Out of My
Head
...part IV...
.:Oooh. Spike Lips.:.
He walked up to Giles’ home, letting out a sigh. Things were bad. Very, very bad. He figured that since the Scoobies seemed to need a meeting place, they would most definitely be here. Maybe they’d have some worth of information for him. Anything right now – from any one – would help him out. He knocked on the door as he opened it.
And was met by five very, very angry Scooby faces. The ones that probably worried him the most were the ones from a certain red head and a former Watcher. A certain angry redhead that also happened to be a witch, and a former Watcher that had dabbled in the black arts as a youth.
<This could be bad,> he thought. Finally Xander spoke up, standing up and letting go of Anya. Who he realized looked more excited at the upcoming exchange than vengeful. Xander shot him a sarcastic smirk.
"Riley. To what do we owe... this?" he asked, spreading his arms out and indicating that he really meant, "This isn’t your place anymore. Why the fuck are you here?"
That was definitely bad. Xander was giving him the attitude that he only reserved for a particularly annoying bleach blonde vamp.
Riley Finn took a deep breath and looked around at the group. Please, please, at least ONE friendly face that wouldn’t cast any harsh judgment on him...
Okay, okay, so he’d called Buffy a vamp whore. That was at the very top of the Very Big List of Very Wrong Things to Say to a Slayer. Every single person in this room was close to Buffy in some way – well, except for Willow’s, um, girlfriend (the thought that Willow was a lesbian still wigged him out a little). So there was no way that anyone would be on his side here. Willow looked like she was restricting herself from zapping his eyelids shut and siccing some flesh-eating scarab beetles on him. Xander cleared his throat and folded his arms, while Giles stood up, a silent vigil behind him.
"Are we gonna hear an answer sometime today, Commando Boy?" Riley winced. Eeek. Bad. Xander was calling him those – the names that – that Spike had taken to calling him. Damn, he’d made one mistake, and he’d already been dropped lower on the ladder than a soulless, remorseless vampire. The thought made him shudder.
"No, uh... I mean, yeah. Listen, guys, she’s really mad at me, and I really want to apologize, believe me, but she won’t let me anywhere near her. I was out of my head that night, I don’t know what I was thinking. I know I hurt her, and I’m really, REALLY sorry about it. But I need your help. I have to talk to her."
The minute he’d started talking, Willow had gotten up and walked out of the living room toward Giles’ study, content to stay angry at Riley, and Tara had followed to calm her down. Anya, sensing some big male thing was coming, had wanted to stay, but knew better. She got up and left the three men alone in the living room to sort things out. This could be bad. He was up against Buffy’s surrogate father, and surrogate older brother. There was no way he wasn’t gonna get shot down. Xander looked at him.
"Man, you are so lucky that Anya’s not a demon anymore, and that Willow just let you off with a Death glare. Otherwise, you’d be Crispy-Fried Riley, right there on the floor. And I doubt Giles is up to cleaning your mess –" Giles held his hand up and shot the dark-haired boy a look.
"Quiet, Xander." Turning to Riley, he considered him for a moment before speaking. "You called her nothing short of a prostitute, Riley. She’s never asked for vampires to bite her," he said. "She commanded Angel to in order to save his life. The Master took her blood by force. And she allowed Dracula to, just as she allowed Spike to take her blood. It’s a miracle Spike didn’t kill her – she and I were both certain that he would’ve drained her given half the chance. She is the Slayer; every vampire in the world wants a taste of her. Spike has even mentioned to us before that her blood is a powerful and strengthening force. They want it. It’s not her fault." Riley rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.
"I know, I know. It’s just, that night, when I found her, I was still a little angry about what she said to me last time. About me trying to control her? I was angry, and frustrated. And then it was coupled with what she’d said about being a vampire chew toy. And when I found her, this big vamp was on top of her, getting ready to bite her. I don’t know what she did, though. He was perfectly ready to sink his teeth into her, and then he just took off." Xander raised his eyebrows at the fair-haired boy, thoroughly unimpressed.
"And that led to you believe that she’s a vamp whore?" Xander shook his head. "Riley... I don’t know what your deal is. And if it’s jealousy issues, you need to get them way under control. Otherwise, just get the hell out of Sunnydale, and leave Buffy alone."
Riley watched quietly as Xander turned and left the room. Uh-oh. Alone with Giles. This could be life threatening.
Giles remained quiet for a bit, not facing him. He watched as the older man lifted his hand up to rub his brow. His glasses weren’t on. Was that a bad sign? He’d only been around Buffy’s friends for a year, and he hadn’t exactly gotten a handle on their habits. He was jolted back to reality when Giles turned his head and looked up at him, clearing his throat loudly, his eyes cold and unfeeling.
"I have no idea what possessed you to refer to my charge in the manner you did. Fortunately for you, I have found a way to control my anger over it." He stalked up to Riley, steeling his gaze and looking pure Ripper. "But my method shan’t last long. If, and when you make another mistake, you will truly wish you had never tangled with the Slayer." Giles turned to walk out, then fell back to say something else.
"I will do anything to see that Buffy is happy. And I will ensure that my Slayer stays happy. If keeping her far away from you is the way to go about that, then I shall continue to do so. As long as she is content and relaxed in the situation she is in, and competent in her slaying, as she is now, then rest assured you will not come within striking distance of the girl ever again." He scowled, his eyes narrowing. "Get out of my house."
Wow. He’d never encountered Giles in full Ripper force before.
He sighed as Giles left the room before he himself turned to walk out of the door. Buffy was happy without him? Buffy was happy without him? To borrow a Scooby phrase, this was NOT of the good!
He thought she was happy with him. At least, that was what she’d always told him. Something was wrong, something had to be wrong. He couldn’t just be out of the picture like –that- could he? He couldn’t live without this girl. And he was pretty damn sure it was the same on her end. Something had to be manipulating her, making her seem happy and fine, when truthfully, she must be miserable inside without him there!
*
Channeling Cordelia Chase. Hold please.
Calling all ego-maniacs, please report to Riley Finn. We repeat, all ego-maniacs, please report to Riley Finn at headquarters. Make sure your ego’s been fully inflated. Twenty times it’s own size is the minimum limit.
*
He shook his head and walked back to his apartment. Where the hell had that come from?
Something was up with Buffy, and he had a vague feeling that he knew who was behind it. He’d get to the bottom of this, even if it killed him.
Which, knowing Sunnydale, it probably would.
Spike stormed through the graveyard, kicking down headstones left and right and snorting with satisfaction when they hit the ground and crumbled.
Needless to say, he was pissed off.
It was three days later, and he was still stewing over it. He hadn’t killed that girl! Instead, he’d actually let the little bitch go and gone back to the fucking butcher’s!
< It's all her fault. >
It was her face he’d seen when he’d attempted to eat the girl. She had stopped him. He’d nearly freaked out – thank God he’d kept his cool. But when his mind’s eye had seen Buffy’s face in the girl’s, he’d honestly thought that he’d made a mistake and attacked the wrong person. The person he had the warm, fuzzy feelings for (he still couldn’t bring himself to say the ‘L’ word – yet) instead of some stupid unsuspecting brat.
That did it. Buffy was dead meat.
He sprang over a headstone, and darted through a few more, never stopping, always running in the direction of her home.
"I’ll show her," he muttered, arm shooting out and stabbing a minion without even looking. "I’ll show that little bitch. I’ll make her pay for tryin’ to give me a fuckin’ soul. I’ll make her pay for gettin’ me to pay attention to her an’ that stupid brat sis of hers, an’ that stupid hair an’ stupid perfume. An’ those big, puppy dog eyes of hers. An’ the way they crinkle when she laughs. An’ that silly, soddin’ bump on her nose. An’ that... GAH! I’m gonna kill her! She’s turned me into a fuckin’ poofter!"
He nearly ran into a tree from his passion on the topic.
That’s when he realized that he was right outside her house. Grumbling, he hoisted himself into the tree and climbed to her window. Looking about as he sat on her sill, he sighed, then climbed inside.
Buffy was content. There wasn’t much else to be said but that. Riley hadn’t bugged her since that night at the cemetery, and while she felt thoroughly disappointed that he wasn’t going to humiliate himself in front of her by getting down on his knees and apologizing, she was glad that she didn’t have to put up with his stupid bullshit anymore. And Xander had called her and told her that Giles had told him off. She was actually pleased to be away from him. True, they hadn’t actually broken up; they were just apart. Far apart. But that nasty tension that was always there when they were near each other anymore was completely dissolved.
The only thing she wasn’t sure about was Spike. She hadn’t seen him for three nights, either.
It worried her a little. Spike was as free as a freaking bird now. Nothing could stop him from killing, and she was wigged that he might be hiding out, making plans for her demise. Despite all the touchy-feely-ness that he’d suddenly seemed to develop when he was near her, she was still... yes... scared... that Spike’s full reemergence as the Big Bad of Sunnydale would result in her death.
Otherwise, she was just peachy.
"No, really?"
"Yuh-huh. Tara, Anya, Xander, and I were listening from the door. Giles was mad... He was going all Ripper and everything. It was pretty darn freaky, but at the same time, it was soooo cool!"
Buffy laughed. "It serves him right for calling me a whore! I told you he was getting all passive-aggressive on me!" Willow giggled on her end of the line.
"Well, it was fun to watch. Riley didn’t even say anything when Giles told him to get out. He just stood there, kinda all ‘dur, what do I do now?’ until Giles left, and then he walked out the door. I think Giles freaked him out a little too well. The funny thing is, I think Giles is proud of himself for it!" Buffy snorted, turning a corner and heading up the steps to her room.
"Okay, yeah, that’s funny. Giles all proud of himself because he scared the hell out of my ignorant boyfriend? God, I wish I could’ve seen that! Anyway, I’ve gotta go, Wills. Professor Randall is gonna shit a brick if I fall asleep in class one more time." Willow agreed.
"Same here. And we thought Professor Walsh was a stickler, right? I’ll see you tomorrow, Buffy." Buffy yawned as she turned down her hallway, knocking gently on Dawn’s door as an indication to turn off the music and go to sleep. She heard the teenager grumble and moan, but do as was implied. "Goodnight, Buffy!" she called out.
"Can do, Wills. Goodnight. Goodnight, Dawnie!"
"’Night, Buffy. Tell Dawn I said goodnight!"
"Willow says goodnight!" Buffy called through the door. Dawn hollered back a ‘goodnight’ for the witch before her lights went out. Chuckling to herself, she turned off the phone. After a short stop in her mother’s room for a hug and kiss goodnight, Buffy retreated to her bedroom. Where she heard voices.
Well, not so much voices as one voice.
One specific voice.
"What the fuck did you do to me, you stupid bitch?" she heard him growl. Buffy winced. Shit; why was he in her room? Hadn’t she told him to leave her alone? She peeked through the doorway and saw that he was pacing and tossing his hands in the air, dressed in his usual black 1980’s tribute to Billy Idol. A pair of tight – really tight – (damn, he was lucky he had no circulation) black jeans; a black T-shirt that looked as if it had been spray-painted on; his usual black leather duster, swishing about and lapping at his legs with his every move; and a pair of thick, black, clunky army boots that looked right at home on the pale, goth–like vampire. He turned then, and she caught a glimpse of a heavy silver chain around his neck, and a big, silver-buckled belt around his waist.
"I mean, it was bad enough when that stupid piece of tin was in my head, shocking me every damn time I tried to do something, but this is just bloody ridiculous! You’ve made me bloody powerless! Again! I swear this is how you get your kicks, innit? As if you didn’t do enough to destroy my life ever since I bloody met you, now this!"
Okay. It was a REAL good thing that Mom and Dawn – pardon the expression – slept like the dead. She pushed the door open fully, her eyes darting about, and stared incredulously at what she saw.
Spike was yelling at a picture.
Her picture, to be precise. He’d propped it up on her dresser, and now looked to have completely lost his mind. It took everything she had not to drop down on the floor and laugh – over and over and over – hysterically.
"What the hell are you doing? Have you finally cracked?"
Spike spun around, his blue eyes widening into a ‘deer-caught-in-headlights’ stare. The shock lasted barely one second before dissolving into rage.
"I may very WELL have, and it’s your fuckin’ fault! You ruined me, you stupid bint!" Buffy rolled her eyes.
"Spike, WHAT are you talking about? What the hell did I do?"
Spike rushed her, pulling back an arm and hitting her. "You made me fuckin’ impotent! I tried to eat a kid the other night, but when I fuckin’ looked at her, I saw your prancy, martyr-y, holier-than-all-thou-scum-of-the-earth face, and I couldn’t kill her!"
Buffy barely heard him. She was too busy returning his punch. "Don’t fucking hit me! You don’t even have the right to be in my room, Spike, get out! I told you to leave me alone!"
Spike smirked and backed up, tossing himself on her bed. "Yeh, you did, luv. But you never told me to stop vistin’. So here I am. An’, might I add, I’m damn ready to beat the tar outta you, you little twig."
Buffy scowled and threw a stuffed animal at him. The miniature teddy flew through the air and bounced off his forehead, but all he did was laugh. "Get off of my bed!"
Spike raised his eyebrows and wriggled his long body against the mattress, making himself more comfortable. "Nope. Don’t think so, kitten. I rather like it where I am." He grinned dementedly. "It really is quite comfy, you know. Why don’t you come and join me? I’m sure we could think of something... productive to do." He winked. Buffy marched over to him, lifted him up by the shirt (not that there was much shirt to grab on to) and threw him bodily across the room. Spike was still shooting her that insane grin.
"Oooh, getting the urge to man-handle me, are we, luv?" Well, damn. It figured – Spike liked that! Buffy shot a glimpse at him, sprawled on her floor, cocky, seductive grin in place, and a really big <get your eyes back up here right this instant, Buffy!> She turned away from him, blushing and flustered. William the Bloody absolutely, positively did NOT exist below the waist!
"Spike, you need to leave. NOW. Please, just get out. I’m sure you have other things to do, and really, you’re just wasting your time here right now and – and – what the hell are you doing?!" she squeaked. Upon turning around, she saw that Spike had picked up Mr. Gordo. He was now sniffing at the stuffed pig as if it was some interesting sort of fungus, curiosity as well as mild amusement written on his face.
"How long have you had this thing, pet? Ever think to wash it up a bit once in a while?" Before she could stutter out an answer, his attention had drifted elsewhere, and he tossed Mr. Gordo over his shoulder. He turned and began rummaging through her dresser drawers.
Buffy, wide-eyed and horrified -- hello, perverted, and apparently depraved vampire going through her underwear drawer! – caught the airborne piggy and returned him to his rightful place on her bed before dashing to Spike’s side and pulling at his jacket in an attempt to get him away from her things.
"Spike, stop it! Get away from my stuff!" A sharp kick to the shin made him yelp, but he still didn’t budge, and just brushed her away, burrowing deeper.
"Leave it be, luv, what’ve you got to hide in here? Lemme – OW! – lemme look!... well, well, lookie here!" Buffy’s eyes bugged out, and she swiped at Spike.
"Put that back!" she hissed. Spike grinned wickedly, dangling her dark blue teddy (a present from Riley – one that was probably gonna find a resting place on the scrap heap) above her head. She growled at his immaturity and jumped up to grab it, Spike laughing all the while.
"You want it back so badly, put a little effort in it! Hop to it, luv!" he teased.
He actually managed to keep her going for about a minute, yanking it out of her reach every time she neared it, until something clicked, and Buffy stopped.
"What am I doing?" she asked out loud, then aimed a punch at Spike’s stomach. Spike yelped and head-butted her as he doubled over, sending her sprawling right on her ass. Snickering, he pounced on her, only to immediately find himself being flipped onto his back, Buffy straddling his waist with one leg on either side of him. She yanked her lingerie out of his grasp and shoved it quickly under the bed. When she looked down, Spike was watching her. The look on his face read more of curiosity and contemplation, rather than 24/7 lust-y thoughts. She frowned and thumped him hard on the chest.
"What is wrong with you? My mom and Dawn are asleep, and you have to come in here, crashing around like you’re in a goddamn zoo? Do you think they’re deaf? And what’s with you digging around in my stuff? There’s a reason they are called private, Spike!" She sat up, staring down at him. "Why are you here anyway? Why won’t you leave me alone? It’s not rocket-science to figure out that I don’t –"
"Buffy." Spike was smiling. Not leering, not smirking, not sneering. Smiling. The sight of one very, very rare genuine Spike smile threw her off track. She replied with a very eloquent, "Wha?"
Spike shook his head, gazing at her almost fondly. "Shut up." That snapped her back to the real world, and she scowled.
"I most certainly will –"
Oooh. Spike lips.
Spike pulled Buffy close, letting out a soft purr. His lips softly danced over hers, his arms wrapping around her waist. He’d tried to be mad at her, he really had. But she looked too damn cute when she was embarrassed and blushing.
It was a decidedly couple-ish thing that he’d just pulled with her, yanking the negligee about, always out of her grasp, but he was really starting to not give a fuck.
She was an amazing fighter. The most powerful Slayer he had ever come across in all his 121 years. An absolutely glorious being. And as long as he didn’t do anything to fuck up the mini sliver of a chance he was uncovering with her, he’d still have the feel of those soft, sweet, strawberry lips against his own.
Besides. Those growing warm and fuzzies were starting to make him feel pretty damn good.
Grunting softly, he rolled over, pulling her with him. He stumbled as he attempted to stand up and gently tugged her up with him, nearly tripping over their feet as he fumbled his way to the bed. His tongue slid out lightly and pressed against her lips, and she sighed softly as Spike playfully pushed her back on the bed, not straying too far as he fell right on top of her.
His kisses grew more firm and demanding, but were soothing and caressing at the same time, as if he knew she would freak out any other way. She gave into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and responding sweetly, tugging lightly on one of his flaxen curls. He replied with another low purr and nuzzled against her, moving his lips away from her and down to her neck. Lightly nipping at her skin, he brought his hand up to run over her stomach, making her shirt shimmy its way up. He felt her tense, then relax.
Slowly sliding his hand up her shirt, Spike trailed a thumb along the swell of her breast. Buffy whimpered and writhed under him, her hands moving of their own volition, reaching down and tugging at his shirt. He grunted softly and shrugged off his duster, tossing it to the floor, before complying to her wishes and tugging his shirt off. Buffy’s fingers immediately darted to his chest, stroking, rubbing, pinching at his nipples, and making him want her farther beyond all reason. Spike pulled his lips away from hers and ducked down, his cool tongue making contact with the taut muscles of her stomach and moving upwards. Buffy arched upwards, revealing more skin, and a low rumble escaped from his throat.
"Lift up your arms," he mumbled hoarsely, and Buffy obeyed, raising them above her head. Spike slowly pushed her shirt up, over her stomach, over her breasts, her head, and finally tossed it to the floor. His gaze was a mix of heated passion and desire. His eyes showed something else... something she couldn’t exactly decipher.
Since the shirt she’d been wearing had been nothing more than a little scrap of lace, she’d worn nothing under it, and Spike was treated to quite the view. Hunger welled up, and he dove down on her, latching his lips onto one of her soft little nipples, sucking roughly. His cool fingers found her other breast and cupped it lightly, massaging it as his thumb stroked the nipple. It became a rosy-brownish hue in his grasp and hardened considerably quickly. Buffy moaned and lifted a hand to his hair, stroking the altered blonde locks as she pressed his face down on her breast at the same time. Sparks began flying in front of her eyes, and she could feel herself becoming dizzy from Spike’s ministrations.
Spike’s lips parted and he pulled away from the raw, hard red nipple he’d been sucking on. Choosing not to torture her by attacking the other, he tilted his head down and licked her chest, creating a cool, wet path to her throat. The heat from her skin was absorbed into his, and Spike groaned loudly, his arousal becoming evident against Buffy’s right leg. Buffy likewise let out a moan from the touch of his cold skin against her overheated body, and she tugged him closer. Her movements left absolutely no space free between them.
But it still wasn’t close enough.
The tip of his tongue made a circle around his mark before brushing roughly over the twin punctures. Buffy cried out softly, a burst of several feelings colliding with each other inside of her, and if she hadn’t been aroused before then, she most definitely was now, several times over. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she realized that this reaction was a little odd, since all he’d done was lick the scars he’d left on her.
But right now, it all felt too damn good. So she gave it the brush off.
Spike’s hands moved down and he began fiddling with the buttons on her pants. His desire for her was getting the best of him, and it might’ve proved to be bad if a certain annoying pang didn’t keep distracting him. He snarled softly and shoved it away, trying to concentrate fully on Buffy. His hands moved slowly and surely, gently, teasingly over her body, igniting those same little paths of icefire that she’d felt the first time that he’d put his hands on her body. Oh, god, he wanted to feel her, taste her, be inside of her, feel her sweet, rich blood running down his throat, and for the love of God he HAD to get her to reciprocate his claim!
Buffy heard his snarl and was jolted back. She pulled away from him and looked up at him in bafflement. She’d never seen Spike be so beast-like, yet so gentle at the same time. Well, not with anyone except Drusilla. It was unnerving, but it felt... good. Really... really... good.
< Nice, gentle Spike. Not mean, hurtful Spike. I can live with that. >
This was Spike. Bad, mean, rude, annoying Spike. The one that had rampaged all over Sunnydale last year to get the Gem of Amarra. The one that had told her that Parker and Angel had thought her not worth a second go. And now, he made her feel things that were infinitely stellar compared to Riley.
How did that work?
"Spike," she whispered. He was so close. So, so close. One more kiss would do her in. She knew it would. She couldn’t control herself. God, one more kiss, and she would give into him. She would let him take over, take control, and let him in. He was right there, and she was finally willing...
It couldn’t hurt. Right?
Spike frowned down at her, feeling something twitch inside of him from the way she was staring. The human side of him that had been hidden when his demon had inhabited his body... William... was pushing his way through, making himself be known. His conscience was coming back, and Spike was especially aware.
This is wrong. You can’t do this to her. You’ll hurt her more than anyone could if you keep showing her your bestial hormones and allow this to continue, dragging her along. You’ve got to stop now, before you ruin it all.
Before I ruin what?
Everything. Whatever it is that’s growing between you two. You’ve got to stop pushing and teasing her. If there’s something there, and you keep on with your nit-like tendencies, you’ll destroy it. Bugger off for a while. Leave her be.
He must’ve been slightly off his nut. The ponce was making sense.
Spike made a decision.
He slid off of the Slayer. Sliding on his duster, he grabbed his shirt and walked toward the window bare-chested. Buffy sat up in alarm.
"Spike? Where’re you going?" Spike paused at the sill, his head down. Moonlight streamed in through the darkness, illuminating him, and Jesus Christ, if she didn’t know any better, she would swear that he was an angel.
Pfft. That’d be the day.
He looked up, his head cocked at an angle, and gazed at her. Flushed cheeks, tousled honey colored curls, topless, small perfect breasts heaving, green eyes lit with desire, blood pumping with exhilaration, heart pounding with intense need. She was an Aphrodite.
Dammit all to hell.
"Home, luv." His tone of voice let her know that he wouldn’t answer any questions. He would just go, then reemerge when needed, as usual.
But she couldn’t just let him go. Not now. She stood up and grabbed a shirt, covering herself up with it. Walking over to him, she tilted her head, then reached up and tentatively touched his face. Then carefully, she leaned up and kissed his cheek.
"Will you be all right?" Spike tossed her his usual cocky, casual smile. Albeit only on the cheek, he was slightly stunned that she’d kissed him – of her own volition. Not to mention he was really, really pleased.
"Just fine, Slayer." He wiggled his eyebrows. "See you in a coupla nights." He started to leave, then, unable to resist, looked at her again, mischievousness glittering in his eyes. "Make sure I’m there when you finally grab the big nit by the short an’ curlies an’ toss him out, won’t you, ducks?" Buffy put a hand on his shoulder.
"You’ll have a front row seat," she promised, offering him a small, cheeky smile. Spike drew a sharp breath, trying not to let on to his astonishment. She’d freely offered him a smile.
Maybe that poofy git William was right. Maybe they were on their way to something. Something good. He grinned back at her.
"Right, then. Ta, Slayer. An’ make sure you keep that little bit of yours away from me. She’s gettin’ too nosy," he replied, chuckling. Without waiting for a response, he climbed out of the window and slid into the tree, then jumped gracefully to the ground.
Buffy peered out of her window, watching him leave. A small frown touched her lips. Her good mood slowly drifted away, and now she was just confused and weary. She put her hand over her mouth when she realized what she had just done, and with whom she’d done it with. Turning away from the window, she sat on her bed, the waves of humiliation welling up inside of her. Tears formed in her eyes.
What was going on? Why was he doing this to her? Hadn’t it been enough when he’d simply broken her with his words, but now he had to go and physically torture her, too? She leaned into her pillow.
"Oh, god," she whispered. Her willpower snapped, and she began to sob.
As soon as Spike was sure he was out of sight, he looked back toward the big house on Revello Drive and shut his eyes tightly, a huge frown drawing down his once smiling face. He leaned against a tree and slid down to the ground, covering his face with his hands. The moonlight glinted off of the bared expanse of the alabaster smooth skin that was visible beneath his duster.
Fuck. It was happening. It was really happening. He’d let himself do it. He couldn’t believe he’d let himself sink so deeply. It was one thing to lust after the Slayer. It was an entirely different thing to fall in love with her.
His dream had told him the truth. He’d fallen in love with Buffy.
If the demon world found out about this, he’d be nothing but sod on the pavement.
He prepared to shove his shirt into his duster pocket, when the wind blew, and a heady scent set off the neon light in Spike’s mind that was marked BUFFY. He looked down, scrutinizing the ‘scrap of lace’ he’d pulled off of her. A plain white halter-top. He’d been so distracted that he’d grabbed her shirt by mistake and left his own on the floor of her room. He nodded slowly, then sighed. Then let out a frustrated growl.
He got up and stormed down the road, both disgusted and confused by his strange reactions to a love that broke all the rules three times over. He growled in fury, perplexion covering his eyes.
"I need to kill something," he muttered, ducking into the nearest cemetery.
Stupid fucking entities. Why couldn’t the miserable buggers just leave him be?
Eight days. Eight fucking days, and not one single glimpse of her. She hadn’t let him come near her in eight fucking days.
He was dying.
Nobody was even helping him out! The girl had said it herself – "don’t come near me again unless it’s to apologize."
Well, he was more than damn ready to apologize. If she would just let him near her to do so!
"Fine," he muttered. When he hadn’t been out trying to get close to her, he’d been holed up in his apartment. No one had been able to contact him – he refused to talk to even Graham. He pulled his boots one, grabbed his gun belt, slid it on and pulled his vest over it. "If she won’t let me see her, I’ll just have to –" he cocked his gun and set the safety, "—force my way in."
Sliding the gun into its holster, he grabbed his keys and walked out.
It didn’t take long to get to her house – he could’ve taken his Jeep but, well, he hadn’t. He’d been on foot, and most of the way to Buffy’s, he’d been running.
He arrived just in time to see her taking off for the cemetery with a purpose. Thinking it better if he didn’t call out a really temperamental Slayer’s name, he followed quickly and quietly. Now was not the time to be knocked on his ass by a very pissed girlfriend.
Although by the end of this night, he most likely would be.