The Italian club was packed with humans, some of them writhing and sweating on the dance floor, others drinking and chatting amicably, trying to be heard above the noise. Arousal and alcohol perfumed the air, along with copious amounts of tobacco smoke – and other kinds as well – but the vampires paid no attention to it.
Instead the pair wended their way through the crowds and towards one of the bars.
“Dancing… why did it have to be dancing?” Angel muttered, but Spike ignored him. He didn’t have time to explain the benefits of a room full of sexually charged adults and the high that could be had capitalizing on such a situation; his grandsire had borne his soul so long the details would be lost in the translation.
Spike sidled up to the bar and struck up a conversation with one of the bartenders.
“You speak English, luv?”
“Si… si!” she nodded. “I love the English.”
“We’ll get along fine, then.”
“We’re looking for a girl,” Angel interrupted, stifling any attempt at flirting. “American. Blonde hair. Blue eyes…”
“Blue eyes!?” Spike turned towards Angel, his look incredulous. “Shows what you know, you wanker. Supposed love of your unlife and yet you can’t even remember the color of her eyes.” He looked back at the bartender. “He got the blonde part right, pet, but her eyes are more of a hazel. And if she’s really happy… they look almost green.”
The bartender didn’t say anything to the blond’s correction of his companion’s description. Or the underlying tension between the two.
Ignoring the dual growls audible even over the pounding base blaring from the speaker systems, she gestured to the crowd. “Many blonde American coeducationals. Spring break… the girls, they go wild…”
“No… no… Buffy’s… she’s a friend of ours,” Angel cut in.
“Apparently, she’s been hanging around this Immortal git,” Spike added.
“Ah… si. Si! The Immortal’s new ragazza. They come in a little while ago.”
Both Spike and Angel turned when the bartender pointed towards the dance floor.
“Right! Hold down the fort, mate. I’ll be right back,” Spike growled.
He blended into the crowd before Angel could stop him.
Fisting one hand through the handles of the bowling ball case, Angel signaled to the female bartender for a shot of whiskey. He downed it in one and motioned for another, two fingers raised to make it a double. Again it went the way of the first. When he felt the burn of the alcohol all the way to his toes, Angel felt it was safe enough for his sanity to turn and watch the scene unfold.
~*~
Spike waded through the throng of people gyrating on the dance floor, ignoring hands, both male and female alike, that ran along his leather duster, trying to lure him to their side. His eyes were locked on the blonde twitching her ass to the beat.
And what a nice ass it was, too. He thought the dress that covered it should have been outlawed.
He moved in behind her, at first doing nothing more than copying her movements; a few inches separated them as she swayed back and forth in time to the beat. One hand finally settled on her waist, and he felt her stiffen momentarily. Then she melted against his chest, and Spike wrapped his arm around her middle, grinding his erection into the Slayer’s ass – smirking at the look that manifested itself on the Immortal’s face.
“Miss me, pet?” he murmured against her ear, eyes never leaving the other male.
Buffy wrapped her arms around the back of Spike’s neck and ground herself against his crotch.
“’Bout time you finally showed up,” she whispered back.
Spike thought he did well at hiding his what-the-fuck? face. Finally showed up?
Buffy’s eyes narrowed at the fierce look on her “date’s” face; when he made to separate her from the vampire her foot shot up and planted itself on his chest.
“Cara mia…” he whined petulantly.
“Don’t you ‘my dear’ me,” she hissed. “You think I didn’t know who you are? And what you were trying to do? Please… Like I would ever!”
Her words were shocking the hell out of Spike, but he allowed none of it to show, just continued to smirk at the git doing everything to get back in the Slayer’s good graces.
“You heard the Slayer… bugger off.”
The Immortal ignored the vampire. Seeing red at the loss of his chance to add the illustrious Slayer’s notch to his proverbial bedpost, he made to interfere again.
But Buffy was ready for him. Her stiletto heel moved from his chest to his crotch.
“You may be immortal, but I bet a sharp, pointy heel in the groin will leave its mark.”
Her tone was conversational; there was a smile on her face. The move she’d made appeared like foreplay to the crowd around her – only the Immortal knew the promise in her eyes at her strategically placed foot.
His eyes bored into hers, promising retribution against the pair. Then he backed away and stormed off.
Spike waited until the Immortal was out of sight before he swung the Slayer around and pulled her up against his body. His mouth was on hers the next instant, his tongue delving into her eager mouth, reacquainting himself with the taste of her.
The music continued to pulse around them, but neither noticed nor cared. Their attention was solely on each other. Hands and lips roving… clutching, unwilling to let the other go.
Until the need for oxygen overcame Buffy, and she tore her mouth away, gulping in huge quantities of air.
“Let’s get out of here.” Her voice was low, husky…tinged with arousal.
Spike grasped her hand and practically raced towards a side exit, forgetting completely the vampire he’d left back at the bar.
A vampire who watched the two blondes’ departure with a sense of finality.
~*~*~*~*~
The side door slammed shut, muffling the music from the club, as well as the overwhelming scent of sweat and arousal pouring off its patrons. There was only one person whose delicious perfume he wanted to smell.
It hit him at once, overpowering the stench of stale food, urine, and excrement prevalent in the darkened alley.
He found himself thrown up against the wall the next instant, the Slayer’s body practically draped over him. Her mouth seeking his.
Spike’s hands gripped her ass, grinding her cleft against his rock-hard shaft. His nostrils flared as another whiff of her musky scent wafted upward between them. His mouth swallowed her groan of pleasure.
Cool, nimble fingers wormed their way between their bodies and slid beneath the hem of her painted-on dress to tease her slit through the scrap of lace attempting to pass itself off as her underwear.
Another moan… and this time her head fell back, exposing her neck to his heated gaze.
Her body arched into his hand, grinding the sodden silk against his palm. A quick tug and it fell away, and Spike shoved the tiny scrap of material in the pocket of his duster and had two fingers buried in her tight passage – transforming her groan of loss into a moan of pure pleasure.
“Please, Spike,” she begged softly, bucking against his hand, trying to drive his fingers deeper inside her slick passage. Knowing that they could reach that special place inside and bring her to a quick orgasm.
Her softly whispered plea seemed to penetrate his lust-filled haze. He stared down at her flushed face, how she continued to fuck herself against his hand.
Sanity returned and Spike remembered where he was. Where they were.
He didn’t want their first time back together to be in some darkened alley.
No, he wanted the dream.
A nice bed…pillows and soft sheets. Maybe a little bubbly.
He wanted to do right by his girl, not take her like some whore against the wall. Though, he had no objection to doing that once locked away from prying eyes.
It took everything he had in him to free his fingers from her slick sheath. Made more so by her petulant whine, and the way her eyes opened and stared up at him with such burning need.
“Wanna do right by you,” Spike murmured, drawing her up against his chest. He held her loosely with one hand, using the other to brush her sweat-dampened hair back from her face. “Don’t want to take you in some alley. You deserve a nice bed…”
She opened her mouth to object. To tell him that she didn’t care. That she couldn’t wait.
But a finger to her lips waylaid her protestations.
“Let me do this for you, luv.”
Buffy stood there for the longest time, staring up into blue eyes unlike any she’d ever seen before. Gazing down upon her with all the love he felt. Pleading for her to let him have his way.
Finally, she nodded – her body still radiating tension. Poised as it had been, on the brink of her first (of what was sure to be many) orgasm of the night.
She was swept up in his arms and held close to his chest. Buffy laid her head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and tobacco that she’d thought never again to be privy to.
As he walked out of the alley and began striding down the city’s cobbled street, a feeling of rightness overcame her.
They’d come full circle, she and her vampire.
Even if it had taken a bit of deception on her part to get him here.
But, then… she would have been waiting forever for the damn noble vampire to do the right thing and come back to her. It was a good thing she wasn’t quite so noble anymore, though her first impulse on finding out – inadvertently – from Andrew that Spike was alive was to book a flight to Los Angeles and lay into him for not coming before now.
It had only been the boy’s confession about what had transpired in the warehouse that held her back. Not that she hadn’t wanted to rush to his side and help baby him to recovery.
But, Andrew had spoken of Spike’s place within Angel’s gang. How they treated him much better than her friends ever had.
And she wanted him to have that. A sense of belonging. Of comradery between friends.
Her ruse with the Immortal had been her childishness getting the better of her. Though, why Spike would think she would ever get with someone of such questionable morals, she would never understand. It was something she’d have to ask him… much, much later.
After two days in the man’s company, she’d been ready to throw in the towel. She wasn’t that much of a martyr to put up with his annoying habit of talking about himself… or his barely veiled attempts to lure her into bed. Then she’d gotten the call from Andrew.
Angel and Spike were on their way.
She’d said yes to the Immortal’s plans for dancing that night and settled on the cover story that Andrew would give the two vampires.
Then she just had to wait for her man to show up and become all possessive guy.
It hadn’t taken long. Even with the bass resounding in her ears, she knew the second Spike walked into the club. The tingling sensation had been faint at first, growing steadily more pronounced when he finally decided to intervene.
By the time he’d gained her side and stood swaying in time to the music with her, Buffy’s body had been on sensory overload. When his hand had settled lightly on her hip, she’d gone weak with relief. Relaxing against his slightly larger frame. Trusting that he’d keep her upright.
Buffy spoke up when she saw the direction he was taking.
“Turn here… my place is closer.”
“What about Niblet and the other… Andrew?”
“Dawnie’s out with her girlfriends. She’ll be home tomorrow. Andrew…” Buffy winced, hesitating to tell him the truth. Even without looking, she knew he was staring down at her.
“Pet?”
“Andrew doesn’t live there,” she rushed out. There! She’d said it. Now maybe he wouldn’t dig into the whys.
“But he said...”
She felt him stop and could practically hear the wheels turning inside his head.
“What I told him to,” she finished finally. “Spike… I—”
“I knew that wanker was lying,” Spike grumbled. He didn’t specify what he believed Andrew had lied about, however. Hopefully, it had been everything. Well, at least everything to do with Buffy and the Immortal being together.
He started walking in the direction the Slayer had indicated.
“Peaches fell for it though,” he added as an afterthought to cover for himself.
“Oh, and that wasn’t you being all ‘grrr’ back there either, then?”
She gave him a smug look at the possessive gleam in his eye and the way his arms tightened almost imperceptibly around her.
“It was the bloody Immortal. What did you expect, Slayer?”
“Trust me, Spike… I know all about him. Hands as slippery as an eel’s… which I easily evaded,” she rushed to add, when Spike stopped abruptly – ready to turn around and head back to the club to go a round or two in a vain attempt at preserving her honor.
Spike stomped off again, and she could feel the anger radiating along his frame. But, he was still headed towards her apartment – which she counted as a plus.
Buffy lifted her hand to trail along his jaw.
“You’ve nothing to be jealous about,” she told him softly.
Spike grunted not bothering to look at her, eyes facing straight ahead and watching the road in front of him.
“It’s you I love, Spike.”
They were already making a scene with him walking down the crowded street carrying her in his arms, but when she suddenly found herself pressed up against one of the shop windows and her lips nearly devoured by the vampire, they became center stage; the crowd could do nothing but stare at the two going at each other so passionately.
Some made encouraging catcalls.
There were a few sighs from some of the women.
Buffy didn’t care. Her fingers sought purchase on Spike’s shoulders and hung on for dear life. When he finally deigned to raise his head, she buried her face against his chest and panted heavily. She thought it was a wonder she could even stand.
“Let’s go, pet. Or I’m gonna say sod it all and take you right here and care less who watches.”
She nodded against his jacket and Spike gripped her hand and dashed down the street amidst more catcalls and cheers.
Buffy tried to keep up, but it was rather difficult to run in heels. Hell, it was difficult to walk in the damn things. She stumbled and would have fallen to the ground, but Spike was there, easily sweeping her up into his arms.
She laughed, her arms flung wide as he hurried towards her apartment.
They had a lot of time to make up for…and there was no time like the present to get started.
~*~*~*~*~
The wooden door strained against the two leaning heavily against it.
Buffy jabbed furiously with the key, trying to stick it in the hole and escape inside her apartment, but Spike was pressed up against her back… slowly inching the bottom of her dress up over her ass. Her bare ass.
His fingers teased her slit and the key ring slid from her own shaky ones and fell to the door. Unthinking, she bent down to retrieve them and caused his knuckles to bump against her clit.
She stifled a moan… barely.
Buffy pushed back against his hand, and felt a finger slip inside her pussy.
Her keys lay forgotten on the carpet beneath her feet as she fucked herself on his cool digit, thankful for the duster that shielded her from anyone’s prying eyes.
“Spread your legs a bit, luv,” he growled next to her ear, then nibbled on the lobe.
The Slayer scrambled to do as he asked, waiting for another finger to slip inside her pussy and take her over the edge.
Only it was something much larger she felt pushing its way into her opening. She bit her lip, her eyes fluttered closed.
And she waited.
Waited for that moment that he slid inside.
“Spike,” she whimpered.
Her inner muscles stretched to accommodate his girth until he was in as far as their upright position would allow. Still it was enough; her nerve endings were still tingling from that heated kiss a few blocks from her home, and the heavier petting they’d engaged in outside the club.
He pumped his cock into her slowly, barely unsettling the duster wrapped protectively around them. Buffy’s vision was blurring; her hands grasped at the door in front of her, his arms – anywhere that might provide her some type of support. She felt one of his hands leave her waist and delve into her curls, seeking out her hidden nubbin that throbbed with need.
A sharp twist and she saw stars. She felt her inner walls clench around his cock. Knew without turning around the look of satisfaction on his face, before it would soften, transforming to one of rapture in the instant he joined her.
“Come with me,” she coaxed softly.
He thrust into her one last time and held her still while his cock twitched with his release.
“Buffy…”
Buffy wasn’t sure how long they stood there in the aftermath, him still buried inside her, right outside her front door. As far as she was concerned, they could have stayed like that forever.
It was Spike that finally came to his senses, sliding free from her wet sheath. Tucking himself back into his pants and settling her dress back around her legs before bending down to retrieve her keys.
He made short work of getting them settled inside the Slayer’s home, sliding the lock home and tossing the keys onto the table by the door.
“Shower?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
At her nod, he leered and swooped her up into his arms, striding quickly in the direction of the bathroom.
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