Spike took Buffy to the nearby watering hole, The Phoenix. One half of the place was a bar with a dance area that had karaoke over the weekend, and the other half was a restaurant that served the best bloody wings he’d ever had. It was a fairly respectable place, a place he was sure he could keep an eye on Buffy. And now, two hours in to their evening out, Spike wasn’t sure who needed to be drunk more: Buffy for what her mother had accused her of, or him.
Being around her again was slowly driving him mad. That little crush he’d had once upon a time was coming back – or rather was back if he wanted to admit it to himself, but he didn’t so in his mind it was coming back.
And now, after she’d made him sing karaoke, “You can call me Al” by Paul Simon, with her – as it was their song from childhood – Spike was feeling that if she was going to be dragging him into further hijinks, he needed to be at least somewhat pissed to do it. Currently she had the song list in front of her which was a thick three ring binder, and she was bopping her head to the music being sung in the background as she trailed the tip of a pencil down the page and giggled every now and then. Adorable pain in my arse,, he thought, smiling as he watched her.
“Do you think I could pull off Joan Jett?” she asked, poking her head up to peer at him. Her expression was a mixture of innocence and seriousness.
He couldn’t help but grin at her. “What song you thinking about, kitten? ‘I Hate Myself for Loving You’?”
“As if! No way, are you kidding? Could I be any more cliché singing that?” Spike chuckled at her speak which was becoming freer, funnier and increasingly slurred. “I was thinking of ‘I Love Rock n’ Roll.’”
“I don’t think so, luv. She’s a bit hardcore for you.”
She pouted then and turned back to the page. She’s going to bloody well kill me isn’t she? he mused zeroing in on her extended lower lip.
“Britney Spears did it,” she muttered.
“And she bloody well hacked it, didn’t she?”
Buffy nodded and sighed, acquiescing. “Yeah, she really did.”
“Maybe we’ll practice, eh? For another time?”
She smiled brightly then and downed the rest of her fourth margarita whilst glancing at the page. Nearly slamming the glass down, she squealed and clapped her hands. “That’s the one!” and she burst into giggles before jotting down her next ‘number’ and stood, wobbling slightly. “You want anything? I’m getting another.”
“You think you need another?”
She rolled her eyes dramatically, “I’m not even going to justify that with a response,” she said before walking off, stumbling just a bit.
“What that bloody git was thinking letting her go, I’ll never understand,” Spike muttered to himself as he sipped his fifth beer. He was nearing a buzz, finally. This night had proven he could drink Buffy under the table. It had also proven that she was a friendly drunk; she talked to each and every person that walked by their table, smiling genuinely, if not drunkenly at them. She was also complimentary when drunk and he attributed it to her being a happy drunk that felt free in saying things she felt coming to the surface.
“My Id has come out to play,” she told him cheekily when she came back from getting another rather large margarita.
“Oh?” he asked, raising a brow.
She smiled mischievously, “You’ll see!”
“Why does that strike fear into my heart?” he asked, leaning across the table so she could hear him better.
She laughed, throwing her head back. It was a kind of evil laugh. “Well, rest assured that I will be singing before you, so you don’t have to worry.”
Spike’s eyes nearly fell from his skull. “What did you do, little girl?”
“Nothing bad. Hey, if you’re going to be starting up the band again, you better get into practice, buddy!” she told him, waving a finger at him.
“Buffy--”
“Hey, Buffy, can I buy you a drink?”
Their heads turned to see a tall natural blond grinning almost shyly at her. It was one of the men she had spoken to earlier, Buffy having complimented on his long, wavy hair.
“Oh, I’m sorry Kyle, I just got one. Maybe next time?” she told the guy, smiling brightly, if not a bit too flirtatiously for Spike’s liking.
Kyle blushed and nodded. “Just give a shout,” he said before walking away.
Buffy smiled sweetly, “How cute was that? So very sweet!”
“Yeah, sweet,” Spike muttered, “Buffy, you want to not flirt with the entire room, I mean they’re all drinking and I’m sure not all of them will be as kind as Kyle there was--”
“Up next is Buffy Summers!”
Jumping out of her chair, Buffy grinned and broadly. “That’s me!” And she scampered off to grab the mic being held out to her in the middle of the small dance floor.
When the strains of the song started, Spike racked his brain, trying to figure out why his blood suddenly turned cold in his veins. This song was familiar…
”You’re the one who makes me come running
You’re the sun who makes me shine
When you’re around I’m always laughing
I want to make you mine”
“Oh bloody buggering fucking hell,” Spike swore, swiftly moving closer to Buffy, wanting to make sure no Neanderthal’s got any ideas. His eyes nearly bugged when Buffy began swaying her hips quite seductively to the song, her eyes taking on a ‘come hither’ look.
”I close my eyes and see you before me
Think I would die if you were to ignore me
A fool could see just how much I adore you
I get down on my knees I do anything for you”
Spike stared, feeling half aroused and half worried when she dropped to her knees. When the men in the room began to cheer, Spike glared at every single one of them.
”I don’t want anybody else
When I think about you I touch myself
Ooh I don’t want anybody else
Oh no, oh no, oh no
I want you I don’t want anybody else
And when I think about you I touch myself
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh ahh”
One hand made the path from her shoulder, across her chest and down between the valley of her breasts…
“Touch yourself!” was shouted.
I don’t want anybody else when I think about you
I touch myself ooh I don’t want anybody else
Oh no, oh no, oh no
That hand drifted across her belly and down over her hips as the she sang the last bit, and that’s when Spike had had his fill. Nearly lunging at her, he grabbed the mic from her and tossed it to the woman waiting at the switchboard.
“That’s it. Show’s over,” he told Buffy and yanked her up.
“No!” she told him petulantly and made to get the mic back.
“I don’t think so Buffy Anne Summers!” Spike barked and yanked her to him. Hauling her up over his shoulder, he carried her like a sack of potatoes toward the Exit.
“Spike, put me down!” he heard her yell at him.
“No!” he answered shortly.
Clapping sounded from the patrons in the bar and he paid no mind, though he heard her say happily, “Byeeee!”
Once outside, Spike focused solely on getting home. The great thing about The Phoenix was that it was within walking distance of his house.
“Spike…” he heard her murmur, but he said nothing in return until he felt her start to hit his ass with her hands as though he were a drum set.
“Anyone ever tell you that you have a really nice ass, Spike?”
That did it. In one swift move, he set her down on her feet, holding onto her as she steadied herself.
She looked up at him. “Why did you do that?”
“You were pandering to all the Cro-Magnon in there!”
“It was just a song,” she waved him off. “And you didn’t get to sing yours!”
“Just what did you choose for me?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“’Love Stinks’. Remember in college when you sang that at a party?”
And it was in that moment that Spike realized he was back to where he’d been before. There was no sense in fighting the truth, it was staring him right in the face and she was intent on making him feel it and remember it. He remembered singing ‘Love Stinks’ all right. Buffy had been dating some stupid sod at that point in time and having to be around them for most of the night while his then girlfriend shagged some bloke in another bedroom had inspired him to get pissed and sing a song about the exact nature of what he felt at that time. Love did stink as far as he was concerned, which was why he avoided it at all costs. Buffy, however, was the only girl he knew that had the power to make him confront it.
Inside he was kicking and screaming, having a real hissy fit about the whole thing. He was not going to be that hopeless puppy with a crush, he simply wasn’t. It was with that thought in mind that he grabbed her and kissed her hard. She tasted of margaritas and sugar—sweet and tangy and something uniquely Buffy. Before he could get lost in that kiss, of the feel of her soft lips finally upon his, he released her and proceeded to drag her off to the house.
“Yeah,” he muttered, “I remember.”
Love Stinks by Brat
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Special thanks to Tammy for her help on this chapter :)