~*~
He was looking at her. Well, it wasn’t really looking, it was more like little glances...but still, his eyes were on her...and it was weirding her out!
They’d already been by the motel and picked up Spike’s two small bags. Silence had reigned in the car as soon as the three of them got in, and it hadn’t lifted yet. Buffy was kind of surprised that her mom hadn’t tried to make polite conversation yet—but then, the whole point of this stupid Spike as a guest thing was that she was supposed to get all buddy-buddy with him.
Buffy snorted. Like that was ever going to happen.
“Bloody hell. Did you just snort?”
“What? No,” she said quickly. “I, um...harumphed.”
“Harumphed,” Spike repeated. “Right, then.”
Silence.
“So...when’d you get all chosen?” Spike asked, shifting in his seat. Well, at least he was as uncomfortable as she was.
Unfortunately not uncomfortable enough to avoid talking to her....”When I was fifteen,” she said stiffly, not looking at him.
“So you’ve been slayin’ for...how long?”
“Two years.”
“Oh.”
And the award for most awkward conversation of the year goes too... Buffy sighed, all the manners her mother had pounded in her head taking over. “What about you? When did you get chosen?” Chosen. He was weird guy she’d met tonight, and he’d been chosen—because he was a Slayer. Buffy’s tired brain was still having trouble processing that information.
“When were you chosen?” Buffy blurted out, trying to keep both her hostility and her awkwardness out of her voice.
“When I was sixteen,” he mumbled. “Three years ago.”
So he was nineteen, then? Good. That meant he wouldn’t have to go to school with her...”It sucks, doesn’t it?” The words popped out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them. Stupid mouth!
“Hell—er, yeah, it does,” Spike said with a quick look at the seemingly oblivious Joyce. “Definitely not m’ favorite gig.”
“You’ve had others?” God, why was she still talking to him?
Spike shrugged. “I was in a band b’fore. Didn’t really have time after Giles showed up, though.”
In a band? She guessed she could see that, what with the hair and the sexy leather and all.
Wait—no. The leather was not sexy. The leather was dumb, just like the hair, and it was only luck that made him look really hot instead of just idiotic.
She eyed him again. Luck that came in the form of one really gorgeous body...
“You in there, pet?”
“Huh?” Oh, great, now she was being a dumb blonde. “Yes, I’m in...wait. In where?”
Spike sighed. “I asked you what you did before killing things was your fun new hobby. Guess you spent your time bein’ an airhead, right?”
“No, I was a cheerleader—and I wasn’t an airhead, was I, Mom?”
“Of course, honey,” Joyce replied absently.
Buffy scowled as Spike chuckled. So much for hoping her mother was paying attention. “I wasn’t,” she repeated firmly.
He grinned at her. “Oh, I believe you, kitten.”
“What? No, you don’t!”
“Sure I do. ‘cuz you’re so very focused, now.”
She slumped down in the seat. “Shut up, Spike.”
The only sound in the car for the rest of the drive was Spike’s amused chuckling.
~*~
It was funny how, up until the second he stepped into her house, she’d mostly been able to ignore the incredible hotness that was Spike and his body. But when he stepped over the threshold and her mom flipped on the lights, there he stood—and she was all of a sudden gulping like some kind of possessed fish.
Well, she couldn’t really help it. His eyes, she suddenly noticed, were very blue, and his hair and cheekbones only made them seem more intense. And the leather...it was stupid and Buffy knew it, but the leather only increased his hotness tenfold.
And he was going to be staying in her house for an indefinite time.
Damn.
Spike smiled slightly when he saw Buffy gulp. They were standing in the doorway, staring at one another, and ordinarily he’d have made some kind of snide comment about it—but things weren’t exactly ordinary, so instead he turned his attention to the girl standing in front of him.
The lights in her house were rather a lot stronger than those of the library, and they were certainly brighter than the moon. Under these lights, her hair seemed to shine like a halo around her face, all golden and silky-looking. Her tank top showed off both nice cleavage and a trim form, and her pants hugged her legs like a second skin—and they were very, very nice legs.
Spike felt himself smiling slowly. When he slid his eyes back up past her full lips to her hazel eyes, he asked, “See somethin’ you like?”
“Huh? Um, no.” She did a pretty damn good imitation of not caring. “Duh. I was just wondering where the hell we were going to put you.”
“Spike? Buffy?” They both looked up. Joyce was standing in the living room, looking at them curiously. “Are you two planning on coming in?”
“Un, yeah. Sorry, Joyce. Was just admiring your porch.” He sent Buffy a sly look and entered the house. “Nice place.”
“It was nicer without you in it,” Buffy muttered, but Joyce beamed at the compliment. “
“Thank you! We’ve only been here for a year, so I’m still making it homey—would you like the grand tour?”
He figured it would probably be out of line to ask if the grand tour included the other Slayer’s bedroom…”Sure,” he said. “Lead the way.”
“Well, this is the living room, obviously,” Joyce began. I re-upholstered that couch myself—and it was some job, let me tell you!” She laughed. “That’s Buffy’s weapons chest.” She pointed to a large wooden object Spike had taken to be some kind of weird Eastern excuse for a table. “Feel free to rummage around in it.”
“Mom!”
“What’s the matter, Slayer?” Spike couldn’t help but grin. “Scared I can beat you with your own weapons?”
Buffy narrowed her eyes and glared, but she couldn’t seem to think of a good comeback. Finally she just said, “Mom, why don’t you show Spike the kitchen?”
“Excellent idea. This kitchen has a lot of history—a vampire almost drained me here once, in fact!”
And so it continued through every room in the house until Spike was upstairs, looking at the door of Buffy’s room. “Do I get a tour in here, Mrs. Summers?” he asked, taking delight in the shade of red that Buffy’s cheeks turned.
“Well…Buffy? Would you like to show our guest your room?”
“Um, no!”
“Oh, c’mon, Buffy,” Spike whined. “I wanna see how the other half lives.”
“The other half? Could you get more corny?”
Spike pointed at her. “’m a guy Slayer, you’re a girl Slayer. That makes you the other half.”
Of the three people standing in the hallway, Buffy was the only one who was extremely unamused. “Whatever. You’re still not seeing my room.” She did that little thing where she turned up her nose before sweeping off, headed for the downstairs again.
Joyce gave Spike a rueful look before hastening to follow her daughter; Spike was slower, giving Buffy’s door a long look before going back to the living room.
“Couch ‘s fine,” he said cheerfully, noting with glee that Buffy did not seem happy with that arrangement.
“Mom! What about midnight TV time?”
Joyce pursed her lips. “It’s an unhealthy habit anyway, Buffy. You might as well break it now.”
“But I don’t wanna,” she whined, sounding for all the world like a petulant child.
“Buffy.” Joyce again gave her The Look. Buffy wilted under it. “Whatever,” she muttered. “I’ll go get some sheets.”
When Buffy left the room, Joyce smiled apologetically at Spike. “She’s very stubborn sometimes,” she said by way of explanation. “Don’t worry, she’ll come round.”
Spike grinned. “’m sure she will. She seems a sensible bird—you’re raising her well.”
He grinned inwardly when Joyce gifted him with a grateful smile. First win over the girl’s mum, then win over the girl, he thought smugly.
“I knew you were a fine young man,” Joyce said, satisfied. “You and Buffy will end up getting along well.”
“Says who?” Buffy asked, reappearing downstairs.
“Your mum, apparently. Not that ‘m arguing, or anything.”
“Oh, you’re not, are you?” Buffy threw the sheets down on the couch and advanced on him.
“Well, look at the time!” Joyce said brightly, clapping her hands and effectively breaking the tension that was humming between the two Slayers. “I’d better get to bed or I’ll be a mess at the Gallery tomorrow morning. Buffy, honey, why don’t you come upstairs, too? I think Spike can manage down here.”
Buffy glared at her mom, but reluctantly followed. Spike watched her go with a grin—it was more than a little funny, how this powerful Slayer was bossed about my her mum like she was a tiny child.
“Sweet dreams, kitten,” he called, laughing when Buffy glared at him.
When both Summers women were upstairs, Spike grinned and started to make the couch. Sharing living space with the hottest li’l thing I’ve come across in years...yeah, this could definitely be worse.
~*~
Buffy was bored. In a big way.
Being the Slayer—or being a Slayer—had meant that she kept some really strange hours. Strange enough that she was usually up at midnight, either making with the slayage or, if there were no evil baddies, getting her dose of latenight TV. But having a really hot guy downstairs who just happened to be a Slayer? Seriously cramping her style.
Buffy scowled at the ceiling. Stupid Spike, being all nice to my mom...I bet he’s only doing it because...um...whatever. I bet he as an agenda!
Wow. Even in her head that sounded totally lame.
So...hot guy downstairs, invading her territory. And unfortunately she couldn’t get scary and threaten him, because he was a Slayer too, so he’d at least have a change when it came to kicking her butt.
So, Buffy, what’re you gonna do?
Buffy’s face suddenly became full of resolve. She was not going to let some big, dumb, bleached Slayer mess up her life. Maybe it was petty—in fact, her inner almost-grownup was telling her that it definitely was—but she was not going to let Spike get away with being such an asshole. Now was a time for action, something Buffy was very good at.
She slipped out of her bed, careful not to make any noise—she herself knew that Slayer hearing was really good. She crept silently across her floor and opened the door, careful not to let the hinges squeak—mom-hearing was almost as good as Slayer-hearing was. Still walking like a cat burglar in a cheesy movie, she slipped down the stairs and into the living room.
Unfortunately for her, the lights were on the other side of the room, near the kitchen. Barely breathing, Buffy tiptoed past the male Slayer on the couch and flipped the lights on, letting her gaze instantly fall on the bleached menace who’d stolen her couch.
Oh, my God! She’d had a sarcastic wake-up line ready, but it disappeared from her head when she laid eyes on Spike. He was lying on his back, one arm thrown over his head, displaying his bare chest. That would’ve been bad enough, but the blanket that reached to his hips did absolutely nothing to disguise the fact that he was sporting a huge erection. Spike! Erection! I am so dead...
And when she met Spike’s very blue, very awake eyes, she knew that there wasn’t a grain of falsehood in that panicked thought.
His lips curled upward in a sly smile. “Hello, pet,” he said. “Fancy a bit of fun?”
~*~
A/N: Yup, I’m evil. Nearly naked Spike, petrified Buffy—wanna know what happens next? You’ll have to leave a review for that to happen…
[Reviews - 245]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 3118 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Author's Chapter Notes:
At bottom.