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Chapter 3: Backside

“Uh….gah.” Suddenly Buffy had all the verbal ability of a newborn. The only thoughts she could muster sounded a lot like ‘how secure is that towel?’ It would only take a slight yank to reveal Spike in all his glory. A shudder swept through Buffy’s body at the thought. The light blue cloth hung dangerously low on his hips and hardly made the trip to wrap around his body. His hair was a maze of chaotic bleached curls from a quick towel dry she suspected, although she knew it was still slightly damp from the little water droplets that slide down his chest.

“You alright, pet?” He took a step closer one hand running through his hair trying to smooth it and the other hovering at his waist keeping the towel in check.

“Oh… me? Yeah, I’m just peachy.” Buffy rapidly removed herself from the center of her bed and made her way over to her closet eyelids fluttering slightly as she fought her out of her lust-induced haze. “I’m sure I have something in here you can use,” she said throwing a glance back in his direction. With another gulp Buffy set her mind to focus on the task at hand. SPIKE. NEEDS. CLOTHES. NOW.

She began to tear through the previously abandoned corners of her closet, while Spike took a seat on the edge of her bed with a smirk.

It was obvious the Slayer was all to keen on his physique. She practically jumped out of her skin when she laid eyes on his towel-clad form. He really hadn’t planned the night to go this route. All Spike had really expected was to attempt to help her out and then get promptly thrown on his ass for his efforts. Something was different though, and hell if he wasn’t going to take advantage of it.

“Here,” Buffy said as clothes were thrust into Spike’s line of view, a pair of oversized navy sweatpants and a large white t-shirt.

“Soldier Boys?” he questioned grabbing what was so kindly offered to him.

She only nodded in response and took a seat in this space beside him. ‘If I don’t look, I won’t be tempted, and if I’m not tempted there will be no badness…’ Buffy worked hard mentally repeating the litany. However her plan was swiftly ruined as he stood from the bed sweatpants in hand and tugged away the towel as if it was as flimsy as a feather.

Her mouth hung open as she gaped as his naked backside. ‘At least he had the decency to turn the other way,’ she thought then quickly reassessed; ‘No turn the other way…the other way…’ she shouted inwardly.

He was talking now. His mouth was clearly moving and she could make out the twitching muscles in his jaw line from the turned side of his face, but none of his words made it to her ears. Buffy was closed off, shut down. She couldn’t move or speak; she could only sit stock with this ridiculous look on her face that made her attraction noticeably obvious. Buffy then remembered that he could smell her anyway; probably from the first second he strutted through the doorway. She was completely screwed.

“…But yeah. So I figured the two of us should probably go have a look in the next—Slayer?” He turned around slowly appearing totally innocent as if he wasn’t aware of the staggering effects he had on her. The sweatpants were finally firmly in place; the t-shirt on the other hand was still discarded atop Buffy’s bed spread.

“Sorry. What were you saying?” She gazed up at him expectantly trying to ignore the rising heat in her cheeks.

One eyebrow arched, Spike stalked a few steps toward her. “Buffy, love, is there a problem? Sure you’re feeling all right? You look a little flushed.” His hand graced the side of her face lightly as if checking her temperature.

So he was going to play the innocent act, Buffy surmised. Well, she would not stand for it. He’d already let her in on his all too excellent sense of smell, and there was no way he wasn’t conscious to the effect he was having on her. Plus, she couldn’t just let Spike think he could be dropping his denims all willy-nilly. She had to keep those vampires in check, or there was no telling what they’d start stripping off…which sometimes might not be the worst scenario where Spike was concerned…but that was beside the point. She had to focus.

“OH…don’t play naïve with me mister. You know exactly what you’re doing, with the innuendos, and the sniffing and…flashing me your backside!” Buffy was on her feet now pushing him to sit on the bed as she glared towering over him. “You can’t just go doing that, Spike, and pretend like it’s nothing. You were completely naked inches from my face!”

“Sounds like you’re a little fixated. Doesn’t it, Slayer? It was only my bum. I really didn’t think you’d mind,” Spike finished with a shrug reaching for the t-shirt beside him.

Buffy snatched it out of reach before he even made contact. “Didn’t think I’d mind? Didn’t think? We’re enemies, Spike. Me and you, the two of us, we don’t get along, and we certainly don’t go stripping off towels in front of each other either.” Anger winding down, Buffy perched herself on the bed next to Spike.

“Oh.”

There was a tone in his voice that caught Buffy off-guard. She turned to glance at him. “What?”

“We haven’t been enemies in a long while, Buffy, at least not to me, and as of late, I don’t know…I thought we were getting along well enough…” He ran a hand awkwardly through his hair and moved to stand. “But, listen, I’ll get out of your way; grab my wet ones and go. Thanks for the outfit…I’ll drop it by sometime.”

He was right. They weren’t enemies and they barely ever had been. Honored opponents, equal adversaries, maybe, but Buffy had never truly hated Spike and he’d given half-hearted attempts at best to finish her off. And now…they were friends. They often fought and argued with each other, but they were friends all the same. He could be there for her like no one else, and he was the only one that…

And now he was about to walk out the door.

“Spike, wait.” Buffy jumped up grabbing his wrist. “You’re right. We do get along sometimes, and since you’re basically impotent I guess we’re not enemies.” She smirked very pleased with her jab.

“’Oi! I’m not impotent, love…. far from it actually,” Spike leered at her running his tongue sensually over his teeth and then finishing with his lips. “Your smell’s the perfect evidence to that, Slayer.” He said with a chuckle moving past her for the t-shirt now laying the ground.

“I KNEW IT! You knew exactly what you were doing the whole time.” Buffy quickly stepped towards him pushing him back so he fell on to the bed once more. The shirt was once again forgotten on the ground.

“You arrogant, infuriating, pig-head, asshole.” Each word landed him with another shove until he was completely sprawled on her bed. He kept taking her flack until she was practically laying atop him both their lungs heaving out air. His was just for show, of course.

He was so aggravating. Just when she thought he was actually being sincere. Just when she was actually feeling bad for him…he…he…he looked incredibility hot.

Buffy had maneuvered him into the most vulnerable position and he was gazing up at her with such heat and desire that it made every inch of her quiver.

She couldn’t handle this anymore, the fighting, the arguing, and the tingles. The intensity was overwhelming her and all of the sudden there was nothing Buffy could do but give in.

Her arms nearly collapsed in on her as she crashed her lips to his. It took him a few fevered moments to respond, but speedily he began reaching out towards her and nipping hungrily at the edges of her mouth. The kiss was sloppy, as they both seemed all to eager to begin ripping each other’s clothes off.

Buffy had never been so happy that she’d slapped that shirt away from Spike. Twice.


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