III
Being notoriously overly creative, the staff at the Bronze had oh-so cleverly decided to theme the Christmas Party with a ‘Holiday in the Movies’ pattern—playing all sorts of songs from all sorts of Christmas flicks, regardless if the songs actually had seasonal significance aside being composed for a certain picture.
It was amusing how the Bronze could have great or horrible taste—never the middle of the road. As for tonight, Buffy had not yet decided for which side her loyalties lay. While the premise itself was lame, they were playing some awesome compositions.
The place was kicking as she had expected. The entire town had showed up.
Getting ready for the party had been an interesting venture. Buffy was possessed with a need to look festive, and despite Spike’s groans, he went along with it. However, their situation being as it was, achieving the holiday look was something of a challenge. It had taken the help of Willow and a very hurried Xander and Anya to get the full effect before they rushed off to the airport.
Not that Xander was in favor of the dance idea, but he had no argument to offer as they were, in every sense of the word, stuck together. And perhaps it wasn’t as much the dance itself that drove her friend up the wall, but the fact that he was the only male of the bunch and thus elected to help Spike with his trousers.
Help was perhaps overstating it a bit. He stood and watched—albeit not closely—as the vampire dressed, issued an abrupt nod when he was finished, and left the room in a hurry.
It was a different story for Buffy. After they discovered the only way to remove her top was to tear it off, Willow began searching frantically for a spell that would safely set whatever clothing the Slayer selected onto her shoulders without needing her to free her hands.
“Warlocks do this all the time,” the redhead had said hurriedly. “Magicking clothes onto themselves and such. Really. This spell? Piece of cake.”
The very nervous blonde had subconsciously squeezed Spike’s hand for reassurance, not realizing she had done so until she felt his fingers wind around hers to return the favor. They were sitting inelegantly on top of Giles’s kitchen table, backs pressed against each other’s so that nothing inappropriate was seen. As strange as it was, spending the day with him—unable to physically do anything but—made her feel protective of the vampire. Closer to him. As though of everyone in the room, he was the one she could trust.
Which was foolish, granted, but how she felt nonetheless.
In the end, it had only taken three tries with Willow’s spell to get the outfit on properly. And she looked good—black velvet pants with a red Santa-themed top, three quarter-length sleeves made of the same material. Only difference being the white rabbit fur that adorned the color. It was stylish and fun and she loved it, regardless of the snappy comment Spike had made.
She had the feeling he hadn’t meant it. Not really.
And even if he had, it didn’t matter once she saw what Willow decided he should wear. One of Giles’s old shirts, no doubt. A fashion so old it was on the brink of coming back. Or, by pure chance, a shirt from nowhere at all. It was red, which he liked, and festive, which she liked. And he had black slacks on to boot. He was hot. There was no doubt about it.
They had been at the party now for almost two hours. And despite the weirdness of being there with Spike, she was having an amazing time. So amazing that she nearly didn’t recognize Riley when he approached, gave her vampire date the death glare, and asked for a dance.
“Ummm…” Buffy smiled nervously, looking anywhere but his face. He was the last person she had expected to see tonight. And quite frankly, she had been better off for it. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Riley…she did, in that ‘he’s a really great guy’ way. But truth be told, ever since she clarified that she wasn’t engaged, she had felt more and more pressured to pursue a relationship with him. That was something she really, in her heart of hearts, did not want. “Actually, the thing is…umm, Riley. I can’t…I—”
Evidently, her lack of preparation was interpreted as something else entirely.
Something that was almost laughable.
“Is this guy bothering you?”
At that, Spike released a low, almost possessive growl. “No. She came with me,” he snarked. “So back off, brute boy.”
There was a flash of anger in immediate reply, then a pause and a frown. “Do I know you?”
This was not going anywhere marked as good. She had to intervene before the flaring testosterone sent her and her would-be date sailing backward. After all, should the vampire go flying, she would too by default.
And then her night of partying would become an awkward explainathon.
“Listen, Riley…I came with Spike tonight.” She cursed herself when she watched his eyes widen with recognition. Damn, damn, double damn. “Yeah…uhhh…remember that thing where we weren’t getting married and it was all a story?”
The vampire gave her a perplexed look.
A sigh rolled off the glowering boy before her. “Lemme guess…” he said. “That was the real story because…what? You two had a fight or something?” He didn’t wait for her to confirm or deny, merely held up a hand. “Look, if you two have a thing going on…” He shook his head at her in exasperation. “Is this what you do? You…find guys and then…the thing with Parker, and—”
There was a snarl behind her that almost surprised her more than the question did. “Think that’s enough, mate.” Spike’s eyes had this feral look about them that both invigorated her and made her nervous. There was every possibility that he was seconds away from doing something incredibly stupid. “Think you better apologize to the lady.”
Buffy blinked. Since when was her vampire chivalrous?
And since when was he her vampire?
“Spike…”
“No, luv. The wanker’s gonna apologize.” Spike’s eyes set determinately. “Aren’t you?”
The vampire was palpably not of an intimidating height, but the air in which he carried himself was the sort that demanded respect from every outlet he tapped himself into. People who saw him knew just from a glance that he was not the sort of person to mess with. Evidently, that same glance was what attracted Riley over in the first place. The hint that he might be trouble.
And though she knew Spike could sense the animosity from a mile away, he did not look to give much a damn.
Then something strange happened. A look overwhelmed Riley’s eyes that had not been there before. A distant, thoughtful look that turned into one of pure malice for the hint of a second—then he was normal again. Riley. The guy she now had absolutely no future with, but somehow couldn’t work herself up to be as upset about that as she felt she should.
There was a coughed sorry, then, and before she knew it, her would-be boyfriend had backtracked to his table where some of the guys she saw him hanging out with were prepared to mock. She knew she should feel something on some level—and she did; a small ounce of regret, of loss, an internal Another One Bites The Dust stuck on repeat. Buffy was beginning to feel, especially in recent days, that she was just not meant for a normal relationship.
Which was fine, because her life? Not normal.
The vampire at her side was still rigid when she squeezed his hand and shook. “Are you okay?”
There was no response.
Buffy frowned. “Spike…”
It happened before she could stop to catch herself. Before the music could play her up to the moment. Before her mind could unscramble itself and make it known for once and for all what it was she wanted. It seemed so random, so anomalous, and yet so terribly right that she couldn’t think to object. The instant his lips touched hers, she was gone. Melted away into some forbidden paradise where nothing in the world mattered except for the stolen feel of this. Bliss in every sense of the word. A whimper of repressed longing scratched at her throat, and she had hooked her good arm around his neck the next moment, leaping into the kiss with everything she had. Warring off his tongue with hers. Exploring his mouth with liberation that seemed too long coming. Their hands clasped together as much as possible, his arm wrapped around her waist to haul her into him. His taste filling her mouth: tobacco, whisky, leather, even the hint of blood. All things she had so long resented. All things that were driving her wild now.
Not much time had passed since they last shared a kiss like this, but there was something about it, something that charged her to know it was real this time.
Or rather, as real as it was going to get. When they broke away, panting and leaning into each other, the volume of the music settled around them once more and she was overwhelmed with a sudden attack of bashfulness. She didn’t know what had brought that on—didn’t really care—but the knowledge that it had taken so little to free her inhibitions brought reality back with a screeching halt. Her arm was still wound around his neck, her brow pressed to his brow. She felt him hard against her stomach and managed to wade off a smile. Managed to stop herself from pushing into him. It was too fast. From where she had been the night before to this…it was too fast.
And yet…
And yet oh god not fast enough.
Then the moment was over. Just like that. Over. As though sensing her hesitation, Spike reeled back and caught her gaze. “Mistletoe,” he said abruptly, pointing skyward. “I was jus’…mistletoe. An’ the blokes over there were jus’ askin’ for an eyeful.”
Buffy blinked at him, wounded. No way was that a mistletoe kiss. She had endured mistletoe kisses in the past. Never had one set her skin aflame. Never had one made her lose all sense of time and reasoning.
Any period of relapse that she could have seized went by unnoticed; Spike had twirled her stylishly as the next song struck the speakers, a feat not simple given their predicament, but accomplished without fault nonetheless. A softer instrumental number that completely escaped her recognition. They were silent for long minutes. Silent in a crowd full of music and laughter and conversation. From one instant of elation to another of abandonment—she felt stripped and alone.
A chuckle rumbled through the vampire, startling her back to the present. “This song’s appropriate,” he murmured suddenly.
It was still the instrumental number. Buffy favored him with a confused glance. “Oh?”
“None more so.” His head dipped closer, fingers curling around hers as the arm around her waist grew more demanding. And then something light touched her ear; a harmony that she had never known before and was glad for it. There was no sound on earth that could have competed with Spike’s low voice singing the misplaced lyrics for her and her alone to hear when the melody began the repeat. “The best things happen while you’re dancin’,” he began. “Things that you would not do at home come naturally on the floor. For dancin’…” He dipped her lightly. “Soon becomes romancin’. When you hold a girl in your arms that you’ve never held before.” She couldn’t help but flush at that, and it turned even more so when he favored her with a coy wink. “Even guys with two left feet come out all right if the girl is sweet. If by chance their cheeks should meet—” And they did on that order alone, “—while dancin’, provin’ that the best things happen while you dance.”
There was no way she would have ever known without tonight that simple vocals could be an invisible erogenous zone. True, some singers did for her, but none like this.
And Spike? Who would’ve thought?
“That’s…ummm…” Buffy glanced down. “Not a Christmas song?”
He grinned. “Yes it is, luv. Well, ‘s from a Christmas flick, right. Aren’t those the rules?”
“It’s from a Christmas movie?”
“Irving to boot. Y’know…bloke who composed the most popular Christmas song ‘f all bloody time?” His eyes twinkled. “White Christmas. Musical from the fifties.”
“You know the lyrics to a musical from the fifties?”
“Kitten, I had to go see it on openin’ night. Dru likes people to sing for her.” A shrug to follow through with her instantaneous fall of spirit. Ah. Right. Drusilla. There was that shadow again. “Though granted, for a sappy holiday flick, that one was one of the more bearable. Was always a fan of Irving’s music.”
“Right. You’re into old music.” She made a face. “Well, the Sex Pistols—”
“Are a bloody brilliant band an’ we’re not goin’ there.” Spike dipped her again just to throw her off guard. “Jus’ because my taste is superior doesn’ mean it isn’t diverse. Though, ‘course I’d expect you only listen to whatever boy band the record company’s promotin’ at a given time, right? That or Britney bloody Spears.”
“What? No!”
“Y’know, you kinda resemble the bint.”
“I do not!”
He nodded, more to himself, a studious look on his face. “Short. On the skinny side. Blonde. Cute. Yeh, pet, you got her look down.”
The room did one of those freezy things again where they were briefly the only occupants, despite the continual twirl of conversation around them. “You think I’m cute?”
“What?”
“You said cute.”
He scoffed. “Did not.”
“You did so!”
“The point is, Slayer, I can have varying tastes in music. ‘ve been around for sodding ever, right? The Sex Pistols weren’ always there.”
Buffy pouted at his refusal to admit what she had so obviously heard just a few seconds before, but decided ultimately to let it drop. In the long run, all that really mattered was that he had said it while off guard. And it wasn’t as though it meant anything, anyway. Girls just liked being told they were pretty. Or, in the case of Spike, cute.
And what was that, anyway? Cute? She was cute? Puppies were cute. Babies were cute.
He had to be the world’s most aggravating vampire.
“You said the song was appropriate,” she said a minute later. “What did you mean?”
“Huh’s that?”
“How was the song appropriate?”
Spike’s brows perked. “The best things happen while you’re dancin’?” She nodded. He smirked. “Don’ tell me you haven’t noticed it, sweets.”
“Noticed what?”
The record had shifted to a subtler Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.
“Every move we make,” he said, emphasizing by thrusting his pelvis up in time with the beat—so in time that she didn’t know whether or not it was intentional. “Every day. Ever since we met. All we’ve done with each other…is danced.”
He dipped her a third time before she could protest and continued unhampered when she was eye level once more. “There’s different ways to dance, luv. Slayers dance with their bodies—all out. No matter what you’re doin’. You think you’re fightin’…you think that’s what calls vamps for the kill. You think it’s your blood—that plays a part, I won’ lie, but ‘s somethin’ else. ‘S somethin’ beyond anyone’s conception…our drive for the Slayer. Every move she makes, every li’l gasp of air she takes…’s all a part of the dance. Every Slayer does it. Taunts us. Torments us. Flaunts herself an’ asks us to take her.” He stopped, frowned, and thought. “You, on the other hand…” In an abrupt move, he twirled her around so that his arms had criss-crossed over her front and her back was pressed to his chest. He made no effort to hide his erection, rather presumptuously ground it into her backside and nearly moaned aloud when she pressed back into him. “You, Slayer…you dance with all you’ve got. You dance for the sake of dancin’. For the sake of everythin’ you’re s’posed to be aimin’ for. You’re different from the others. Your body calls us to the dance, but that’s not why we stay. ‘S somethin’ else…somethin’ about you that gives the dance a whole new meanin’. An’ that’s all we’ve ever done, luv. All you an’ I have ever done. Danced around each other until the song changes tunes. Fightin’, screamin’…an’ now…”
Buffy’s eyes were threatening to fall shut as her body went lax in his embrace. She had to fight the temptation to recline her head on his inviting shoulder. Every word that escaped his lips initiated a tingle across her skin, burrowed deep within her system and refused to allow her peace. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself.
“Now,” he continued softly, “we’re puttin’ the fight to music. The dance never ends. Not with you.” She felt his free hand draw hair away from her face, and her gaze reluctantly focused and found him staring at her with a look she had never seen before. And for long minutes, they were without time.
“’S your eyes,” he said suddenly.
It was amazing she could find her voice. “What?”
“Your eyes…’s how you dance.” He searched her imploringly. “A man could dance forever in your eyes.”
Buffy’s head spun. Realities had suddenly bent to her whim.
Mistletoe kiss. Yeah. Right.
Somewhere, somehow, she was able to locate her voice.
“And,” she began. “The best things happen while you’re dancing?”
Spike grinned. “Only while you’re dancin’.”
Four simple words. It was funny how four simple words could be the foundation of everything. Could open the gateway to everything. Of course, as was in this case, it was hardly ever just the words—more the thought and feeling that went into them. The knowledge of what they meant. What he meant when he said them. Because this was it. If there was an it, they had arrived at its doorstop.
Oh God.
How in the world had they gotten here from yesterday?
Buffy pulled back abruptly and disentangled herself from Spike’s embrace. They parted as far as possible and simply stared at each other in silent question.
What did this mean?
The Bronze was suddenly too hot, and she needed to get out. “I’m gonna go kill things,” she announced abruptly, and turned sharp on the heel.
Naturally, this prompted Spike to follow.
“Well,” he mumbled under his nonexistent breath, more than confused. “Guess ‘m comin’ along.”
The air stung with the weight of unspoken words. Dangerous words. Words that once spoken could not be taken back. Words that remained unspoken but demonstrated in ways that spoke louder than anything they could have said.
Anything.
TBC
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