wouldn’t have to look at him anymore. “Get dressed so I can tie you up again.”
“Great incentive, that.”
She listened to him thinking a string of insults directed at her, wishing that he’d said them aloud so she could spin around and smack him across the face. However, seeing as they were his thoughts, she just clenched her teeth together.
“There, done, bring out the kink and tie me up.”
She turned around and glared at him. And noticed that his wrists were bleeding. “Your wrists are bleeding,” she pointed out pointlessly.
He raised his eyebrow at her. “Yeah, kinda noticed. Courtesy of you ripping the cuffs off.” Hurts like a bitch, too.
“Sorry,“ she mumbled. She hadn’t meant for it to cut him so much, although thinking on it, she should have realized it would wound him. He tilted his head at her. “Well, it was either that or have you walk around naked. Tell me, how were you planning on dressing with your hands cuffed? I don’t know where the keys are.” She sighed, then grabbed his hand, careful not to grab his wrist as well.
He jerked away. “Oi, what’re doin’?”
“What, you want those to get infected? Giles has peroxide. Something you’ll be needing soon, too--your roots are showing.”
He gave her a two-finger salute that she didn’t understand but assumed wasn’t very nice. She grabbed his fingers and yanked, with every intention of leading him to the bathroom, and he grunted. She’s gonna take care of me? Huh. What has my unlife come to? He pulled his fingers free, but followed her to the bathroom.
She forced him to sit on the toilet seat as she fished through Giles’ supplies. She knew where the peroxide was--she had used it a hundred times before.
He was quiet while she pressed the peroxide-soaked cotton against the cuts in his skin. He didn’t even think, other than to reprimand himself for hissing whenever he did and compare her to his mother briefly. He told himself not to think about his mother, and that was when his mind went blank.
She put that away for future reference. If she ever wanted him to shut up, she’d just ask about his mother.
“Okay, that’s all patched up, I can tie you up again.”
“An’ we all know how much you enjoy that.”
“Shut up,” she snapped, glaring at him.
He chuckled at her, and she glared, hating how his tongue rested on his bottom teeth. Thanks, Slayer.
Oddly enough, she couldn’t even be that mad at him for laughing at her now.
Buffy had placated Spike by allowing him control over the television. She handed him the remote and told him to go wild. She even moved the chair so that he was beside the couch and had a better visual of the screen. He wondered to himself why Buffy was being oddly kind to him, but he didn’t make any theories about it.
Honestly? She’d figured out that the happier he was, the less annoying his thoughts were. And the more concentrated he was on something, the less his mind wandered into thoughts that would inevitably consist of him killing her.
He had changed it to some cheesy late-night soft-core porn, but even then she didn’t complain. His thoughts only consisted of how fake the sex looked, but that he liked the blonde girl’s tits more than the brunette’s.
When her eyes closed and she slowed her breathing, Spike must have assumed she was fully asleep because he muttered “Finally” and changed the channel. Buffy recognized the music to the Soap Channel, a channel her mother also had and one Buffy pretended to hate when others were around. She almost laughed when she realized Spike must obviously do the same thing, and fell asleep to him complaining about some idiot who obviously didn’t know what evil was if it bit him in the ass.
That night, Buffy dreamed of Drusilla, as strange as that was. Parts of her dream were random and odd, as any dream was meant to be, but every now and then she dreamt of something she felt came from Spike--mostly, the Drusilla part. Oddly enough, it didn’t bother her. Most of it was about Drusilla spinning in a garden that looked familiar, or her staring up at the stars and naming them. She saw Drusilla from Spike’s point of view whenever she entered her dreams, which explained how dreaming of the evil bitch made her feel pleasant.
“Buffy?” she heard Giles say, and felt someone shaking her shoulder.
She woke up, still listening to Drusilla crooning something in the back of her mind. “Huh? What?”
“You fell asleep on the couch.”
She slowly sat up, clearing her throat and rubbing her eyes. The sounds of the television were playing quietly in the background. “Oh. Hey Giles. What time is it?”
“Nearly six-thirty. You haven’t missed any classes, have you?”
“No, no, I still have time. Actually, I should probably head off if I wanna get there.” She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “Did you have fun with Olivia?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.” The blush the crept along his cheek almost made Buffy laugh. “Er, might I ask . . . What happened to my handcuffs? They were broken. Spike didn’t . . . ?”
“Slayer broke ‘em,” came Spike’s tired voice. Buffy looked at him. It seemed that he had fallen asleep with his chin on his chest, but now he was lifting his head up and blinking. “Oh, yeah, and she made me watch this tosh. Really, Slayer, the Soap Opera channel? Were you trying to kill me?”
Buffy raised an eyebrow at him. Giles calmly plucked the remote from Spike’s hand. “Yes, of course she was, Spike.”
Dammit.