Home
Register
Recent
Categories
Authors
Series
Titles
Completed
Help
Search
Betas
Links
Find-A-Fic
Spuffy Twitter
LiveJournal
Top 10
Contact Us


RSS

Chit-Chat

squawks
05/18/17 04:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 01:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.
Rabbit_moon1
12/23/16 01:12 pm
I donate every month. Please donate to keep this site up!
AudryDaluz1
10/06/16 08:34 am
Great post.
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:45 pm
And anyone else who loves this site, it's worth mentioning there's a nifty little "Donate" option just below the shout box here! ;)
Chrissel
08/31/16 03:43 pm
Just wanted to take a moment to thank Pari and all the mods for maintaining such a great site!

Support


Author's Corner

[Reviews - 22]

Microsoft Word Chapter or Story

Printer Chapter or Story

ePub eBook Chapter or Story


- Text Size +
2465 - Reads


All Ideas Are Stolen: Ch 1 Stealing Firsts

Summary: Buffy meets a local artist (Spike) at her friend Willow’s gallery. After an instant attraction, how does this business professional and creative man make a relationship work? Note: Ensures to be quite Fluffy Spuffy.

Disclaimer: I don’t own nothin’!

Feedback: Please! I beg! This is my first attempt at a true story (fluffy as it might be) not just smut, so I need to know!

Rated: NC-17

Thanks: As always to Pipergirl for betaing.
_________________________________________________


*God, I’m late!*

Elizabeth Summers, or Buffy to her friends, quickly walked the crowded Soho sidewalks and crossways to the small gallery her best friend Willow managed. They had agreed to ‘do lunch’ and as usual she was running late. Willow would probably be chomping at the bit to give the blonde a tour of the art-du-jour in the gallery and try to make up for all the cultural experiences she thought Buffy lacked. Buffy for the most part could care less about most pieces. Sure, some were pretty or vaguely interesting but she never was overly excited or impressed. Sometimes she thought maybe Willow was right, she was under cultured. God knows she was right about the under socialized aspect.

Buffy was a petite, attractive late 20-something with a head for business, but a tendency to hermit herself away during non-business hours. She was happy enough she supposed, but she had to agree with Will. She needed to get out and have new experiences, really ‘live life like she meant it’. On this day however, she just wanted to get to her friend and find a nice lunch spot where they could sit and chat.

As Buffy reached the gallery and glanced at her watch she was delighted to find she was only a couple of minutes late. None the less she threw open the heavy door and half jogged in. Before she could yell out to her friend, she was assaulted by color on two of the usually antiseptic white walls. *Am I in the right place?* So stunned was she by her surroundings that her next step was directly into a tray of paint.

“Fuck!” She yelled as she drew up her foot from the tray. The shocked woman had stepped hard enough to not only get her left boot paint covered, but also splashed paint up her leg and thigh.

“Do you kiss your mum with that mouth?” The smart ass reply came from the back, admiring the lovely woman who started spouting obscenities. Spike just adored a cute chit with a foul mouth, and this one was cuter than most.

She looked up and saw a sight that made her jaw go slack and almost made her knees buckle, sending her to a more paint-filled future. 'He was stunning. No, he was more than that. Wearing only a white wife beater, black jeans and boots, the man's body was muscular, tight, and hard, with a speckle of paint here and there.

“Oi, are you alright?” His strong accented voice echoed in the mostly empty room and he noticed her predicament as he drew nearer. He smiled and picked up a rag. When he got close enough he placed his hand on her arm and gave it a light rub and bent down slightly to look her in the eye, and asked again, “Are you alright?”

Looking into those ocean blue eyes her only reply was a nod and a grunted squeak.

Spike tilted his head and raised a scarred eyebrow questioningly. He had a way with women, and he knew it, but it didn’t usually make them speechless. Well, not like this anyway. Her glassy green eyes didn’t let go of his gaze.

An out of breath red head came whirling in the door at a frantic pace. “I’m so sorry I’m late Buffy.”

The blond just nodded.

“Your friend, she has a real way with words, Red.” Spike said looking briefly to Willow but then refocusing on the paint covered mute.

Willow, taking in the blushed, flustered, and painted state of her dearest friend, decided to be practical, “I’ll get some more stuff to help clean her up.”

Spike took Buffy’s hand and led her to one of the display pedestals a few steps away. He grabbed her by the waist and sat her upon it. “I’m going to clean you up a bit, yeah?” He proceeded to clean her boots and legs with gentle strokes. The gesture was done with such care and meticulousness it made Buffy smile.

“Thanks, “she managed to say in a whisper.

“She speaks.” A warm smile was returned to her.

When their eyes met there was no denying that there was more than a spark. There was fire. A fire so intense that they both had to look away.

Spike was still unconsciously rubbing her booted leg, when his retreating glance noticed her lacy panties. *Panties!* He hadn’t realized, and hoped she hadn’t either, that between the pedestal and him holding her leg up that a view up her short skirt was, well - quite a view. Clenching his jaw, he lowered her leg a bit and tried to get a reign on his ever growing lust for the girl from whom he had only heard two words – ‘fuck’ and ‘thanks’. Thinking he would like to hear those two words from her again and again put a wolfish smirk on his face.

“Aren’t the walls supposed to be white?” Buffy was thoroughly impressed with herself. She formed a sentence.

“Says who?” was his immediate response.

Opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water, Buffy creased her brow and struggled for a perfectly logical answer that wouldn’t come.

Willow came back into the room carrying a few wet rags to help tidy up her friend. Spike reluctantly excused himself to clean up the gallery when he realized that fondling – no, cleaning - Buffy was not a two person job and she would probably appreciate having her friend help, instead of a complete stranger.

Watching her flushed friend, Willow softly noted with a wide grin, “He’s a bit of all right, isn’t he?”

“Huh? Um-yeah. This is good Wills. I don’t think I could get any cleaner.”

Buffy’s garbled answer made Willow chuckle. She’d never seen Buffy so taken

“Ready for lunch? I’m starved.” The red-head commented.

Still looking at the rear doorway Spike disappeared through, Buffy nodded in the affirmative.

“Spike, I’ll be back to help you set up after lunch.” Willow yelled to the back.

The handsome man that took Buffy’s breath away yet again stood in the office doorway and smiled. Willow took Buffy’s hand and tugged her toward the door.

“Oh, Red? Is your friend, Buffy is it, going to be at my show tomorrow?” The question was directed to the gallery manager but his eyes were aimed at the little blond that had captured his complete attention in a matter of minutes.

Willow looked at Buffy to make sure she wasn’t doing that fish out of water thing she does when she gets anxious and prayed that she would reply.

“Ummm, yeah, sure.”

With that, Williow dragged her friend out the front door before she could embarrass herself any more.

“Hey Will? Aren’t the walls supposed to be white? D-Did you call him Spike?”

Willow breathed a sigh of relief; her friend was starting to regain some semblance of brain activity.




Enter the security code shown below:
Note: You may submit either a rating or a review or both.