Tell Me Another One
by SpikesKat
“You’re such a liar, Spike.” The shot glass was
poised midway between the table and her mouth; the words the vampire had just
uttered caused the retort to spring forth automatically.
Spike refilled his own until the amber fluid near
overflowed the top. He picked it up,
careful not to spill even one minuscule drop of alcohol – especially given
that he’d actually paid for the stuff.
He clinked his glass against the one still held suspended in her hands,
giving the Slayer his trademark smirk.
“’Course I am. I
am evil after all,” he snarked, before he tossed back the contents, slamming
the glass bottom up on the table the two shared in the darkened corner of
Willie’s bar.
They’d started their chitchat session at the Bronze,
Buffy having swooped into his crypt demanding in her most uppity,
stake-up-her-arse voice that he, William the Bloody, was going
to tell her his secret – how he’d managed to kill not one, but two, slayers.
Spike had gone along peacefully enough, though he’d managed to sneak in
several well-placed barbs that had hit their mark given the tight-lipped look
she’d given him afterwards.
But, he’d had to. Wouldn’t
do for the Slayer to actually think that he wanted to be in her company.
Upon arriving at the Bronze, she’d insisted they get a
table in the corner, far away from any prying eyes.
She’d later let slip that she’d blown off her date with soldier boy
– well, not so much blown off as rescheduled for “slayer purposes.”
But, since this was his fantasy and, for once, he had the girl all to
himself, Spike had allowed himself to come up with his own reasons as to why the
Slayer was with him and not the Initiative Neanderthal tonight.
Their “date” at the Bronze had almost been cut short
when Buffy had caught sight of a few of Riley’s friends casing the joint.
Her panic-stricken attitude at being discovered with an evil
“monster” forcing her to shove him out a side exit.
He’d silently cursed and railed at the fates that had
interrupted his evening. In his
anger, he’d thrown down the gauntlet, telling her in no uncertain terms, that
if she didn’t stay with him tonight, she’d never learn how he’d beaten her
sister slayers. Her eyes had
darkened noticeably, and Spike had seriously thought he’d become dust beneath
her feet right then.
But she’d caved under his bluff and followed him out the
door.
She’d nearly balked again when they finally stopped in
front of Willie’s, but surprisingly enough, managed to hold her tongue and
follow him inside. Which was how
they’d come to be in another darkened corner, this time in a demon bar…
His eyes lit with merriment at the remembered incident with
the poncy Dracula, lending a boyish charm to his appearance.
“But, in this instance, it’s the gospel truth.”
“Which makes me doubt it all the more, given that
you’re practically swearing on the bible…and do vampires even swear on
bibles?” She looked at her glass
for a minute as if she couldn’t quite figure out why it was held suspended in
the air by her hand.
Spike just rolled his eyes at her.
“Finish your drink before you drop it, Slayer.”
He had to admit, she didn’t hesitate a bit, throwing back
the shot like she’d been doing it for years, rather than just a few hours.
He liked this side of the Slayer a lot better.
Take her out from the oppressive, self-righteousness environment of her
friends, and she was almost… human. At
least that stake that he thought was a permanent fixture up her backside seemed
to disappear the more she drank.
Not that she was drunk.
Far from it, in fact. More
like the rough edges that were a constant companion of the Slayer had softened,
the alcohol having allowed her to relax.
“There is no way Dracula, the Dracula, owes you
eleven pounds!”
“What’s this ‘the’
crap?” he groused. “Hell, I
should be a ‘the.’ At least
you’ve never been able to kill me, which is more than I can say for that nancy-boy
wanna-be.”
The Slayer just rolled her eyes at him and held out her
glass for a refill.
“It’s his
bloody fault people seem to know as much about us vampires as they do,” he
complained as he poured more whiskey in her glass.
“Why’s that?”
Spike opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words would
come forth. He didn’t even know where
to begin on the subject of the poncy vampire.
“Never mind…it’d take too long to explain.”
The petulance in his voice did not go unnoticed.
Buffy looked at the vampire seated across from her and
blinked owlishly. Was he pouting?
The alcohol was making her feel rather nice, her normally
rigid stance in the presence of her peroxide pest absent, allowing her to relax
almost bonelessly against the back of the booth.
Surely that was the reason she seemed to be reading a lot more into
Spike’s mannerisms.
And did she just say her
peroxide pest?
No. Not hers.
Never…hers.
Riley. Riley
was hers, not this man…
‘Vampire, Buffy,’ she reminded herself. ‘Evil vampire. Even if his pout is kinda cute…Okaaaay, stopping* that* line of thought right now!’
Spike watched the Slayer as she stared fixatedly at him.
Her expressive face going through a gamut of emotions: confusion, horror,
determination, appraising, then back to determined, before she took a healthy
swig of her shot and nearly sprayed it all over him as she choked on it.
“Bloody hell, Slayer!
Watch what you’re doin’…cost me twenty bucks for the bottle an’
I’ll not have you wastin’ it.”
Buffy ignored him, too busy concentrating on easing the
pain caused by the fiery liquid taking a wrong track down her windpipe.
Her coughing fit so loud it disrupted some of the other patrons.
“Oy! Willie! Get
the Slayer here some water,” Spike shouted.
The weasely bartender plopped a full glass of water down on
the table a moment later, and Buffy took a grateful sip.
“You alright now?” the vampire asked once she’d set
the glass down and leaned back in her seat.
She nodded, not sure if she could trust her voice yet.
“Mind tellin’ me what that was all about?” he asked
conversationally.
“No,” she gasped out, still struggling for breath, then
added another one, stronger this time. “No.”
He shrugged as if to say he didn’t care one way or the
other, pouring another drink and sipping at it.
“You wanna hear the story or not?”
Buffy looked at him, confused.
“Dracula? Right
poncy git? Owes me eleven pounds?”
“Oh, go ahead. I
know you’re just dying to tell me all about it,” she replied, injecting just
enough sass in her voice to make it seem like she wasn’t eagerly awaiting for
him to begin.
“Right then. Well,
it was just after we left
The Slayer smiled, picturing the scene in her head.
“Well, I was feelin’ a might peckish, and there was
this lovely barmaid that had been givin’ me the eye.”
He smirked at her disbelieving snort, adding, “What can I say, luv,
‘m irresistible.”
“Uh huh. I
think I’m going to need another drink if I’m going to be able to listen to
the rest of this story.”
Spike ignored her dry tone, pouring her another shot.
He was warming to his tale and he had to admit, a small part of him liked
having the Slayer’s undivided attention.
“So, I was just about to get more personal-like with this
barmaid when the front door bursts open and in walks, you guessed it…Drac.
And can I just say, the man’s got as much fashion sense as—”
“You’re insulting his look?” Buffy
interrupted. “You, who hasn’t
realized that the eighties left us behind almost a decade ago?”
“Yeah? Well,
at least ‘m not prancin’ around in some foppish cape an’ long, girlish
hair!”
“He has nice hair…and he doesn’t prance, he glides.
It’s very mysterious…and hypnotizing.”
“Don’t tell me the Slayer has a thing for Dracula!”
he shouted, drawing a few stares his way.
“Shhhh…keep your voice down, would ya?” she hissed.
“And, I never said I had a thing for Dracula…but I could see the
appeal.”
“Appeal? Yeah,
‘cuz you like the subterfuge so
much,” he grumbled. “You
disappoint me, Slayer. Always thought you were a straight forward kinda
girl…like me.”
“You’re a straight forward kinda girl?” she asked
straight-faced.
“Come over here an’ I’ll show you how much of a girl
‘m not.” His eyes bored into
hers, and he knew he’d won the round when she swallowed hard and looked away.
“’M jus’ sayin’. We
don’t play those mind games. It
was always about the kill between us. Just
you an’ me…dancin’ til one of us won.”
Buffy leaned her elbows on the table. “I seem to remember
someone last year engaging in said mind games.”
“That was different.
Couldn’t very well attack you with this chip in my noggin’, now could
I? Had to do somethin’ to prove I
was still the Big Bad.”
“What, and now you’re not?”
“I’m…of course I’m still evil.
Just—”
‘Just what,
Spike?’ he thought.
No answer came.
“Look. Do you
want me to finish this story or not?” he huffed.
She gestured for him to continue. “By all means.”
“Right. Where
was I? Oh, yeah…
“I can imagine. Some
fledgling telling a master vampire to ‘bugger off’?
Couldn’t have gone over too well,” she hypothesized.
“Hey, I may have been a fledge, but I’d just bagged a
slayer,” he told her candidly. “Was
still riding the high of her blood. Besides,
I never was one to bow down to authority. Me
an’ Angelus came to blows often enough over what he deemed a
‘disrespectful’ attitude towards my elders.
But that’s a whole ‘nuther story…we’re talking about your good
friend Drac.”
“He’s not my good friend…or good anything, for that
matter. He was just a vampire I
staked.”
“Oh…so he’s not ‘the’
Dracula anymore then?”
“I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?” she
complained.
“No. Prolly
not.”
The two shared a smile, the liquor they’d drunk taking
any sting out of their exchange, then Spike got back to his story.
“He tried his thrall on me, but it didn’t work.
Pissed ‘im off, to be sure. But,
hell, I had Dru for a sire. You
wanna see someone with true thrall…” His voice trailed off uncomfortably and
he took a moment to pour them each another drink.
He held his glass aloft, waiting until she did the same.
“Cheers.”
Their glasses clinked as they connected, both draining
their whiskeys in one long gulp. Neither
noticed the burn of the alcohol, their throats long since immune to its bite.
“Anyway, thrall only works on the weak-minded,” he
added as he set his glass down.
The Slayer nodded sagely.
‘Yep.
Weakminded. I was just acting
under thrall with Dracula.’
“So, what happened next?” she asked.
“Had me a li’l rough and tumble in the alley, then went
back to drinking more vodka. Good
stuff, vodka. ‘S not Glenmorangie
but, it’ll definitely do in a pinch.”
Buffy blinked at him owlishly.
Did he just say—
“You have sex with your…with your…”
She couldn’t finish. Much
to her utter shock, she found the image oddly arousing.
And what a way to go. Braced
up against the wall, legs wrapped around lean hips, his hands gripping her ass
as he drove—
“Don’t knock it till you try it, Slayer. ‘Sides, it
cuts down on the ‘scream’ factor. At
least in most cases,” he added with a wink.
The smirk was back and Buffy found herself helpless to look
away, her mind still caught up in the images she’d created at his words.
Her body reacted, knowing firsthand that a vampire’s bite could bring
pleasure along with the pain. She felt the tentative touch of his fingers
against the back of her hand, and her mind begged her to run.
Get as far away from the man seated across from her.
Then he was talking, the purr of his voice wrapping an invisible chain
around her waist, holding her in place.
“Bet you’re a screamer,” he murmured seductively as
he leaned across the table invading her personal space, his fingers now tracing
a lazy pattern up the length of her forearm and back again.
“All that passion crammed tight in that tiny li’l package…”
Buffy swallowed at his words but couldn’t break the hold
he had over her. If she hadn’t
known better, she’d think she was under thrall right now.
“Can soldier boy make you scream?”
“No?” he asked when she gave a slight negative shake of
her head. “Hmmmm…pity.”
Spike pulled his hand away and sat back in his seat.
He poured another drink for the Slayer and watched as she took it
gratefully.
“Back to my story…Like I said, when I came back, I sat
down at the bar and drank myself into a stupor.
Dru was still off doin’ god knows what and I was bored.”
“You got drunk because you were bored?”
Buffy had found her voice again and couldn’t resist the comment.
“Not much to do back then.
Wasn’t like I could watch Passions
or whatnot.”
“And where was Dracula?”
“He’d gone off to pout, no doubt.
Prolly play a game o’ cards. Suppose
I coulda’ played too, but I’d already pissed him off.
Wouldn’t do to have me take all his money.
Leave that to the locals.”
“Uh huh.”
“’S not my fault the git sucks at cards.
An’ by the time I realized he was too drunk to engage his fancy parlor
tricks and make good his escape, they’d ganged up on him.”
“So you just swooped in to save the day?”
“Well, I couldn’t very well let him be staked.”
His grin said it all, and Buffy laughed.
“Yeah…I could. But Dru,
she’s big on family and tradition an’ all that rot.
An’ if she found out I’d let ‘the’
Dracula get staked…let’s just say, for a crazy bint, she’s rather
clearheaded when it comes to torture.”
“I thought you got off on pain.”
Spike quirked his scarred brow at her.
‘Don’t blush.
Don’t blush. Don’t blush,’ Buffy repeated silently.
“There’s pain…and then there’s pain.”
“Ahhhh,” she responded as if that made all the sense in
the world. Pain was pain.
It hurt, end of story.
“You don’t believe me, but we’ve time yet.”
That deer-caught-in-headlights look was back in the
Slayer’s eyes and it made the vampire impatient to act on her body’s
response to the idea he’d just put in her head, give her a taste of what he
knew it could be like between them. But,
he’d done enough for one night, pushed his way past the barriers she’d
erected too often to do it again.
Time to finish up the story and see the lady home.
“So…Dracula?” she prompted.
“Yeah… I walk into the back room to see the great
Dracula being held down by the humans he’d been playin’ cards with.
Apparently, he’d lost everything and was in the hole.
Was so pissed he could barely lift a hand to shove aside the weapons held
against him, in particular the torn off edge of the axe that was poised just
above his heart. That an’ the
crucifix that was dangling from the neck of one of his assailants…right in
front of his face.”
Buffy couldn’t wrap her mind around it.
The image of the famed Dracula about to meet his dusty end at the hands
of a few Russian peasants. Her
astonishment must have showed on her face because Spike commented.
“Told ya. Too
much hype. Poncy git jus’ likes to
think he’s the Big Bad.
Anyway…so I interrupt them, trying to work across the language barrier
to see how much he owes. Roughly
translated to eleven pounds. Eleven
pounds! Which, back in that time was
a lota’ dosh…an’ a hell of a lot more than they’d ever seen, or ever
would. So, I flip a few gold coins
their way and they eagerly release their captive to chase after them.
We beat a hasty retreat and parted ways outside the pub.”
Spike poured the last of the whiskey into their two
glasses.
“I went back to where me and Dru were shacked up and
slept off one hell of a hangover. Never saw him after that…like he was too embarrassed to show his face ‘round me. Can’t
say as I blame him…him the master vampire being saved by a li’l ole fledge.
But still an’ all, he owes me eleven pounds, add the interest of a
hundred plus years as well as the cost of inflation…”
He glanced up to see the Slayer’s eyes start to droop.
“Drink up, Slayer. Time
to get you home.”
He finished off his drink and stood, waiting patiently as
the Slayer did the same. They
stumbled out of Willie’s weaving drunkenly and slowly began making their way
towards
The two finally drew to a halt outside her front door some
time later, awkwardness overtaking them as they turned to face each other.
“G’night, Slayer,” Spike told her abruptly, then
bounded down the few steps to the walkway below.
“Spike?”
He stopped and turned around.
“Yeah, pet?”
“I…I had fun tonight,” she told him shyly.
“Me too.”
Another shared smile, then Spike made to turn away once
more.
“Spike?”
He stopped and looked up at the Slayer.
“Uhhh…maybe…maybe next time we could talk about the
slayers?”
“Next time?”
“Uh huh.”
“Sure, pet. You
know where to find me.”
“Yeah…ok…ummm…tomorrow night?”
“Tomorrow night’s fine.”
“Ok…I-I’ll see you then.”
“Right. ‘Night,
Slayer.”
“Good night, Spike.”
Buffy forced herself to open the front door and step
inside, closing it with a soft click so as not to wake her mother.
Outside, Spike allowed a smile to grace his features as he
made his way home – his mind already on the coming night.
The End