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It had been three weeks since Buffy’s rescue, and her once-emaciated body was lush and curved. Her toned muscles rippled with strength, and she’d managed to keep her mealtimes private, so much so that some of the Scoobs often forgot she was a vampire.

Halfway through her second week, Willow and Tara had come looking for her, finding her staring into an empty mirror longingly, fingering the messy strands of her waist-length hair. They’d spirited her away that evening, taking her to a specialist salon Anya had recommended from her demon days.

A very enthusiastic demon with purple skin and blue hair named Simeon (“Call me Sidders, cupcake, everybody does.”) had squawked angrily over her hair, tutting when he caught sight of her unplucked eyebrows and generally lamenting her appearance. In a whirlwind of frantic energy, she’d had her hair washed and then all she heard for over an hour was the metallic ‘snip’ of scissors.

When Sidders had finished, he’d dampened her hair again and began sectioning it out. Mixing a colour (“It’s a pale blonde, toots, you’ll adore it!”) was quick work, and he chatted busily to her as he began slathering the paste on select parts of her hair, almost seeing as though he wasn’t looking at her hair at all.

While the colour set, he’d brandished a pair of tweezers under her nose and proceeded to remove painful amounts of excess hair from her brow. Then he’d unwrapped her hair, washed it again and blow-dried it. Waving a Polaroid camera, he’d snapped a few shots and handed them to her with a flourish.

Her hair, previously dark blonde and not styled, merely clinging to her waist, was a thing of the past. Now waves of honey blonde tumbled to just below her shoulders, streaked with a paler gold that made her eyes seem vibrantly alive. Her brows were fine, arched lines in her shocked face; she looked so different from she ever had before, sexy and mature in a way she hadn’t felt for years.

Coming home just before dawn, she’d discovered where Anya had been all day. Her closet was stuffed with new clothes, from floral summer dresses to elegantly vixenish miniskirts. She almost wept when she found the pair of leather trousers, her favourite outfit during her time as the living Slayer.

That night they were to go to the Bronze, Sunnydale’s local club. Oz’s band, Dingoes Ate My Baby, were playing and the gang were going to have a fun-filled night together. Buffy had been invited to join them, and though she’d felt nervous before, the new clothes and look gave her a confidence she’d thought lost.

It was eight o’clock that evening, and the Scoobies with the exception of Cecily and Oz were gathered in Wood’s living room, waiting for the vampiress. Spike rose, heading for her door to urge her to hurry when it swung open. Hearing Xander’s choked gurgle of surprised lust from behind him, he swallowed noisily at the vision she presented.

The leather trousers clung to her full hips and slender legs, looking almost as though they were a second skin as she shifted shyly, her gentle movements strangely erotic. A soft, silky red top cut with a diagonal bottom showed the tiniest flash of tight skin, the halter neck emphasising the womanly curve of her breasts modestly. The back was low enough to almost be indecent, but a thin gold chain ran from the nape of her neck down her spine to connect the two halves of the top.

Strappy red shoes gave her an added inch of height, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Spike wondered if she’d thought of him when she dressed in his favourite colours, trying not to whimper as her eyes met his. Make-up turned her dazzlingly green eyes smoky and darkly sultry, as well as making her full lips shiny and blood red.

All female heads swivelled in the direction of the front door when it banged open, Wood’s following a moment later. After Buffy’s unconscious display of subtle sexuality, Cecily’s outfit and manner was a disappointing and almost slutty contrast.

Her bright blonde hair was down and tightly curled, her body wrapped in a tight, shiny red mini-dress that barely brushed the tops of her thighs and dipped perilously low at the neck. Knee-high boots with dangerously high stiletto heels clicked as she strutted through the door, her ridiculously lavishly painted face set in an angry frown when she realised that she wasn’t the centre of attention her entrance was supposed to make her.

Chatting amongst themselves, Spike, Cecily and Buffy settled down in a dark corner of the Bronze, watching the band before Oz’s play, their raggedly sexy, street-urchin-like singer caressing the microphone as her hypnotic voice worked its magic on the dancers, Willow, Tara, Anya and Xander dancing with the rest. Cecily poked Spike hard in the thigh, his head shooting around, his eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Why are you staring at that? She’s not even pretty. Just because she dresses and acts like a slut.” Her whiny voice grated on his last nerve as Buffy’s head whipped around, her face tight with suppressed fury.

Remembering his dream about the petite blonde, he snarled angrily. “Don’t you talk about ‘er like that again! She’s not half the tart you are.”

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes widened. What the bloody hell are you playin’ at, mate? That’s your sodding girlfriend. Buffy smiled to herself as she heard his words, watching in satisfaction as Cecily gasped before jumping up and flouncing onto the dance floor, intent on driving the Slayer mad with jealousy.

Nervously the vampiress sidled closer to the bleach-blonde, twisting her fingers and chiding herself silently. After all, the worst he could do was reject her, right? Spike noticed her agitated shifting, smiling and patting the seat beside him invitingly. Buffy returned his smile, slipping into the chair with a grateful sigh.

“She knows you didn’t mean it. She’ll be back soon enough, don’t worry. She won’t find anyone better look-” She abruptly cut off, looking down and biting her lip, cursing herself for a fool. Why was she defending Cecily, anyway? She was a bitch, unworthy of the love of a creature so sensual and fiercely loyal as the Slayer.

Spike grinned. She thought he was good-looking! Just as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, she turned her head. Their gazes met, hers startled before becoming clouded by confusion as his darkened. He watched her eyes blink slowly shut, the whisper of her silent pants on his lips reminding him suddenly of the dream.

Growling forcefully, he crushed his lips to hers. Her hand shot to his hair, tangling in the platinum locks as he tilted her head back, opening her lips with his own as he plundered her mouth. Buffy thought she was going to melt. His lips were at once soft and demanding against her own, his hot tongue stroking her into a frenzy.

His moan as the kiss deepened suddenly alerted her to the fact that she, a vampire, was not only kissing the Slayer in public, but that said Slayer also had a girlfriend. She was an annoying, unworthy cow, but she was still his girlfriend. Tearing her lips away, she closed her eyes as he panted for breath.

Spike stared as she jumped up. “I… We can’t. Cecily.”

Buffy fled into the crowd, too worked up from the kiss to recognise the predatory blonde following her every movement with golden eyes. It wasn’t until she crashed headlong into a broad chest that a familiar scent hit her, bringing with it a wave of loathing and mind-numbing terror. She looked up into Angelus’ smiling face.

“Hello, cutie. Come to Daddy.”

Before she could resist, his arms swept around her in a bruising hold; if she’d needed to breathe, she would have suffocated. As it was, she struggled wildly as his hands ran over her breasts and ass possessively, gripping her curves with a painful hold. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, idly blocking her knee as it rose aimed at his crotch.

“Now now Buffy. Look over my shoulder.”

Furious at her weakness, she did as he commanded and gave a low groan of despair. His hands and feet forced her to move against him in an openly sexual dance, the heat of his erection against her stomach making her gag silently. Suddenly he spun her around, pulling her hips back and grinding her ass against his cock as he spoke again.

“One wrong move, little Buffy, and she’s toast. Just think what the Slayer would say then. His girlfriend would be dead and it would be all your fault. So listen carefully…”

He proceeded to murmur instructions into her ear, nuzzling at her siring scar. Revulsion swept through her as her body automatically responded, a rush of wetness between her thighs making her grit her teeth against the pleasant sensations. She cast her eyes over Cecily once more, seeing Darla’s maliciously grinning face as the two blondes danced together. It was no use; by the time she reached them, Darla would have drained Cecily dry.

She stumbled as Angelus suddenly pushed her away, smirking as she spun to face him. “Don’t forget our meeting, Buff.” With lightning speed, he lunged forwards and elbowed her in the temple. Her vision blurred as she swayed, dropping to her knees. When she finally regained her senses, he’d vanished into the heaving mass of sweaty bodies around her, and Cecily and Darla were nowhere to be seen.





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