IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT
Chapter 1
Nights in Sunnydale were usually pleasant, balmy even, but tonight it was positively tropical. Fanning herself ineffectively with a magazine as she lay on top of the bed covers, she pictured the contents of the freezer. Frozen carrots, peas, corn on the cob...and oooh! Trays of ice cubes. Lovely, trailing down her overheated body, the ice stinging as it melted to leave trickles of cooling water in its wake. She loved that sensation; like a cool tongue lapping along her...no! Don’t go there! Bad Buffy! She was going to have to do something about her dreamland visitations before her friends found out, or Giles – or her mother! It had to be part of the Slayer package. Angel had been the focus of her attention for so long, maybe it was just habit.
Whatever the cause, she was hot and bothered and desperate for something long, chilled, and refreshing.
Mom and Dawn would be fast asleep now, it being almost the ass crack of dawn, and she was determined to get at least a couple of hours herself – even if it killed her. Come to think of it, lack of sleep was probably the way she was going to go. If she wasn't slaying, she was studying; or if not that, she was brooding on lost opportunities and wasted moments. Angel: now off in LA fighting evil and no doubt fighting his own demon along with everyone else’s. Willow and Xander: so close to her at the beginning and now with lives of their own that she couldn’t even begin to think about, and therefore felt guilty for. Giles and his floundering struggle to be needed by her, useful. Her mom, so distracted by the gallery and now with the headaches that had her asleep most of the day and night. Dawn, with her strange and unsettling comments and questions about Spike.
And Spike. Why couldn't she stop thinking about Spike? Every time she closed her eyes, he was there; cocky head tilt in that completely aggravating manner, full lips curled in a smile, or a sneer… a snarl – the full hit most nights – and that stupid hypno thing he did with his tongue poking out between his white teeth and accentuating his snarky comments… eating her with his eyes.
And every night it ended the same way.
Every night in dreamland she jumped his bones and every morning she woke with a kitty-got-the-cream grin and a damp patch on the sheets. He'd even started to invade her daydreams. The other day she'd almost moaned his name out loud while half-dozing in class, turning the “Spike” very quickly into a mumbled invite to Willow to go get some iced tea.
Then there was Riley. Well, let's just say that Riley quite often found himself the recipient of Spike-fuelled sex, and he wasn't complaining. But it was getting tougher to hide.
Buffy hated herself for doing it. Hated how she couldn't get Spike out of her head. Hated the way she kept looking out for him on patrol. And especially hated the way when Riley was dutifully plugging away and smothering her with his bulk, she longed for a leaner, paler, nastier man to be lying between her legs.
And that thought right there was the killer. Because he wasn't a man, was he? He was a demon, a soulless, evil thing. And god she wanted him so bad it was making her crazy. In fact, part of the reason she'd moved back home from the dorm was so that she wouldn't have to see Riley as often and he wouldn't be able to keep tabs on her. She wanted to be free to hunt. Vampires. Well, yeah...but really just one in particular.
She leaned her forehead against the cool glass of her window. Was there somebody there, beneath the tree? She thought she'd seen a flash of light, like a lighter flame. She squinted, pressed her body to the glass, but there was nobody around. Must have been a trick of the light.
She made her way downstairs, pinning her hair up away from her sweaty neck and shoulders, her flimsy baby doll pyjamas sticking to her damp body. This heat wave was a killer. She reached into the icebox and snagged a couple of ice cubes, immediately pressing them to her throat where they started to melt and run down between her breasts along her stomach, finally tickling along the curls at her groin. She gasped; the feeling was delicious, like fingers running along her body...cold fingers. Dead fingers. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as she imagined the gorgeousness attached to those fingers knelt between her legs and looking up at her with deep, blue eyes.
/You like that, baby? You like what I do to you?/
Arrgh! What the fuck was wrong with her? She was like a bitch in heat for Spike and it was getting beyond a joke. She needed to get rid of these feelings, and fast, before anyone noticed. With a sigh of disgust, she reached further into the icebox and pulled out an ice pop, ripping off the wrapper and sucking it deep into her mouth as she stomped out of the kitchen and back to bed.
+ + +
Spike shifted from his position in the shadows of the back porch and rubbed his chin thoughtfully – with the hand that wasn't giving his stiff dick a good squeeze through the denim of his jeans. He'd taken up his regular vantage point beneath the tree in her yard just to watch her shadow through the curtains as she got undressed. Pathetic. He'd been doing it for months now, but the Slayer obviously had her vamp alarms turned off as she’d never so much as glanced in his direction.
Except tonight. When he saw her at the window he'd scooted back quickly, flicking shut the Zippo he'd just sparked to life. She'd been a vision of heaven, her forehead pressed against the glass and her nipples clearly visible through the pale pink material of her skimpy top. When she'd leant further forward and pressed her breasts against the window, he'd almost come right then and there. Slayer nipples, nipples of Slayer -- practically begging for a good licking. So as she moved away he'd followed her path through the house, skulking about beneath each window until finally she'd made it to the kitchen.
Then things got interesting. She'd gone straight to the icebox where she'd stood illuminated by the light inside and pulled out some ice. He almost squashed his nose to the window to see better as she tilted her head back, lips parted, and pressed the ice to her throat. His eyes followed the trickle of water, biting his lip as the material of her top became see-through and her nipples hardened even more. She had a look of pure ecstasy on her face, her free hand briefly fluttering over her damp top and brushing her breasts, leaning into her own touch.
And just as suddenly it was over. She shook her head, her brow creased, a near snarl on her lips as she bent forward and grabbed something else from the freezer. She walked away, stuffing an ice pop straight into her mouth and sucking on it furiously as she wrapped her tongue around it.
The sight of the Slayer's mouth tight around the Popsicle, the merest hint of her tongue as it flicked out to catch the drips, had Spike's eyes rolling in his head. He'd just managed to dodge back away from the window and into the shadows when she'd passed him by, looking so innocent but with a side of whore as she twirled and licked the iced treat.
So now he was left with an aching groin and a yearning for hot Slayer body -- again -- kicking himself for having a Slayer fetish.
+ + + +
Buffy woke a mere three hours after finally falling asleep, and dragged herself out of bed. The sheets were tangled where she'd kicked and writhed in her sleep, the Popsicle she'd hoped to cool her down strangely heating her instead. She'd dreamed again, more of the same, but more vivid than usual. In fact, these days, sleeping was way more tiring than being awake.
And more entertaining… if that was even possible.
“Hey, Buffy. Want pancakes? I'm making them for Dawn anyway.”
Buffy nodded at her mom and slid into her seat at the island. Dawn carried on with spooning cereal into her mouth quicker than the human eye could follow, barely glancing up at her sister. Buffy yawned loudly and leant her head in her hands.
“You okay, sweetie? You look tired. Have you been... slaying a lot? Because you do have school to think about. Couldn't you cut back a little?”
Buffy raised her head wearily. “Mom, I know you mean well, but you have to let go of this thing you have that I can just decide not to slay – it doesn’t work that way. It's not a job, mom. It's a calling. I don't have a choice.”
Joyce Summers bit her lip. She really didn't mean to nag her daughter, but she worried, and that came out as whining sometimes without her being able to stop it. Buffy may be the vampire slayer, but she was still her little girl.
“I know, Buffy, and I’m sorry. But I can't just not care about you either. You're getting dark circles under your eyes and you hardly eat. So, do mom a favour and eat these, and I’ll try not to nag. Okay?” A plate stacked with pancakes oozing butter and maple syrup slid in front of Buffy and she managed a grin.
“Yeah, no problem. Dawn, hand me a fork.”
Dawn pushed one over without looking up, now deep into her own pancakes. Nothing distracted her sister once she was set on food inhalation. Without a word, Dawn was finished and flying up the stairs to get ready for school, leaving Buffy and her mom sitting either side of the island.
There was no sound for a while, save for the clink of cutlery on plates, the stirring of Joyce's coffee and appreciative murmurs as pancakes were consumed.
“So, Buffy – I haven't seen Riley in a while. Is everything okay between you two? He seems a fine young man, very solid and reliable.”
Buffy rolled her eyes. Yeah, that was Riley. Solid. Reliable. Normal. Boring. Where the hell had that thought come from? He was perfect boyfriend material after the disasters that had been Angel and Parker.
But if that was true why the hell was she constantly thinking of someone – something – else whenever they were together?
“He's fine, mom. Last time I checked. It's just... well, I think maybe we need a break or something. I've got you to look after and Dawn's become a handful. School's real busy and...” Lame. Excuses, every one of them.
Joyce didn't comment, just sat and sipped her coffee, willing to listen but not wanting to pry. Buffy rarely shared her problems with her, choosing instead to work through them alone. But she seemed to be opening up a little. Everybody needed somebody to talk things through with. Why, Spike had been round only last night telling her how lonely he was. He was such a strange vampire; it was all too easy to forget he was a demon – except he was prone to vamp out when he was particularly involved in a rant. The first time he'd done that she'd dropped her cup and he'd gloated that he still had it in him to scare people – until he'd realised it was Joyce and become all penitent, picking up the pieces of the broken cup and making a fresh drink for her in a new one.
After that, she didn't let him see it affected her. She wanted him to feel comfortable here. She liked him. All the boy needed was a little mothering, and she could spare a little maternal affection for him. She was jolted to realise Buffy was still speaking, and she'd zoned out thinking about Spike. What kind of a mother was she?
“...and I think he's a little bit jealous or something about the slaying. So, what do you think I should do?”
Joyce regrouped quickly. “Well, some boys might feel threatened by strong women. Perhaps you could behave a little more 'girly' around him? If you want to that is; don't feel that you have to. A good relationship can’t be built on pretending to be something you're not.” Joyce got to her feet and went to rinse her cup, leaving Buffy staring into her glass of juice as she thought on her mother's words.
It was true. She'd been doing it for months -- since the day they'd met, if she was truthful -- trying so desperately to be normal. To be something she wasn't.
As she showered and dressed, Buffy mused on her love life. It wasn't working at all, and that was before she started with the vampire dreams that had her all hot and horny, ruining her for any human boyfriend.
Suddenly it hit her. That was the problem. She wasn't normal and never would be. So what made her think a normal boy would be enough for her?
Dammit!
She'd been so sure that she could be happy with a normal life despite being the slayer, but it was all for nothing. She definitely needed more… a little monster in her man. Where had she heard that before? She thought about it all the way to class and through morning break as she sat with Willow in the lunch room. Those exact same words; somebody had said them or somebody had told her that somebody had said them, laughing about it at the same time.
“Spike!”
“What? Here? But it's daytime...” Willow glanced about her, cupcake dangling in her fingers.
“Huh? No, not here – I was just thinking about him and…what?”
“You’re thinking about Spike ?”
Buffy blushed. “No! Not in that way!” It was only a tiny lie. “I was trying to remember who'd said something and then I remembered it was Spike.”
“Oh. That’s good. Because it would be majorly freaky if you really were sitting here daydreaming about Mr Grrr I Wanna Bite You.”
Buffy smiled and ate her muffin. Yeah, freaky Buffy, that was her.
+ + + +
Bugger. No smokes, and it was still light outside. He was trapped for an hour or two with no distraction but the telly and some out-of-date blood bags in the fridge. Of course there was always his private collection…maybe he'd take a trip through that, get the blood pumping, whack himself some man meat and while away some time.
Mind made up, he headed downstairs to his secret hidey-hole. He inhaled, out of habit, and held the breath before sweeping aside the curtain that hid his gallery and moving forward. His hands lingered over every photograph, tracing the curve of her face as he drank her in. Stolen photos, every one. There was one with her mom and the Bit that he particularly loved because she looked so happy, smiling and eyes twinkling with life; the one with Red and Harris was crumpled where he'd ripped it out of the frame, the corner missing; and then there was his absolute favourite, Buffy, about a year ago, sun shining on her hair, head thrown back as she laughed at something out of frame, her eyes staring straight at him. He'd happened upon that one when he'd visited with Joyce one night and she'd left the room to answer the phone.
He hadn't felt guilty about rummaging – he was evil after all – and his trawl had also turned up a pair of panties and a silk top that had Slayer musk on them. They were added to his collection and now resided in the box he was about to stick his head into.
If Buffy knew he had her unmentionables stashed away for the occasional sniff as needed – well, he'd be so much dust on the wind come morning.
But that scent was worth any risk.
He snatched up the panties and crumpled them in his fingers, bringing them to his nose. The aroma was fading but was still there, still pure Slayer, and still enough to get him rock hard and growling. He cast his eyes over the back wall, his gaze lingering on the pencil drawings that had spilled out of him one long, long night when his only companion was his left hand, some spit and a bottle of JD. They were good, and he wondered – not for the first time – why he'd invested his artistic talents in poetry rather than drawing; he was clearly not cut out for the former, and excelled at the latter.
But that was him all over; he much preferred drawing with words than with charcoal, even if nobody else appreciated him. Always the rebel. The big bad.
His olfactory fix in hand, he sauntered off to the satin-covered bed and got comfortable on the pillows. He sniffed the fabric, his free hand cupping himself through the jeans, and imagined that he'd just ripped the panties from the warm and willing body of the Slayer. She was lying there, waiting for him, stroking her hands down her body the way he'd seen her do it last night in her kitchen. Her lips parted and she gasped his name as she thrust two, no three, fingers deep inside her wet pussy and arched her back. He unzipped his jeans and quickly gripped his cock, his hand moving faster as he pictured her beckoning to him, smiling and cooing dirty words of lust and longing as she got on her knees and looked back over her shoulder at him. When imaginary Buffy huskily whispered 'fuck me Spike' he shot his load, spattering the pilfered clothing and mixing his scent with hers.
He grinned, sated and relaxed now as he wiped himself down with the panties. He could imagine her so clearly now, had her image imprinted on his brain so strongly that he could almost reach out a hand and touch her. Spike zipped himself up and rolled off the bed. He sensed that the sun was almost low enough for him to go out, and he was eager to catch up with the real thing, maybe piss her off enough so that she punched him or something. Any touch was better than none.
+ + + + +
Buffy had declined any assistance from her friends on patrol tonight. She was a little annoyed at the eagerness with which her 'buddies' had waved goodbye and left her to it, but it was probably for the best. She wasn't exactly in a friendly mood and anyway, vamp activity was at an all-time low, save for that brief period after the Harvest when Sunnydale was almost the typical hometown USA. The usual assorted demons seemed to be on vacation too. She wandered through Restfield Cemetery twirling her stake and musing on just where demons went for vacation. Dollywood, maybe? Seemed evil enough...
“Spike.”
Buffy prayed he couldn't sense her excitement at bumping into him. She loved the way he did that, the whole appearing out of nowhere thing. Got her pulse racing, blood pumping. Got her stomach fluttering and her groin throbbing.
God, she hoped he couldn't tell!
“Slayer. Popped by to visit me then?”
She snorted. “As if! No – come to slay. Get out of my way.”
“Oh, threats in rhyming couplets now! I'm impressed. Where’s Janet and John? Early to bed, tucked up with cocoa and a nice story?”
Buffy frowned. Why did she have to come with an escort? She was the Slayer, the Chosen ONE. She could cut it without the entourage.
“If you must know, I told Willow and Xander I’d patrol alone. Not that it's any of your business. Now move.”
Spike stepped aside and mock bowed, finishing off with a flourish of his arm. Buffy started forward and he fell into step at her side, hands thrust into the pockets of his duster, silent – for now. She risked a glance at him as he walked with her, her eyes zeroing in on his full bottom lip and the sharp angle of his cheekbones. And his eyelashes...she'd never noticed how dark they were and the way they cast shadows across his cheekbones. Whoa! Don’t look! Now she was scaring herself.
Spike saw her take a look when she thought he wouldn't notice, noted the quizzical expression on her face, the furrowed brow. Slayer was having serious thoughts without a doubt, thoughts about him by the looks of it. He smiled quickly before plastering on a couldn't-care-less scowl and humming to himself.
Half an hour later and it was clear that there wasn't going to be any vamp action tonight. Well, none of the dusty variety: Spike had his own ideas.
Buffy twirled her stake, her entire body thrumming with restrained... something. Being so close to Spike and without any violence to leech off the adrenaline was sending her pulse into the stratosphere. There was no way she could just go home, not in this state. She'd be climbing the walls. And Spike was just striding along, humming away.
“Can you stop that? You're making my teeth itch.”
“Stop what, Slayer? Give a guy a clue. 'm just walking here.”
“No, you're not. You're walking and humming. Stop it.”
He started singing the song he'd been humming. Under his breath. And tapping out the rhythm on his thigh.
“Gah! That's worse. What is it anyway?”
“You don't know? It's a bloody classic is what it is. Sex Pistols? Pretty Vacant? Fucking hell, Cloth ears, – where have you been?”
Buffy stopped and turned to him, hands on hips and eyes flashing. “Well, Spike – I think you'll find I wasn't even a twinkle in Dad’s eye when the Sex Pistols were around. And even if I had been, it doesn't sound like my thing. There's no tune – or if there is, you're murdering it. Try something a bit snappier. Some Britney perhaps.”
Spike almost choked. “Wash your mouth out, Slayer! Bubblegum pop’s for wankers. Nah, you can fuck right off if you think I'm gonna serenade you with that shite.”
Buffy slapped him across the face, a smug grin appearing on her lips.
“What the hell was that for? Almost broke my pissin’ jaw.”
“At least you wouldn't be able to talk dirty then. Really, you have a potty mouth.”
Spike blinked in astonishment. Was she for real ? “Would you listen to yourself? Potty mouth? I haven’t a fucking clue what you're on about, Slayer. And that bloody well hurt.” He was rubbing his face and eyeing her warily. He barely dodged the open palm that was about to connect with his cheek. “Oy! Pack it in.”
“You’re gonna stop swearing?”
“Erm let’s see… no! 'm a soddin' vampire. What? You want me to talk all pretty and nice like the new sweetie pie?”
He didn't miss the tightening of her lips or the shift of her eyes before she waved her hand in dismissal. “You wouldn't last a minute with Riley. He'd whup your bony ass in ten seconds flat.”
Spike grinned. All was not well in paradise; didn’t take a genius to read the signs.
“Ooh, would this be the bony ass you’re referring to, Slayer?” Spike twirled round and lifted his duster, bending slightly and wiggling his behind, smirking and raising an eyebrow.
He didn't miss the stifled giggle or the widening of her eyes, and filed that information away to be used later. He was having a great night so far; patrolling, snarking and almost getting the come-on from the Slayer.
Spike decided to press his luck a little further. Buffy had snorted at him and tossed her silky hair, stalking off – but not too far, he noticed – and he was at her side in moments. She sneaked a sidelong glance but didn't speak and all too soon they were at the edge of the cemetery. They stood, awkwardly toeing the ground and avoiding looking at each other. Spike, with his usual lack of patience, couldn't take it any longer and broke the silence.
“Right then, Slayer, I'm off. Evil to do, mayhem to make. You know how it is.”
Still he didn't move. Nor did she.
Spike lit up a cigarette and Buffy wrinkled her nose and it was all he could do not to grab her and kiss the cute little button. He was looking away when she spoke and he almost missed her words.
“What was that, Slayer, say again?”
“Doesn't matter, bad idea,” she mumbled.
“No, go on – I was scanning for vamps, a bit distracted. You were saying...”
Buffy swallowed hard. She’d almost bit her tongue when she found herself saying the words the first time; she wasn't sure she could repeat them. Still, nothing ventured... and it was still early.
“I was just thinking... look, it's a bad idea and why did I mention it. It's just...it's still early and there's not gonna be any action here... and... I mean... Oh forget it. I'll see you... oh what does it matter when I see you. I'm just gonna...”
Spike raised a scarred eyebrow, which for some reason seemed to be directly linked to her pulse rate, and her words of dismissal dried on her tongue. She took a deep breath.
“Look, do you wanna go to the movies? They're showing a triple feature, bound to be something you like. Only... I've no idea what you like.”
/You. I like you./
“Oh, anything with shit loads of blood and lots of screaming agony works for me, Slayer. Texas Chainsaw Massacre, maybe?”
“Ewwww. And so dated! I think I saw that it was Die Hard...Die Harder and erm...Die Hardest? Retro violence, every girl’s hot dream date.”
Her hand flew to her mouth and stopped there, eyes wide as she realised what she'd said.
Spike held his cigarette halfway to his lips, mouth open and eyes fixed on the Slayer and her heated cheeks. What to do now? Call her on it? Ignore it? Walk away and act like it never happened?
Nah, not his style. He didn't let fate run his life. He hogtied fate until he got what he wanted then he tied it up some more until he got it better. Without thinking beyond the moment, he dropped the cigarette and stepped close to slide his hands into the hair at the back of her neck and draw her closer. There was no hesitation, Buffy simply dropping her hand and leaning towards him, her eyes closed and her lips parting as he lowered his head.
The brush of his cool lips on hers scorched, and she gasped against him, Spike taking advantage and slipping his tongue inside her mouth to wrap around hers. He tilted his groin forward and was gratified to feel her shift slightly so that she could lean more fully against him. Part of his brain was telling him to run, flee the Slayer with the sharp, sharp stake who was bound to dust his undead ass once she came to her senses. But the other more dominant part was ecstatic that he finally had the object of his obsession pressed up hard against him and moaning with what he could only presume was pleasure.
Buffy was fighting her own internal battle. She knew what she was doing; boy did she ever! But the Slayer in her, which wanted to screech with disgust, was presently being wrestled into submission by the triumphant woman who was finally getting a hold of the dream lover who'd melted her flesh night after night. Of course it was wrong, on so many levels – but when had anything ever felt so right? Without conscious thought, her arms snaked up to caress the back of Spike's head, her fingers playing with the soft curls at the nape of his neck.
She remembered this. Had guiltily played this scene over and over in her head while Riley loomed above her. No amount of self-censoring would remove her memory of sitting on Spike's lap and kissing him until she was dizzy while under Willow's 'do my will' spell. But this was so much better.
Buffy almost bit his tongue as she felt his hand sneak under her top and start to trace its way around to the fastening of her jeans. His hand stopped and Buffy cursed herself for interrupting the moment. Then she realised that it was probably just as well because she was seconds away from jumping him then and there at the edge of the cemetery, in full view of passers-by. She took a step back, reluctantly letting go.
Spike hung his head, thrust his hands in his pockets, and then shot her a speculative look from beneath lowered lashes. She certainly didn't seem annoyed or about to go gung-ho on him; in fact, she looked disappointed and a little puzzled. He just couldn't figure her out. Was she pissed off with him? He didn't see her cradling the stake... perhaps he'd live to bite another day. Or was she every bit as hot for him as he was for her? Ah the stuff of which dreams are made… he'd gathered enough tonight to keep him going for months!
Even so, he nearly fell over when she started to speak.
“So, Die Hard? You up for it? Better go now or we'll miss the last showing.”
TBC...
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!
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!