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Ha! Take that, Mr Billy-Idol-stole-my-look! I’ll show him practical and boring…

Buffy stood in the sultry heat of the bathroom, studying her reflection in the full length mirror. As a result of Spike’s earlier teasing—the same Spike who owned a grand total of two outfits, and had embraced the wonders of tight black denim for the past thirty years, thank you very much—she’d climbed through her window with a specific goal in mind. Hastily, she’d crossed to her wardrobe and gathered a suitable guh-inducing outfit before the vampire in question was able to spoil her surprise.

Not bad, Summers, she thought with a sly grin. You’ve still got it.

Admittedly her low cut top revealed more cleavage than it hid. And yes, the mini-skirt she’d squeezed into hadn’t seen the light of day since high school, but so what? She looked good. Better than good. Certainly good enough to render the cocky vampire currently loitering in her bedroom a slobbering mess. Smiling, Buffy shook her head at the absurdity of her thoughts. Who was she kidding? She could emerge in a potato sack and Spike would still find her drool-worthy. A carefree giggle passed her lips, and with a final appraising glance, Buffy switched off the bathroom light and entered the adjoining room.

The sight that greeted her was utterly surreal. Spike was lying on the bed, a black thong in one hand, a stuffed pig in the other. Shaking her head, Buffy paused by the dresser as she studied the unique vampire that lay before her.

“You’d better not be corrupting Mr. Gordo,” she said with a smile.

Spike frowned, forcibly dragging his attention away from her purloined undergarments. “Who?”

“The pig.”

With a teasing smirk he tossed the toy in Buffy’s direction. “Don’t worry, love. I wouldn’t dream of sullyin’ your stuffed piggy’s reputation.” Spike’s attention returned to the flimsy scrap of lace in his hand. “I don’t know why you bother with these dental floss knickers,” he said, twirling them around his index finger. “Bloody things are a waste of time if you ask me.”

Buffy shook her head as she caught the airborne porcine and placed him safely on a shelf. “Sometimes I forget you have intimate knowledge of my underwear drawer.”

Spike smirked. “Not as intimate as I’d like, lamb.” His arrogance faltered as he swept his gaze over her body, gaping openly as he finally noticed what she was wearing.

“You like?” Buffy asked as she gave a little twirl, delighting in the glassy-eyed, slack-jawed, speechlessness that washed over his face.

Swallowing audibly, Spike sat up straight on the bed. “You’re gonna patrol wearin’ that?” he whispered as his borrowed blood rushed towards his straining erection.

“Sure,” Buffy replied. “Why not? I managed it before. In fact, the last time I wore this skirt I was rendering your ass very much of the kicked on a nightly basis.” Slowly, she stalked towards the painfully aroused vampire. “Or is your memory fading in your old age, Spikey?”

Cheeky bint. The spark of a challenge flashed in the vampire’s eyes, and Spike growled playfully as Buffy reached the foot of the bed. “Oh, I remember all right,” he replied, reaching for Buffy’s hand and urging her to join him. “Do you have any bloody idea how difficult it was tryin’ to fight you with a ragin’ hard on?”

“Excuses, excuses...”

“It’s true!” Spike ran his tongue over his teeth. “How’s a bloke supposed to put up a decent offence when there’s a perky little blonde slayer drivin’ him to distraction? You made me forget myself, love. I never stood a bleedin’ chance.”

Buffy grinned as she straddled his legs and slowly prowled up his body, never once breaking eye contact as she settled over his thighs. “Well there you are then,” she said, splaying her hands over his chest. “Practical slayage attire without a hint of boring to be seen.”

Spike raised an amused eyebrow. “Practical?”

“Uh huh,” Buffy replied, circling her hips and eliciting a tortured groan from the supine vampire. “Distraction techniques are grossly underrated.”

“Is that so?” Reaching forward, Spike grasped her by the forearms and unexpectedly twisted the Slayer beneath his body. Chuckling at her surprised squeak, he dropped a lazy kiss to the corner of Buffy’s mouth, before trailing his lips along her jaw line towards her ear. Tracing his tongue around the outer shell, Spike’s cool breath tickled the fleshy lobe before nibbling it with his teeth, delighting at the full-body shudder of the woman in his arms.

“So what you’re proposin’,” he said, pulling back to meet her eyes, “is you stand there lookin’ like a nummy treat, an’ I’ll whip out a stake whilst the beasties are cross-eyed an’ droolin’?”

“It could work.” Buffy panted breathlessly.

Spike’s hands fell to the smooth skin of her thighs, his determined fingers sending chills racing up her spine. “But you’re forgettin’ one thing, love,” he said, toying with the hem of her skirt. “No other bloke will ever get close enough to see your goodies.”

With a possessive growl he attacked her lips in a kiss designed to leave Buffy aching for more—more of his words, more of his touch. More of him. “You’re mine,” Spike said as he nipped at her bottom lip and soothed it with his tongue. “You’re mine, Buffy, an’ once I get you in my bed I promise you’ll never want to leave. I’ll make your body crave my touch. Make it so you see stars by the time we’ve shagged each other into exhaustion.”

The Slayer grinned cheekily. “Bit full of yourself, aren’t you?

Confidence soaring, Spike ground his denim-clad erection against the thin material of Buffy’s panties, leaving her in no doubt of just how full he could make her. “Stay at my place tonight,” he coaxed as his gentle rotations worked miracles between her thighs. “You an’ I have some unfinished business to take care of, an’ I don’t fancy any more interruptions spoilin’ our fun.”

He kissed her again, long and hard, and oh-so-deeply, that Buffy was certain she was going to melt into a puddle of slayer goo at any moment. “Okay,” she whispered, flushed and exhilarated. “Okay, I—Oh, Spike... yes!”

Buffy hissed at the delicious friction caused by his jeans, and Spike was certain that the inexplicable warmth spreading throughout his chest, could only be attributed to the boundless joy radiating within him. “God, Buffy,” he groaned, bucking against her heated centre as his fingers dipped beneath her skirt and brushed over the damp crotch of her underwear. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, kitten. Treat you right, I will.”

Buffy gasped at his first tentative explorations, torn between letting him continue, and halting things whilst she was still capable of rational thought. Reluctantly, she locked her knees around his waist, reversing their positions and breaking the heated embrace. “Ah-ah,” she said between panted breaths. “Patrol first, smoochies second.”

Steadfastly ignoring the pouty vampire beneath her, Buffy batted away his questing hands and scrambled from the bed. “Don’t give me the kicked puppy look,” she said, trying not to laugh at his chagrined expression. “The sooner we get going, the sooner we can make with the loving.”

Awkwardly, Spike rose from the bed and blatantly adjusted his throbbing length—something he’d been forced to do with maddening regularity of late. “Right then,” he said. “Lead the way, love. Demon’s to kill, world’s to save, an’ all that rot.”

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Spike was finally going to have his every fantasy fulfilled. He almost pitied any unsuspecting demons with the misfortune to be on the prowl tonight. Nothing was going to stand between him and his Slayer.

Nothing.

Buffy crossed the room to retrieve a jacket from the hook behind her bedroom door, and feeling like a complete ponce, Spike was helpless to do anything but follow her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, releasing a sigh of pent-up yearning. “I love you,” he breathed into her hair, as his inner-William fought to the surface.

Taken aback, Buffy turned to meet his eyes, cradling his cheeks in her palms. “I love you, too,” she whispered.

For endless seconds they gazed at each other in tacit understanding, until the enormity of the situation became too much for Spike, and he ducked his head at the sheer force of emotion that passed between them. Calling on his Big Bad persona, Spike desperately tried to get himself under control. The last thing he wanted was to start blubbering like a prat—he still had some dignity left.

“Come on, kitten,” he said, nodding towards the open window, “let’s get out of here before—” He paused, head tilted to the side as a low murmuring reached his ears. “What the bloody hell is that?”

Buffy frowned. “What?” she asked, unable to detect what had Spike so ruffled. “I can’t hear anything.”

Spike’s eyebrows knitted together as he quietly opened the door, and hand-in-hand, they crept warily onto the landing. A faint glow emanated from the living room below, and from their vantage point, Buffy could hear a rhythmic series of words, spoken with such inflection that it could only mean one thing.

“Oh god.”

A spell.



Chapter End Notes:
Just a short update this week, and yes, I’m a tease, but trust me, we need a bit of fluff to get through the next couple of chapters. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review. You guys make it all worthwhile, and I hope you continue to enjoy this fic as the plot thickens…



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