~*~
Thinking back, it was a damn lucky thing they didn’t hit every inanimate object on the way to Sunnyhell High, and a few that were completely out of the way. It wasn’t really his fault, Spike mused. Bloody hell, he’d driven down the highway going ninety before and not gotten into a wreck simply because there was no way he was gonna hurt his baby if he could help it. And to be honest, the cargo he was carrying with him right now was much more precious than his car—but said cargo was also extremely distracting.
If that little red skirt slid up one more inch, he’d go completely mad.
It was bad enough that her entire costume was geared toward him. His knees had practically buckled when she’d told him just why she was wearing that particular outfit. The fact that she’d remembered his confession and cared about it enough to model an entire costume around it—she’d never know how much that meant to him after all the years of hoping. Sod the fact that she’d mentioned she had a thing for weird seventies clothing once—hers was still the more thoughtful costume.
When they finally arrived at the high school, he wasn’t the only one who breathed a sigh of relief.
Willow and Oz hopped out, holding hands (a feat that in Spike’s mind was damn admirable) and, after thanking Spike for the ride, headed towards the lit-up school.
He looked at Buffy expectantly. “Ready for this, pet?”
She shifted uncomfortably, causing the skirt to ride up a bit more on her thigh. Oh, bollocks The skirt wasn’t the only thing going up…”I dunno,” she said, oblivious to Spike’s problem. “It’s kind of weird. This is our first official we’re-a-couple thing.”
“We went to the beach the other day,” Spike pointed out.
“Well, yeah, but I was talking about school stuff,” Buffy admitted.
He smiled indulgently. She could be so cute when she acted the innocent…”I think the cuddlin’ before Calc mighta given us away, personally.”
“That or the butt-squeezing in the hall.” His girl gave him a scolding frown; he just responded with a smirk.
She kept telling him she still hadn’t forgiven him for that little event, but he knew she thought it was damn sexy. And anyway, if she insisted on short skirts and those little thongs that she thought passed for knickers, well, she was lucky all he did was squeeze her ass. “Yeah, that too.”
She sighed and put her hand on the door handle. “You’re such a pig, Spike.”
“You know you love it,” he shot back. She was about to get out of the car, wearing a rather familiar look of disgust, when he stopped her.
He couldn’t help it. It was more than just lust because of the costume; he wanted her, everything she was, everything he’d come to learn about her in the past few weeks. “Buffy,” he whispered, searching her eyes in the dim light of the parking lot.
“Yeah?” He saw her try for a flip smile, but the seriousness of the situation didn’t seem to allow it.
He thought about kissing her. To be truthful, he thought about doing a lot of things to her, included and not limited to throwing her in the backseat of the DeSoto and making their first time a quickie in the school parking lot. But instead he just smiled at her. And if it was rather predatory—he’d just put it down to the makeup.
“You do look beautiful, Goldilocks,” he said.
Now she did smile. “Thanks. You do, too.”
He fought not to laugh, keeping his face completely expressionless as he arched an eyebrow at her. “Do I, now?”
She screwed her eyes tight shut in humiliation, cheeks coloring as bright red as her dress. “I am such a blonde. I meant you looked sexy, and hot, and—“ As she babbled on about Spike’s manly attributes, the man in question slipped out of the car and came to stand in front of her.
Her eyes popped open when he gently grabbed her shoulders and pulled her upright. “Oh.”
He smiled and kissed her, letting his tongue come out to play for just a moment before pulling back. “Wanna go in, now that you’ve puffed up m’ ego beyond repair?” He grinned at her to let her know he was joking.
She snuggled into him, making a face when the safety pins poked her cheeks. He watched her rub them indignantly. “Okay, there are definite downsides to that costume,” she informed him, before sighing. “I really can’t put it off any more, can I?”
“Think it’s inevitable, pet,” he said, reaching over the car and slamming his door before doing the same to hers and starting to guide her to the school.
She sighed in resignation. “Here we go…”
~*~
Faith accosted them the second they walked in the door. “Spike!” she yelled to be heard over the music, “where you guys been? You’re supposed to get it on after the party!” Not surprisingly, she was dressed like what Spike thought was maybe supposed to be a Goth chick. Leather, dark makeup—hell, for all he knew she could be a dominatrix, though Snyder might’ve had a problem with her signing in as one.
“We weren’t getting it on!” Buffy piped up, a little too defensively.
“Not the way Willow tells it,” said the dark-haired girl, grinning. “She says you guys practically did the nasty in your foyer. By the way, exhibitionist much?”
“I’m not—“ Buffy began indignantly. Spike cut in. “Faith, everybody got a table yet?”
Faith nodded. “We would’ve gone in the corner so we could get our kink on, but everyone’s favorite prom princess snagged the middle one,” she reported, leading them to it.
Spike followed Buffy, eyes on her delightfully wriggling ass, as they wove through the mass of people bouncing to the heavy music. Sure enough, his mates were all at a table that had definitely been picked out by that Cordy bitch.
And the bitch herself was sitting in the middle, wearing a Playboy bunny outfit and talking to a de-greened Lorne.
“I so totally get it!” she said. “I mean, if I have to see one more Louis Vuitton knockoff, I will completely lose it.”
“Ugh, I know where you’re coming from, honey,” Lorne commiserated. “I mean, Lord have mercy, if you can’t afford it, don’t buy the tacky knockoff from the honey on the street corner.” He shuddered illustriously. “It’s enough to make anyone absolutely insane.”
Cordy patted his hand in a friendly fashion. “You know, we are totally bonding!” she exclaimed, looking delighted at the fact. “It’s really too bad you’re gay and weird and stuff!”
“Aww, darling, don’t make me blush!”
“Sickening, aren’t they?” Anya, dressed as a 50s waitress, asked Spike as he sat down. “They’ve been doing this since they got there. I think they gave each other orgasms while they did their hair over at Cordelia’s house this afternoon.”
“I thought Lorne fancied men,” Spike said with a frown.
“He does,” was Anya’s blunt answer. “I mean they got orgasms from fixing each other’s hair. They understand each other too well. It’s frightening.”
The whelp, who was sporting a rather corny pirate outfit, patted her hand. “Diplomacy is an option, sweetie.”
“Humph,” Anya pouted. “Tact is for cowards.”
Spike was about to respond when his own date plopped her adorable little ass in his lap, wiggling it just as enticingly as she had when she was walking.
“So,” she said coquettishly, “Having fun yet?”
Bloody hell—he should have worn underwear. Or, better yet, one of those metal underwear things the virgin chits always wore in the movies with the poncy knights. Because God help him, he was gonna let her know just how much fun he was having in a minute, and he wasn’t entirely sure how she’d react.
“Uh, yeah,” he said in a voice that sounded strained even to him. “A blast.”
“Good,” she said, taking his hand in her own. “Dance with me?”
“Luv, I don’t—“ He began to refuse her, but then a slower song came on. The song itself was rather insipid, something about belonging together, but the chance to hold his girl close like there was nothing more important or precious in the world to him—the chance to really express his feelings without worrying about her running scared—looked damn good at the moment. “—really like the song,” he finished, nipping at her bottom lip, “But yeah, let’s dance.”
She gave a little squeal and hopped up, practically dragging him to the center of the dance floor. At first Spike was worried that she’d want to talk to him and thus distract him from the divine feeling of loving her without any sexuality (though of course he was turned on by the whole thing), but she just laid her head on his chest beneath his chin, leaving him staring at the shimmery wings hanging from her back.
They revolved slowly, and as time passed, the world dissolved for Spike. The people, the room, even the music slowly disappeared, until the only thing that existed, the only thing that mattered, was the exquisite girl in his arms. He inhaled her scent and rubbed her arms. ’s like heaven, he thought reverently.
He was so absorbed in his poetic thoughts that he didn’t notice Buffy slyly maneuvering him towards the darkest corner of the room. If he had, he would have stopped it, because what he wanted from her at that moment didn’t have the slightest thing to do with sex. But he was too busy being in heaven. He’d forgotten that angel though she was, his girl had a downright demonic bent to her. He’d forgotten that when she got horny, she tended to get demanding.
He remembered when she shoved him up against the wall and attacked him, plundering his mouth with her own.
He found himself rudely ripped out of his mental heaven and dragged into one that was, while more physical, still equally perfect. All thoughts of not wanting sex fled from his head, to be replaced by one simple impulse: need—Buffy—now!
His arms came round her and he pressed her into his erection, gripping her bottom firmly, tangling her tongue with his. Her fingers came into his hair, making the gel far less stiff. When her hands slid down to his vest and firmly pulled him closer, he couldn’t help himself—he growled and slid one hand from her ass up to the breasts barely concealed by the pretty red fabric.
“Wait—“ Buffy panted, seeming to suddenly realize where they were—“Public place—bad.”
“Sod it,” Spike growled, his lust-addled brain wanting only one thing. Still, lust or no, part of him was mocking his own single-mindedness: Bit schizophrenic, aren’t you, mate? One second you’re practically spouting nancy-boy poetry ‘bout no sex, and the next you’re damn near spewing in your pants.
“Spike!” Her hand stopped him when he moved in to kiss her again. “Where are your—ah!—parents?” She slapped his chest half-heartedly, he supposed as a punishment for finding her nipple beneath the cloth of her dress and pinching it.
“Party,” he replied without thinking. “One of those all-nighters, won’t be back till November second at the earliest sorts of things.” When he realized what he was saying, and what she was suggesting, he stared at her incredulously. “Are you sure?”
For a second, just a second, he thought he saw fear flicker through her eyes. If he’d been sure he had, he would’ve called the whole thing off, intense world-ending horniness notwithstanding. But he was so lust-addled that when he blinked, the fear was gone, to be replaced by a quietly resolute face that had his eager brain figuring maybe he’d just been imagining things.
“Positive.” She leaned in to kiss him again, a hot kiss that left them both breathless.
“Right, then.” He hoisted her a bit higher, pressing her against his erection for one last second, before placing her on the floor. “Wanna get the hell outta here?”
She bit her lip. Now she really did look nervous. “Should we—you know—stay for awhile? Just so everyone doesn’t laugh at us?”
Was she getting cold feet? Spike decided to give her a chance to back out. Interlacing their hands, he said, “Sure. We’ll stay for an hour or so, a’right?”
She nodded, straightening her dress. Her gaze fell to their joined hands, and she smiled. “Wanna dance for real?” she asked playfully.
He nodded enthusiastically. Maybe romance would help her forget the shagging—not that he didn’t want that, too, but now that his lust was abating slightly he was starting to wonder if it was the wisest thing in the world for either of them. Well, she said she was ready, and I sure as hell am… “Sounds good,” he said, and he wasn’t just talking about the dance.
She led him back out to the dance floor. Spike closed his eyes as he enveloped her in a tight embrace, willing her to forget whatever urge was driving her to be so very forward. God knows, ‘f she comes on to me ‘ll be powerless, he thought. But I want her to be sure. What it all comes down to is, I want her to be sure, and I’m not sure that she is.
For both their sakes, he prayed that she was. It was ultimately her decision, because Spike wasn’t ever going to take advantage of her—but he’d seen what happened to girls who made love with a bloke before they were ready.
If Buffy wasn’t fully prepared for what she wanted to do, then he’d end up breaking her heart and completely unable to do anything about it. If he refused her because he thought she wasn’t ready and she was ready, that would break her heart—but she’d break her own heart, with him as a rather willing participant, if she told him she was ready and she wasn’t.
Damn, luv, I hope you know what you’re doing.
~*~
A/N: For the record, I’m not trying to be preachy, and there won’t be any huge paragraphs about being ready for sex in the future. I just had to lay the groundwork for some stuff so I didn’t have big overdramatic paragraphs a few chapters from now =D Thanks for sitting through it, and as always, hugs and kisses and nekkid Spikes for all the wonderful reviews!
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