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Author's Chapter Notes:
Hey guys! I was a little sad to have less reviews this time : ( Hopefully this chapter will bring them back! Enjoy!
When Spike got home, he graded papers at his desk for hours. He couldn’t bear going up to his room in case he could see her through the window. He didn’t even think he could bear watching her with another boy. Jealousy ripped through him like a flare. He wiped the stack of pages off his desk and put his head in his hands. Rubbing at his newly bruised forehead gave him a headache.

How could he be so stupid?!

Spike took a deep breath for what seemed like the millionth time that day and began to clean up the mess. He heard a loud pounding upstairs and just couldn’t be bothered to deal with Dru. Her fits were getting worse and with the pressure of the day… he knew it was better to stay at his desk until she settled down.

He remembered the day Dru said she’d marry him and a chill crept up his spine.

His life wasn’t supposed to be like this: grading high school papers in a mausoleum masked as a home, yearning after some pint-sized blond. He saw his future flash before his eyes and shuddered at its bleakness. Spike glared at the ceiling and visualized his wife, mocking him through the floorboards. He should have ignored her cries that day; he should have known better.

After he’d finished grading every single paper, tweaking his lesson plans for a month ahead of time, and a series of other tedious tasks, Spike finally shut off the light and headed upstairs. Buffy would be asleep in her bed by now and hopefully so would Dru. He could get a decent sleep for once.

Turning the doorknob slowly as not to make noise, Spike opened the door to an empty room.

“Dru?” he whispered. No one answered. “Drusilla?” he said a little louder this time. Something banged from the attic: an answer. She was probably sleeping in the attic again; something she did when she felt the bedroom was haunted. Spike sighed and shook his head, which was a motion he was getting used to doing.

As he readied himself for bed, Spike glanced at the window and considered closing the blinds. That temptress of a window needed to be closed before he watched her again. With a shaking hand, Spike moved to close them, but stopped when he noticed the light on across the street.

I will not look. I will not look. I will close these blinds and get to sleep, went his mantra as his hand remained attached to the string. Maybe just a small peak? She could be doing homework or something equally innocent. Spike scoffed.

It seemed pretty unlikely.

And yet his eyes moved of their own accord to face her window. Spike peaked at Buffy as she readied herself for bed in the most agonizing dance of his life. She slowly, tantalizingly lifted her tank top off, leaving her in nothing but red panties. Without a scrap of material covering her pert breasts, her body glowed in the moonlight.

Her slender hands slipped down her neck and caressed her nipples as she stared at what Spike assumed was her mirror. Her other hand slid down the taut plane of her stomach and across her thigh.

Spike erection became painful thinking that he’d touched her there only hours earlier. Her fingers danced lightly across the bit of lace between her legs. Oh, how he wished he were that hand. He imagined himself kneeling before her, slowly edging the material down and inhaling deeply of her scent. Slowly nuzzling and licking at her naked form as it was revealed to him. Only for him.

His eyes glazed over in thought.

If given the chance, he would bring his goddess to climax over and over again. He would worship her every curve, memorize every scent and taste of her. She would dance for him and no one else.

Spike watched as she dipped two fingers below the waist of her panties, and similarly slid his hand down and stroked his throbbing cock. His eyes rolled back in his head as some of the pressure was released.

He moaned softly as she closed her eyes and touched herself. She kneaded her breast so willingly, knowing exactly what she was doing with each movement of her hands. As her arm moved faster, back and forth, her other hand abandoned her chest and roughed up her hair. So, kitten likes it a little rough, he thought as he sped up stroking himself.

His quiet moaning became panting and groaning as she got closer and closer to completion. Her head rolled over her shaking shoulders, her limbs buckled under her small frame, her mouth parted the same way he saw it after he’d kissed her luscious, sweet lips. It was all too much to bear. Seventeen years old, seventeen years old he repeated mentally to stop touching himself. It didn’t work; nothing did. It always felt so wrong, but it felt to good to stop. He rubbed faster and faster, imagining her body, slick and soft, writhing beneath him, wanton and wanting,

Spike came with a shout. He continued to stroke himself as he went soft. Spent and tired, he looked once more through the window to see the satisfaction on her face.

That glorious face turned around and looked at him directly; with a saucy smile and a wink, she closed the curtains. Spike was in such a state of shock that he couldn’t move. Time stood still and so did he: mouth open, eyes wide, and dick out.

“That bloody bitch!” he yelled at the blinded window. Spike kicked the wall for good measure, but stubbed his toe and hobbled back to the bed. “Or am I just a bloody bastard…” Shaking his head, he contemplated the bad decisions he was about to make. He smiled lightly at the floor.

Oh, we’re gonna have a confrontation Summers.

He imagined her replying, “Count on it,” with one of her wicked smiles.

Across the street, Buffy lay on her bed distraught. She knew they’d have it out tomorrow; if she knew anything about the man, it was that he was quick to action. But how would she handle it? She didn’t know; she hadn’t thought much beyond the striptease part of the plan.


Chapter End Notes:
So how was that? Please review! It will most definitely make me write faster which means more fun!



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