~*~
The next day was one of the hardest in recent memory. The gossip had all but died down since both Buffy and Spike were denying that Spike had claimed Buffy was his, and to tell the truth, nobody really trusted Angel. Any other day, Buffy would’ve been relieved at her return to relative anonymity. But today, she would’ve welcome a few taunts from Harmony and company.
Without them, she had the whole morning to mull on what she’d dreamed about—and to fight the warm tingle that started in her stomach and gradually went lower every time her thoughts strayed. It was wrong, it was sick, and Buffy was pretty sure she was going to hell for it—but God, that dream had been hot.
And it had started her thinking about stuff she’d never really considered before. Like how Spike’s fingers would really feel running down her body. What would happen if he just kissed her on the lips one day.
What would happen if he kissed her other places…
Her hands slipped on the tray she was carrying and she almost dropped the two fry baskets. She bit her lip—it was really bad when she started being a complete klutz with stuff she’d been doing for ages.
“Jesus, Buffy, what’s the matter?”
She stiffened at the voice: Angel. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said coldly, giving the people their fries and walking back toward the counter.
“But I need to talk to you,” Angel said playfully. “C’mon, Buffy, you don’t have to be frigid about it.”
God. How could it be that even when she was having overly erotic dreams about her best friend, even when she’d broken up with the bastard currently bugging her, the bastard in question still had an effect on her? They’d been going out for four years. She couldn’t deny him simply talking to her. “Fine.” She glared at him. “Talk.”
“Your birthday’s coming up.”
Two weeks. Last year for her birthday, Angel had taken her to the beach and given her a ruby ring. “Tell me something I don’t know,” she spat.
Angel sighed. “Buffy, we broke up. It was bad, but it happened. Can’t we both just move on?”
“We broke up?” She repeated incredulously. “Angel, you went all Controllo-guy on me when I was with Spike, and then when he punched you, you spread rumors about us!”
“I was just telling the truth!” Angel said. He looked angry—or at least, he had the specific nonexpression on his face that Buffy had come to associate with anger.
Well, she was definitely madder—and it showed. “No, you know what the truth is?” She said, taking an aggressive step forward. “You’re a selfish bastard. You have the nerve to stand there and censor me and my friend, when you yanked me around for four years. Or do you think I’ve forgotten about Harmony?” She watched him flinch with bitter amusement. “Cheating on me with her for three months. Remember that?”
“Buffy, I was fifteen.”
“And now you’re sixteen!” she cried. “God, Angel, you just don’t get it! It doesn’t matter how old you are! Fifteen is old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. Age isn’t an excuse. I don’t understand why you can’t—“
“Buffy? Is there a problem?”
For the first time since the beginning of her tirade, her awareness opened up to include everyone else in the diner. All the customers were staring at her, and her mom was standing a few feet away, concern written all over her face.
She blushed, stepping back. “Sorry, Mom. Everything’s fine.”
Joyce regarded Angel with suspicion. “You’re sure he wasn’t bothering you? You seemed upset a minute ago.”
She had been upset, but not for the reasons Joyce was assuming. “It’s fine. Angel was just leaving, weren’t you?”
“Actually, I was—“
“Leaving. In fact, you’re walking out the door right now.” She glared at him. If he didn’t go along with this…
Well, someone up there loved her. Angel raised his hands in defeat. “I’m going, I’m going.”
She turned her back on him as he left, leaning on the counter for support. “I’m such an idiot.”
Her mother patted her back sympathetically, giving all the customers in the diner a menacing look. They went back to their eating quickly.
“Breakups are hard, sweetheart.”
Buffy had to restrain a laugh. It wasn’t the breakup that had been upsetting her. No, it was her dream, her stupid, twisted dream. She hadn’t been talking about Angel, not a bit. She been trying to convince herself—trying to convince everybody, really—that she wasn’t dirty, that she wasn’t sick. The problem was, it wasn’t working.
“Mom…is it…” she hesitated. Knowing her mom, she’d pick up on Buffy’s feelings for Spike in an instant. “Do you think it’s wrong for me to be mad at Angel? I mean, he was telling the truth.”
Joyce shook her head. “No, he wasn’t, sweetie. Not really. Spike was just trying to get Angel to understand that he needed to stay away. Angel deliberately spread rumors about it to make people think another way.”
Buffy sighed. “I guess…”
“In fact,” Joyce continued, smiling a little, “I really think we ought to thank Spike for defending you like he did. Do you think he’d be able to come over for dinner tonight?”
Buffy blinked. “How is that special? We have him over for dinner lots of times.”
“It could be a celebratory dinner. A pre-birthday, thank-you get-together.”
“Would in involve me in a dress?” She wrinkled her nose. Not that dresses were bad, but if she was in a dress, then Spike would be in a suit…and he’d look really, really yummy. Definitely of the bad as far as Buffy’s peace of mind went. “Because I think that would be overdoing it a little.”
“Nonsense. We could use a little gaiety, your father and I haven’t had an excuse to break out the champagne in months.” Joyce arched a brow at her daughter. “And Spike’s your best friend. Don’t you want to thank him?”
She was so going to hell for the images that evoked…among other things…she forced herself to smile. “Um, sure. Sounds good. Want me to go tell him?”
“Isn’t he at work? I wouldn’t want to get him in trouble with his boss.”
Anya knew Buffy pretty well, but Buffy decided not to bring that up. “I’ll just tell him when he comes here for lunch, then.”
Joyce smiled at her daughter. “Okay, sweetie. Tell him seven o’clock, okay?”
She nodded. “Will do.”
From the kitchen, someone yelled, “Joyce? The oven’s smoking again!”
“Oh, no. Sorry, honey, we can continue this later.” Joyce kissed Buffy’s forehead and then hurried back to the kitchen, yelling, “Don’t open it!”
Buffy watched her go, smiling falsely. As soon as she knew no one was watching her she let the smile turn into a grimace. “Stupid world,” she muttered, pouting ineffectually, and got back to work.
~*~
“So, my mom thinks you’re a hero now.”
“Really?” Spike asked, amused, as he bit into the pastry. “Why does she think that?”
“Because you told Angel I was your girl. She thinks you were being all chivalrous.”
Chivalrous. He couldn’t help but wonder if Joyce would still feel the same way if she knew he wanted to take her 16-year-old daughter and shag her into the ground. “Right then. Tell ‘er it was my pleasure to put the ponce in his place.”
“You can tell her.” When Spike arched a brow at her, she caved. “Mom wants you to come to dinner tonight. It’ll be fancy.”
“Fancy, eh? S’pose I have to wear a suit?” He mock-groaned. “The things I go through for you…”
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes at him playfully. “I have to wear a dress, so we’re even.”
Buffy in a dress. He closed his eyes briefly. Damn lucky thing suit pants ‘re loose enough to hide a hard-on. “Don’t see why that’s such a problem for you, luv,” he teased. “’m the one who’s gonna have to look at you.”
Her mouth fell open. “You jerk!” she exclaimed, half-frowning, half-amused.
He shouldn’t bait her. Spike knew that, but hell—he shouldn’t do a lot of things that he did anyway. “That the best you can do, Summers?”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s it. You are so going down.”
“Oh, yeah? What’re you gonna do, hit me in your dad’s diner?”
“Nu-uh.” She shook her head, walking round to the other side of the counter. She sauntered up to him, and Spike gulped—she couldn’t possibly know what she did to him when she swayed her hips like that.
Her green eyes were inches from his when she smiled slyly and said, “But you’ll have to come out of here sometime.”
And with that, she tossed her apron on the counter and went to sit on the bench outside the diner.
Spike shook his head as he ate the rest of his pastry. Buffy was absolutely carrot-top sometimes, there was no denying that. It was one of the reasons he loved her. She was spontaneous enough that life around her was never boring.
When he was finished eating, he walked outside, half-expecting to get jumped by her, and bracing himself for the consequences an action like that would have. Instead he found her sitting still on the bench, leaning her head on one arm.
He laid his hand on her shoulder. “Kitten? You okay?”
“Mhm?” She blinked a few times and opened her eyes before half-smiling, half-yawning. “Sorry. I got almost no sleep last night. I had—weird dreams.”
If things had been the way he wanted them to be, he would’ve been able to tell her about his dreams—most of which involved her wearing rather a lot less clothes than she was now. But instead he just grinned and said, “Oh really? Any ‘f these weird dreams happen to feature a hot older English bloke you’re friends with?”
She blinked up at him, her cheeks turning red. Spike found that a bit peculiar—she almost never blushed when he teased her—but dismissed it. It didn’t mean what he wanted it to mean, why bother speculating? “No. They were just…weird.”
Suddenly wanting to get away from his closest friend as quickly as possible, he checked his watch. “Damn. Gotta be back at the office soon. What time does your mum want me to be there?”
Buffy shrugged, a smile returning to her face. “She said around seven, but you know them. You could show up at nine and they’d still love you.”
Which was one thing he had going in his favor. Now ‘f he could just get rid of the million other people and laws that said what he felt for her, what he wanted, was wrong…”Right, then. ‘ll be there at seven. Bye.” He was walking past the bench when she leapt up and grabbed his arm.
“Spike?”
Something in her voice made him pause. Instead of sounding older than her age, she sounded much, much younger. “Yeah, pet?”
“Are we—are we okay?” she asked, biting her bottom lip.
How could she do this to him? He was all set to walk off, to put just a little distance between them, for his sanity’s sake as much as anything else—and all she had to do was ask one little question, and he had her enfolded in his arms.
They stood like that for a few long moments, enfolded in each other’s arms, before Spike pressed a kiss to her head and said, “Yeah, luv. We’re fine.”
She sighed in relief. “Oh, good. See you tonight then?”
He stepped back and offered what he hoped was a friendly smile. “Yeah. See you tonight,” he said as he started to walk away.
~*~
Buffy watched him go, trying to restrain a sigh. Weird dreams? Yeah, of course you were in them. You had a starring role, in fact, right between my legs.
Right. Like she was ever going to say that.
Spike would think she was completely twisted if she ever told him what kinds of dreams she’d been having about him. Tonight was going to be bad enough, what with him looking all sexy in a suit and being in her house—possibly in her room, since when he visited they ended up there as often as not.
All she could think when she went back into the diner was, Thank God Mom and Dad are going to be there.
~*~
A/N: *innocent look* Me, hinting? I don’t know what you’re talking about! =D For those of you begging me for Spuffy…a little bit might come soon ;) Thanks for all the incredible reviews, I was simply amazed! The response this fic is getting amazes me—it’s wonderful to know that so many people are interested in what I have to say. Thank you!
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