I'm excited and nervous, to share, all at the same time.
This chapter has been my baby. If you ever review one of my chapters let it be this one.
This is the first time in this story where you really get a lot of meat with our two favorite characters interactions.
A special thanks, as always, to puddinhead for taking the time to correct grammar, sentence structure, and give gentle instruction on how I can improve this little story of mine. Your time and thorough critique are invaluable and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
____________________________
She was going to kill him, for real this time. Buffy violently chucked her workout bag into the backseat of her cherry red Mustang then kicked her front tire and stamped her foot for good measure. She climbed behind the wheel and began to drive.
From day one, Spike had been a pain in her ass. He’d transferred to Sunnydale High when she was a freshman. She’d been sitting in her third period English class, studiously not paying attention, when the Principal escorted a new student in. A hush fell over the room as all eyes were drawn to the new kid.
Safety pins held his shirt together and his threadbare, black jeans had holes in the knees. Buffy felt her eyes grow wide as she took in the blinding white mess of curls that occupied the top of his scalp and she made a note to ask where he got his dye job- it was fabulous, a tad Billy Idol-esqe but fabulous none-the-less.
He looked a lot like trouble, if trouble could look like a fifteen year old boy. Mrs. Gibson, English teacher extraordinaire, asked him to introduce himself.
“I’m Spike. Spike Pratt,” he said all nonchalant and the class began to whisper.
“Very funny, Mr. Pratt. Class, this is William Pratt and he will be joining us for the rest of the school year. Would you please tell the class three things about yourself, William?” Mrs. Gibson folded her arms across her chest, perched a wide hip on her desk, and gave him her “go ahead” smile.
“Sure.” He smirked all sickeningly sweet and Buffy’s tummy did this flip-flop thing that she didn’t know tummies did. “First!” He clapped his hands together and began to strut back and forth in front of the class, “It’s Spike. Spike Pratt.” The boys in the class began to snicker. “Second! I think school’s a waste of time and third--”
“That’s quite enough Mr. Pratt!” Mrs. Gibson spoke up, mild irritation tainting her usually sweet voice. “I would hate for us to get off on the wrong foot, wouldn’t you?”
Several seconds passed and the class began to titter as Spike continued to stand there silent, smiling like an idiot at Mrs.Gibson.
Eventually their teacher sighed, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
“Buffy, please raise your hand,” Mrs. Gibson addressed her and Buffy debated the merits of pretending like she didn’t hear her.
“Buffy? What’s that then, some kind of poodle?” Spike asked, looking straight at her, stupid smile still in place, as the class burst out into laughter.
Face flaming she gave him her nastiest glare and replied, “No, you idiot, a poodle’s the thing that crawled up on top of your head and died.”
Her remark earned a collective “oooohhhh” from the class and several “buuuurn”s. Spikes cheeks reddened and he ducked his head as Mrs. Gibson chastised them both and directed him to the middle of the classroom, to the empty desk right beside Buffy’s. Buffy was instructed to allow “Mr. Pratt” to follow along in her English book.
Scooting her chair closer to his, she placed her book on his desk and pointed to the relevant section. He didn’t give any indication that he even realized she was there. Never one to be ignored, Buffy rolled her eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Look, I don’t think your hair looks like a poodle. Radioactive, maybe. Poodle? Not so much,” she whispered as Mrs. Gibson continued her lecture.
He leered at her. “Oh! You think you hurt my feelings?” He grinned. “Poodle, that’s precious!”
She scowled. “First, my name is Buffy, Buffy Summers. Second, I think that you are a waste of time and third--”
“Ms. Summers is there something you’d like to share with the class?” Mrs. Gibson stopped lecturing and all eyes went to Buffy.
She slouched down in her chair, ducked her head, and mumbled, “No ma’am.”
As their Freshman year progressed, Spike only confirmed her initial impression of him. He was arrogant, egotistical, and had a general lack of fashion sense that rivaled 80’s hair bands. Buffy wasn’t ashamed to admit that where he came from factored into it too.
Popularity was like a curse that plagued beautiful, well-to-do people with a constant need for the approval of their peers. The approval of others was like water to Buffy’s soul.
In layman’s terms Spike Pratt = social pariah.
Spike wasn’t a complete loser. He was actually quite popular, but he didn’t run in her circle. That alone didn’t make him off-limits, but factor in his crazy mother, his trailer park upbringing, and his harsh exterior—signed, sealed, delivered a glowing neon sign that read “Keep Away Buffy Summers.”
It was Sophomore year when Buffy began to suspect there was more to Spike than first met the eye. Mr. Leonard began a unit on English poetry in the 1800’s, wild horses couldn’t drag Spike away from that class.
Buffy watched with interest as Spike reached into his backpack and pulled out a notebook and a number two pencil. He set the notebook gently on his desk, and began to take notes. He’d squint as he tried to read the black board and every few minutes or so he’d nod and make this “mhm” noise in his throat like he was agreeing with their teacher.
A bad boy with a knack for English? Did he rescue puppies and volunteer in his spare time too? Buffy didn’t know what to make of him.
She watched him closely after that. She saw how hard he worked, how hard he tried. He threw himself into his studies and kept out of trouble, opting to be more of a loner than adhere to a social cluster. He got along with their teachers and spent most of his lunches in the library. He refused to vie for anyone’s approval.
Buffy felt like she’d been conned. The more she observed the more she was convinced that Spikes bad boy exterior was fashioned to deflect others from realizing what a closet nerd he was. Normally she wouldn’t have paid so much attention to anyone who was so far removed from her circle but Spike was like a flame and she guessed that made her the moth.
For years all their encounters were as volatile and combative as their first. She never passed up a chance to humiliate or ridicule him, she always got the feeling that he was amused by her more than anything. Then Junior year happened and everything changed.
“Oh my gaaah!!” Harmony Kendall whined as half the cheer squad carried her to Buffy’s mustang. “I can’t even believe this is happening to me! It’s broken! I just know it is!”
“Good God Harmony! You’re going to be fine. It’s not even swollen, you big fat baby.” Cordelia Chase strolled along next to the group of cheerleaders inspecting her nails and rolling her eyes. The Chase’s were the second wealthiest family in Sunnydale, second only to the Summers.
“Everyone just calm down.” Buffy slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ll take you to get it checked out. Your Mom is going to meet us at the hospital. I’m sure everything is going to be just fine.”
Buffy was beyond elated when Harmony’s mother’s arrived. Back-tracking her way through the ER, she almost didn’t see him sitting there in the corner of the waiting room; head down between his knees, shoulders shaking.
She couldn’t have controlled her feet even if she’d wanted to. In a heart-beat she had crossed the room and was at his side, feeling awkward and nervous. “Spike?”
His head shot up and he quickly wiped at his eyes. “What the hell are you doing here, Summers?” he growled.
“Are you crying?” she asked with a terrifying amount of concern.
“No, I’m not crying, you stupid bint.” He stood so fast he almost knocked her over. “Why are you here?” Spike gave her the once-over. Noticing she was in her cheer uniform he quickly began to scan the waiting area.
“I dropped off one of the girls, she got hurt during practice. I was just leaving when I saw you-”
“Well far be it from me to stop you. Go on, scamper off.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, then sat down and angled his body away from her. His face was a red splotchy mess.
“Did something happen?” she asked softly as she sat down beside him and folded her fidgeting hands in her lap.
He heaved an exasperated sigh and ran his shaking hands through his hair. “Do you care?”
“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate.
He turned back toward her, his beseeching blue eyes made her shiver. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “But I know that when I saw you sitting here I wanted to come sit beside you.” She was surprised at her transparency and blamed the tear tracks on his cheeks.
She didn’t know what to make of his expression. He looked a little startled, maybe a little unsettled, definitely a little pleased. He cleared his throat and schooled his face in an expression of indifference, one she was much better acquainted with. “It’s my mum. She OD’ed. I found her on the couch when I got up this morning.” He hastened to add, “And if you go spreading that around school-”
She shook her head. “I won’t. I wouldn’t.”
“They won’t let me see her. I’ve been sitting here for hours.” He let out an amused chuckled. “She’s such a stupid bitch. I told her this would happen.”
“Is there someone I can call for you?” she asked quietly.
He laughed like she’d told a joke. “Nah. Thanks though. Don’t look at me with those sad eyes. We’ve been fine by ourselves for this long.”
“This doesn’t look fine to me, Spike. This looks like you sitting all alone while you wait to hear news on a really hard situation.” She reached to squeeze his hand but he batted it away and stood quickly.
“You don’t know anything about it! What do you suggest I do, all-knowing Buffy? Please enlighten me on how I should handle this ‘situation’!”
“I didn’t mean-”
“No, you did mean.” He collapsed back in his chair and ran his hands through his messy hair. “Please, just go. You’re the last person I want here.”
All that accompanied her quick get away was a sharp intake of breath. She was surprised that her feet took her in the opposite direction of her car. Spotting a couple vending machines at the end of the hall she spent all her lose change on soda and chips. Arms full, she made her way back to the waiting room.
She struggled toward him and laid her junk food offering on the chair beside him. “You should probably eat something.”
He looked puzzled as she popped the top of a Diet Coke and sat down beside him. “You’re a total asshole and your manners are poorer than my little sister’s, which is seriously saying something. I’m going to sit here because if I don’t I’m going to spend the rest of my Saturday wondering if your mom’s okay and I just can’t handle that kind of stress.”
He let out a short barking laugh. “Have you ever met my mother?”
“Well… no.”
“Then why, might I ask, do you care what happens to her?”
“Because I have to meet the woman who willingly lives with such a colossal douche bag.” She smiled and took another sip of her coke.
Spike threw his head back and laughed. Buffy thought he looked like a little kid and smiled smugly when he grabbed a bag of Doritos and inclined his head toward her in gratitude.
It wasn’t long until the nurse invited them back to see Anne. Buffy was surprised when Spike lied and told the nurse that she was his sister. She guessed he just needed the support of someone else’s presence when he saw his mom.
The nurse directed them through a maze of hallways, to room 317. She motioned them through the door and told them that she’d give them a little privacy, before she left.
Spike’s mom was sleeping. Buffy hovered awkwardly near the door as Spike rushed to his mother’s side. He stopped just short of touching her and let his hands hang limply at his sides as he stared at her, drinking the woman in with his eyes.
Buffy didn’t know what to expect: a thin, diseased, old junkie, a shriveled up old woman? But by God she was like a real life Aphrodite. Her pale long blonde hair spilled over her shoulders in careless perfection; she had a flawless symmetrical face with sharp cheekbones, shaped eyebrows, and luscious red lips. She was like Spike with breasts and Buffy wondered if you had to make some kind of deal with Satan to look like that. It didn’t seem fair.
“How old is she?” Buffy couldn’t help herself.
“Thirty-two.”
She wanted to ask more questions but figured now wasn’t the time. Spike seeing her inner struggle threw her a bone. “She was fifteen when she had me.” His eyes were glued to his mothers face. “Whether or not I was the worst or the greatest thing she ever did still remains to be seen.”
“Was she in love?” Buffy asked quietly, meaning, ‘Was she in love with your Father? Is that why she threw away her childhood at fifteen and saddled herself with a kid? Where is he anyway? Who is he anyway?’ but she didn’t want to step on his toes or offend him.
“Isn’t that the only reason anyone’d risk damnation?” He sighed. “Her and I, we have this in common.”
Why did he always have to make things so complex? What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he in love with someone? Was it someone she knew?
Unable to voice any of these questions she simply said, “Oh.”
Then the nurse quietly poked her head in and said, “You can stay if you’d like but she’s heavily sedated. I’d recommend going home to get some rest and coming back in the morning.”
“Thank you, a shower and a change of clothes sounds good.” He winked at Buffy and grabbed her hand as they made their way back toward the waiting room. She let him hold in until they were outside in the parking lot. The hot bright California sun shed some light on the fact that she should not be walking hand in hand with Spike Pratt out in the open. Anyone could see. If Spike was offended, he didn’t let on.
“Well, I guess this is the end of the line. Thanks for sitting with me Buffy.” Spike began to walk away from the parked cars and toward the road.
“Wait. Do you need a ride?” Buffy told herself that she was just being nice; it wasn’t because the further he walked away from her the colder she felt.
“Nah, it’s a nice day. I could use the walk. Thanks though.” He waved and continued down the sidewalk.
She let him go and spent the rest of the evening trying to forget the way his hand seemed to fit perfectly in hers.
Buffy was a wreck on Monday after Spike didn’t show up for school so she told the school nurse she got her period and asked for a note excusing her from her last two classes. Pass in hand, she left school. Torn between looking for Spike at the hospital or his house she opted to try the trailer park first.
Never having been to his house, she was relieved when she spotted his Desoto parked in the gravel drive of an old run down trailer. She pulled in behind the junker and tried not to scrunch her nose at the smell permeating from the dumpster that stood upwind of the house.
Gathering her courage, she knocked and didn’t have to wait long.
“Buffy?” Spike looked completely shocked to see her. “What the hell are you doing here? Why aren’t you in school?”
“What are you, my father? I could ask you the same question.” She tried not to notice the way his jeans clung to the v of his hips and the nakedness of his chest. Holy abs, Batman!
Spike squeezed himself out the door and closed it behind him. “Yeah, but I asked you first.” He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and she tried her best not to let her eyes wander to the place of his anatomy that his hands were currently framing rather nicely.
“You didn’t show up for class, you always show up for class. I thought you were murdered or something.” Buffy felt silly for coming.
Spike grinned that big bad wolf grin of his. “Don’t tell me you were worried about me. Goldilocks. You’ll get my heart all a-flutter.”
She smiled and shoved him, “Worried? No. Hopeful of the above mentioned scenario, yes.”
Spike heaved a mock sigh, “Quit playing games with my heart, Summers. Your words they’re like poetry and they make me feel all tingly inside.”
“Masochist.” She folded her arms underneath her breasts, she knew they looked nicer that way.
“Kitten, are you flirting with me?” He leaned back against the house, pulled out a lighter and a crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds, and lit up.
“I flirt and you learn poetry: it’s clear who will get into heaven, isn’t it?” She twirled her hair and batted her eyes. “Speaking of boring school subjects, I didn’t see you in class today. How’s your mother?”
“Nice segue. She’s good. Still in the hospital. They’re going to monitor her until tomorrow and then release her.” Spike exhaled a cloud of smoke and Buffy voiced her distaste. She was surprised when he immediately dropped the cigarette and ground it out underneath his boot. “Sorry. Nervous habit.”
“Do I make you nervous, Mr. Pratt?” She said all pouty and seductive, expecting him to laugh at her.
“All the time.” He sounded as serious as a heart attack, and looked at her for one long, sobering second - seemingly trying to convey all that meant with just one look. She was disappointed that by the time he turned back to his house and opened the front door she was none the wiser.
“Look, you can come in if you want. You drove all the way out here. Least I could do is offer you a drink.”
“Ok.” She let him lead her inside his home; it was so much smaller than hers. Furniture was sparse. Things were clean but still looked dirty.
He glanced around, clearly embarrassed and mumbled an apology while he grabbed a white t-shirt off the back of a chair and slipped it on. “I’ve got Jim, Jack, Johnny Red, Johnny Black, and Jose.”
“Water?”
He smiled, ducked his head, and rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah, got that too.” He grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with tap water.
Buffy wandered the tiny hallway of a living space, noting the lack of décor and family photos. “So,” she drug the word out as she ran her hand along the edge of a small end table, “you’re from England, right?”
Spike laughed, he set down the glass of water, leaned back against the counter, and folded his arms over his chest, “Yeah pet, I’m from England. Are you trying to make small talk with me?”
Buffy shrugged. “Maybe. What was it like there?”
“Colder.”
Buffy paused her meandering to look at him, “You don’t really want to talk about that do you?”
“Not even slightly.” He sighed. “Look, you came, you’ve been reassured that I still have a pulse. Is there something else you’re after here?”
“Well excuse me for trying to be friendly.” She fisted her hands on her hips.
“See that’s the thing, Buffy. You and I,” he pointed between them to emphasize his point, “aren’t friends.”
“You’re exactly right! Idiot Neanderthals don’t have friends.” She stormed past him to the door and he went after her.
“Oh, I have friends. I just think too highly of myself to associate with stuck up little rich kids who’d sell their own mothers for a bit of spotlight and popularity.”
She turned. “There’s only one of us here who sells their mother and it’s not me.” No sooner did the words leave her mouth that she wished she could take them back. Her hands flew up to cover the lower half of her face.
Spike just starred at her. Seconds went by that felt like hours and her tummy got this empty vicious tugging feeling in it that felt suspiciously like guilt, but she couldn’t apologize to Spike! He was rude and gross and mean….
But there was such a thing as taking things too far, lines you don’t cross etc. She felt like a dick. “I’m-” she stared.
“Don’t.” He said right before he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her.
There were several things that Buffy imagined happening in that moment. Spike might maim and kill her, then bury her body in his overgrown flowerbed; her final resting place would be a trailer park. Awesome. He could have always just shoved her out the door, or cussed her out, or thrown that stupid glass of tap water in her face.
But he chose option E: Kiss Buffy Senseless. He was doing a damn good job of it, too. All her of good sense must have been gone, because that was the only way to explain why in the whole wide world she’d be kissing him back.
“You’re so mean,” Spike whispered as he pulled back, breathing a little heavy. He rested his forehead against hers.
“I never claimed to be nice. That’s merely an assumption people make because I’m pretty,” she whispered.
He chuckled and then they were off to the races. Before she knew it, they were in his bedroom making out like crazed affection-starved maniacs. She was letting him steal bases that boys in their grade had only ever dreamed about, for no other reason than it felt right.
What’s a little hanky-panky between mortal enemies anyway, right?
“I want you,” Spike said while drawing nonsense patterns with his tongue on her tummy.
Where did her shirt go? She couldn’t remember. The smells coming from his pillow were short circuiting her brain: cigarettes, cheap shampoo, and that musky masculine smell that belonged to him alone. “Mmmm,” was all she could get out as his fingers danced their way up her thigh and under her skirt.
“I’m going to touch you now Buffy.” He warned but all she could think was Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? and then Oh! There. You’re touching me there. In that place I’ve never ever let anyone touch before now.
His fingers feathered over her panties and very gently smoothed them aside as he continued to kiss and worship her belly button. When he touched her bare folds for the first time she got a shiver that ran from her head down to the tips of her toes. She felt him smile against her skin.
“You’re so pretty Buffy.” He slid his finger along her dripping slit and gave her clit a gentle rub. She made a little wailing noise she didn’t know she could make and for the first time ever she wanted to have sex. Her insides felt empty and in need of filling.
Uncertain of how to proceed she took her mother’s favorite advice: fake it till you make it. “Spike,” she smiled when he raised his head to look at her. “Lose the jeans, it’s only fair.” As he hurried to do her bidding, she slid her skirt and panties off and quickly got under the covers.
He climbed in after her and they went back to first base, trying to get rid of the jitters that came with such momentous occasions. He was such a good kisser. She never really cared much for kissing before, not that she had tons of experience but she had a fair amount and there just wasn’t anything awesome about it. Until now.
She felt his… thing pressing against her thigh and it made her feel all nervous, and giggly, and really really sexy . Maybe he’d let her see it later.
He rolled on top of her and started tugging on her bra strap. She shook her head. “No, I want it on.”
He gave her that puzzled look of his for a moment and then smiled “Ok. I bet you have really pretty tits though.”
She blushed. “They’re really small, microscopic almost.”
He chuckled but sobered quick at her death scowl. “I don’t believe you, but I understand if you want to leave it on.”
She looked him in the eyes, his were so blue. “I do.”
“Not a problem.” He grinned as he pressed his… thing into her mound and she squealed. “You sure you want to do this?”
She nodded.
That was the green light he needed. Spike made quick work of getting her all wound up and in the mood again. She didn’t know if the way he was able to read her thoughts was instinct or experience, but he seemed to be sure of himself and comfortable in his own skin which in turn made her feel more at ease.
She felt him try to enter her a couple times but he was just off center. She gathered her courage, reached down, and helped guide him in. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and tried to relax as he slipped slowly inside of her.
She felt a sharp prickling pain for a moment and then it was gone. It was uncomfortable and she felt really, impossibly, full. She wondered why people were so obsessed with sex so far it was just a big ole ball of ouch. Perhaps she should be doing something? She experimented by pushing her hips back toward him and he took that as his cue to begin a leisurely pace.
“I’m not hurting you, am I?” he asked.
She thought about it for a second. Things were starting to look up; it was actually beginning to feel kinda good. There was a certain spot that he kept hitting that made her toes curl. She wanted to tell him to keep up the good work but she said, “No, feels good.” instead.
They were in this Buffy and Spike shaped bubble. The rest of the world had been muted and put on hold. Something revolutionary was in the making as she began to let herself get lost in their sweaty primal dance.
Spike sped up his pace a bit and she matched every thrust. Her breath came in short little gasps every time he hit that lovely little spot inside her core. She couldn’t even bring herself to feel embarrassed as he wrangled little “Mmn!” sounds from her mouth. She wished he’d kiss her again.
He captured her lips in fervent, heated, open mouthed kisses. Dear God in heaven he can read my thoughts! She wished he’d kiss her neck. Spike continued kissing her mouth with his bruising, sloppy, open mouthed kisses.
Not a mind reader than. Mmm lips of Spike.
“God, Buffy, I’ve always wanted this, always wanted you. You’re so perfect. My girl.” He whispered sweetly as he continued to love her body.
It felt like someone poured an ice cold bucket of reality on her. The bubble burst, what was she doing here? What was she doing with Spike? Spike who lived in a dirty old trailer, who didn’t own a single article of clothing that didn’t have holes in it. Spike who she loathed and who loathed her back.
She was giving her virginity to Spike?
Spike stopped with the sweet nothings. Unsure of how long they were supposed to keep going she tried to keep pace with him and tried to get back into their moment, but she wasn’t having fun anymore.
What if he tells someone what you’ve done?
She was glad when his breathing sped up. He made a couple jerky movements and then pulled out.
She rushed to find her clothes and put them back on. She heard the snick of his lighter as he lit a cigarette and that tobacco smell, that merely an hour ago she found abhorrent, permeated his sardine-can bedroom.
“So that’s it, huh?” Spike exhaled a stream smoke through his nose. His back was against the wall and his elbows rested on his sheet covered knees.
Buffy pulled her designer t-shirt over her head. “Yeah Spike. That’s it. And if you utter a word about this to anyone so help me-”
“Right,” he said.
She couldn’t look at him. She knew his jaw would be all tense and his eyes would be all angry. She just couldn’t deal with that while trying to act calm when all she wanted to do was cry.
She grabbed her shoes and her purse and was surprised when he let her go without a word. Her hands shook as she started her car and sped away from the colossal mess that was the last hour.
She wouldn’t cry, there was nothing to cry about. She was a grown woman, who made her own choices. She could sleep with whoever she wanted. It didn’t mean she was bad; it didn’t make her a slut. She was empowered, liberated, and tremendously bad at lying to herself.
[Reviews - 12]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | 
Chapter or Story
Has been viewed 1149 times
- Text Size +
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Chapter or Story |
Chapter or Story | Chapter or Story - Text Size +