Admitting to herself that she and Angel could never be just friends and that they should stay away from each other might have been one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. She shook her head and wiped her tears quickly in frustration. She had just left the mansion, thankful and yet disappointed that Angel didn’t follow her. She had half a mind to run all the way back, but she knew that what she’d decided was for the best. She really didn’t know what was going to happen now. All she knew was that she wanted to get drunk – no, she needed to get drunk.
And she knew just the place.
She wasn’t of the legal drinking age yet, and the Bronze would be of no good. But she could beat the hell out of Willy if he didn’t give her some booze.
So that was the plan: force Willy to give her booze, get really drunk, get home without a problem and hopefully pass out in the safe confines of the house.
Seeing how Buffy loved the Poof no matter what he did, Spike realized that Drusilla didn’t really love him. Never had, never would. If she did, she would have accepted who he was, what he was, and she wouldn’t have gone on cheating on him, most especially with a chaos demon.
Love is a funny thing – it makes you bonkers.
She was the face of his salvation. He was the face of her greatest shag; that is, if you chose to believe that Angelus never existed.
Although it may have been his fault, declaring a truce with the enemy and all, he was still the same old Spike. He was still evil and no amount of talking to the Slayer could change that.
It was just that the Slayer was different. There was something about her… And no, it wasn’t her bouncy shampoo commercial hair or her delectable arse…nal. Arsenal. Weaponry. Right.
As much as it made him queasy to admit, he kind of enjoyed the little time that they’d shared during the truce.
He also really liked Joyce.
He sat in the driver’s seat of his parked Desoto, eyes puffed and cheeks stained with tears. God, he needed a drink, a kill or two, and hopefully peace and quiet.
And he knew just the place.
The door was ajar and Buffy could already hear faint voices inside which made her want to leave. But, being the ever stubborn Slayer that she was, she pushed the door open and entered with a brave and ‘do-not-dare-touch me’ expression.
When every demon in Willy’s bar became silent, Spike turned towards the door and saw none other than the Slayer standing there. Spike turned back to his drink, closed his eyes and groaned. “No bloody escape,” he murmured.
Buffy shifted nervously as she felt the murderous glares of the demons. Great. Another brilliant idea, Buffy. But there was no turning back. She was already there and she badly needed that drink.
She swallowed hard and tried to calm herself down before walking over, chin up, to the bar where the vampire sat. “What are you still doing here? Thought you were going to finally leave town? Poor Spikey, scared Drusilla won’t take you back?” she mocked him, folding her arms across her chest and grinning smugly.
He frowned and narrowed his eyes at her. “I just… Mind your own bleedin’ business!” He then mumbled curses to himself before finishing his drink in one big gulp. He eyed the Slayer as she sat down beside him and ordered – or more like threatened Willy for – something to drink. “What are you doing here?”
“Mind your own bleeding business,” she mimicked him, in the worst British accent Spike has ever heard. Spike just shrugged and took a sip of his refilled glass.
After about thirty minutes of drinking hard liquor silently, completely ignoring each other, Buffy spoke up again, her words now slurred. She wasn't much of a drinker and only after a few shots, she was already drunk. “This is your fault! You and your stupid perceptiveness! Can’t you be a normal villain and not ruin my relationships? Try to kill me! Try to kill anyone! Just don’t be all speechify-y!”
Spike turned to the Slayer, not as drunk as she was but drunk enough that he was slurring his words too. “First off, relationships? You only have one, pet, one. If you even call that a relationship.” He snorted and emphasized by doing air quotes. “Secondly, I don’t give a damn,” he shouted right at her.
Still face to face with Spike, Buffy grimaced as if she was about to cry. And then she did. Spike rolled his eyes as Buffy leaned her forehead on her forearms that were crossed over the counter. Buffy was wailing and sobbing so loudly that everything in the bar turned to stare at them.
Spike looked around, embarrassed when he saw that all eyes were on them. “She’s not with me,” he chuckled uncomfortably and then turned back to his drink. “Stupid bint,” he mumbled, taking a sip and glancing at her at the corner of his eye.
“I love him sooo much,” she hiccupped. “Vampires are stupid,” she said as she brought her head up and sniffled, rubbing her nose with her wrist.
“Oh, God,” Spike said with a frown and groaned again as he watched the Slayer act whiny. “If you’re going to make me listen to you all bloody night then you better buy me more alcohol.”
Buffy stared at him, hiccupped and wiped away a tear with the back of her hand. “Okay.”
“So I’m strolling through the park, right, looking for something to eat, and I happen to walk by and see she’s making out with a chaos demon!” Buffy nodded and listened intently, probably because she was already drunk. “A chaos demon! Can you believe that?” Buffy answered him with a vigorous shaking of her head. “She only did it to hurt me, you know. And so I said, ‘I’m not putting up with this anymore.’ And she said, ‘Fine!’ And I said, ‘Fine! Do whatever you like! I have an unlife, you know!’”
“Go. You! We need to be strong. W-we’ll find someone else!” Buffy exclaimed, gesturing with a bottle of beer in hand, making it spill all over her blouse and the counter.
“And then she said we could still be friends. I thought we were going to make up,” Spike continued and sniffled.
“I’m stupid, aren’t I?” Buffy whimpered out of the blue while staring out into space wistfully, her face scrunched up as if she was about to cry again. And she did. Loudly. Again.
“Mmm, bed,” she sighed, lying face-down on the bed, arms tucked under her chest. Spike lay beside her, arms folded over his stomach and eyes closed. He then mumbled a few incoherent words which apparently were supposed to be a response. Buffy then propped herself up on her elbows and stared at Spike as much as she could without seeing double. “You know, you’re kinda hot,” she slurred.
Spike opened his eyes and glanced at her, eyeing her for a moment to look for a hint that she was joking. Clearly, all three of her weren’t. He was too drunk to see clearly and she was too drunk to kid around.
“Same to you, Slayer,” he replied, to which Buffy answered with a huge lopsided smile.
Spike had enough of the obvious sexual tension between them. Although he’d ignored it before, when he wasn’t drunk, he knew it was there. He’d always wanted the Slayer anyway; right from the moment he laid his eyes on her at the Bronze, all innocently sexy.
He grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her forward and put her lips to his for a kiss. Expecting her to turn away, he pulled back first. But instead of the disgusted face he had anticipated, he saw that her eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly parted, as if she wasn’t repulsed by it, as if she enjoyed it – wanted it, even.
He shifted farther from her, fearing that her nonexistent inhibitions – since it had flown out of the window along with her sobriety – and his really painful hard on would lead to things they’d probably regret. Make that ‘she’d regret’.
Buffy’s eyes fluttered open and then she vaguely saw the stunned, if not freaked out, expression on Spike’s face.
She had enough of doing the right thing. She’d always wanted him anyway, right from the moment she saw him in the alley by the Bronze. And it was obvious that he wanted her too. She wasn’t so drunk that she couldn’t figure that out.
She clumsily moved on top of Spike’s tense body, settling her legs on either side of him and poising her hot center over his jean covered growing desire. She then slowly pulled off her top with an innocent look on her face, revealing her breasts which he stared at in awe even with heavy-lidded eyes.
She gave a light yelp when he hurriedly pulled her down and kissed her, hands caressing her bare chest and hips bucking up to press himself further into her even though she was already grinding hard against him.
“This is weird,” she giggled as Spike rolled them over, settling on top of her between her legs, kissing her fiercely and hands still exploring her body.
“Shut your gob,” he slurred. His cool hand traveled to the button of her pants, which he fumbled with to try and unbutton it, but to no avail. “Bloody--help me out here, will you?”
“I can’t move my arms,” she whined through her heavy breathing. “Too tired.”
“You’re not tired. You’re drunk,” he huffed, finally kneeling before her to get a better look at what he was doing.
Buffy stopped, sat up and stared at Spike in surprise. “Did you just growl?”
Spike’s eyes, which were screwed shut as he enjoyed the feel of Buffy riding and squeezing the life – or unlife – out of him even though she could barely hold herself up, immediately opened. “I did not!”
Buffy bit her lip innocently, a flirtatious smile on her face, and then squeezed her inner muscles, eliciting another low growl from Spike. “You so did.”
“Mine,” he rasped before sinking his fangs into the soft, delicate spot on her neck, still thrusting into her though more gently than before.
“Yours. Yours,” she whispered over and over. “You… Mine,” she then said unexpectedly before biting him on his jugular with blunt teeth, hard enough that it bled.
With each others’ blood swirling in their mouths, both came, waves of pure ecstasy washing over them.
Buffy sat up in a jolt, clutching the covers over her chest and then holding her head from the throbbing headache she had woken up to. Not only did she notice the headache, but also the soreness in all the right places and the vampire who lay beside her. In bed. Naked.
“Crap!” she mouthed, panic and disgust evident on her features when she thought of the things that could have happened. She hit her forehead with her palm a few times in hopes that it would jog her memory of how they ended up in the factory doing what it seemed like they had done.
Please let this be a nightmare.
She pulled the covers from her body to peek at her nakedness, confirming that they did do what she thought they’d done.
“Crap!” she mouthed again, glancing over at Spike and feeling like she was going to heave. “This is not good.” She panicked as she got up and scanned the place for her discarded clothes. “So not good.”
She saw a piece of cloth, held it up and recognized it. It was her lace panties; her new, expensive, now torn lace panties. “Wow,” she whispered and cocked a brow. It must have been one hell of a torrid, passionate night of sex if… What? No! What am I thinking? No. Not passionate. Sex bad. Very bad! She then threw the torn fabric to the floor in a fit of frustration before stomping on it a couple of times.
When she felt Spike stir, she spun around and was relieved to see that he had not woken up. She began to get dressed with the only pieces of clothing she had found that weren’t ripped apart: her pants and her top. Spike will leave Sunnydale soon and I could just forget this ever happened, she thought. She then hurriedly got out of the wrecked building.
A broken heart and alcohol: not mix-y.