Spike tugged at his collar and muttered a swear under his metaphorical breath. One of the women at his table glanced at him, and he gave her a benign smile. When she turned her attention back to the lecturer, he rolled his eyes and started to play with his dinner knife again, all the while thinking of ways to kill the Slayer and Giles and everyone else for making him have to be the one to come to the dinner presentation.

Giles had found out through Buffy and Willow earlier in the day that a renown anthro-something-or-other, whom the former Watcher knew to also be heavily into the occult, was giving a dinner presentation at one hundred dollars a plate. Not able to attend himself because of researching the new demon in town, Giles had suggested that Spike "be of some use, for once, and attend." The blond vampire had tried to pawn the duty off on someone else, but Willow was helping Giles, Buffy had to be on patrol because of the demon, Xander was working, and Anya had laughed in his face.

So Spike was stuck sitting at the furthest cloth-covered table from the podium near the wall along with seven other people he didn't know, dressed as a nancyboy in a pair of tan khakis, white shirt, blue sport coat and matching tie, and, Satan save him, loafers. Buffy had proclaimed at the start of the night that there was plenty of time before she needed to hit the streets to take him to the mall and dress him properly for the dinner. He would swear that he'd seen an unholy gleam in her eyes when she'd volunteered, and he'd quickly learned how much the Slayer liked using him as a dress-up doll.

If any of his brethren saw him, they'd die again from laughing too hard at him.

Shifting on his padded chair, he tuned back into the lecture, listening for the things Giles had told him to listen for.

"...the evolutionary constitution of the genus has metamorphosed into a conglomeration of..."

Spike silently cursed the ex-Watcher for doing this to him. He cursed the soldier-boys for fixing him. He cursed the Slayer for making him help. He cursed the others for being alive. He cursed his Sire just because. He cursed at the boring doctor of anthro-whatever for being a dry as desert sand.

He cursed when he felt something brush against the crotch of his khakis.

The blond vampire clutched the butterknife in his hand and dropped his gaze to his lap. His eyes widened perceptively when he saw familiar painted nails on a slender but strong hand waving up at him. He glanced at his table companions, then purposely dropped the knife on the floor.

Bending, he picked up the edge of the long tablecloth and found a devilishly smiling Slayer kneeling at his feet. Then he felt a devilishly groping hand on his crotch again and he hissed, "Slayer!"

She batted her lashes at him and her thumb rubbed over the material pressed against his testicles, causing the muscles in his groin to tighten and his penis to become rock hard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his neighbor shifting to look down at him, and he quickly grabbed the butterknife and straightened, allowing the tablecloth to fall back into place.

Spike gave the man next to him a tight smile, showing the guy the retrieved knife. The man gave him a bored look and returned his attention to the speaker. Spike clamped his thighs together, trying to stop Buffy from torturing him there in the dinner hall, but since she was the Slayer, she easily pushed his legs back apart and he felt her position herself between them. Then he was surprised to feel both of her hands on his hips, and he glanced down just as she tugged him forward on the plastic-covered, cushioned seat.

He should get up and leave. He should get up and leave right now. He should get up, leave, grab her when she came out and shag her outside beside the building. He should not move a single inch now that her hot tongue was licking his cock like a popsicle under the table.

He knew this was payback. He also knew that if he interrupted the lecture or didn't pay attention to it, Giles would cut off his television and lock him back up in the bathtub. He quickly debated the pros and cons of Giles's wrath, then lost all ability to think when Buffy sucked his shaft into her mouth. All he could do was sit there, clutching the knife in his hands, and stare at the doctor of anthro-who-gave-a-fuck-what-it-was as the man droned on, while the Slayer did wicked things to him under the table.

"...cognitive culpability in the developing socio-stratus within this anthropological foundation..."

The knife snapped between his hands, causing the others at his table to look at him, as Buffy continued sucking him expertly. He gave them a pained smile and dropped the broken utensil to the table, where the pieces made small thuds against the cloth-covered, fake wood. The seven glared at him, then looked back towards the podium.

They turned back towards the boring doctor of anthro-whosiwhatsits just in time, too. Spike felt his sac contract and his cock swell a moment later. He bit his lower lip to keep from growling out loud as he shot his semen into the Slayer's greedy, sucking mouth. His entire body shook once, violently, in aftershock of his orgasm. His two closest neighbors turned a puzzled glare on him again, and he mouthed "I'm fine."

Spike felt Buffy pat his softening shaft in a loving gesture, then tuck him back inside of his khakis. He briefly wondered how she was going to escape from under the table when he saw her crawl out next to his chair, glance up and wave at him with a naughty grin on her face, then crawl behind him towards the wall. He turned slightly on his chair at the same time she stood, smoothed out her clothes, and walked out of the room as if she didn't just give him a blow job in the middle of a dinner presentation.

He casually looked at the other patrons and his table mates and saw that none of them had beared witness to the Slayer's leaving. Shaking his head, he slid back on his chair and glanced down into his lap to be certain he was zipped and buttoned and nothing was sticking out. There was a piece of paper tucked into the waistband of his khakis.

With a slight smile, he pulled it free and opened it, holding it beneath the edge of the table to read it.

Giles expects a full report of Dr. Mantwinka's presentation. I hope you were paying attention.

"Evil woman," Spike muttered to himself, earning yet another glare from his table mates. He sighed and settled himself back to listen to the good doctor of anthro-bloody-fucking-boring-as-hellology finish his presentation.

"...restitution of abnormalities with the psychoanalytical nomenclature as presented by..."

Spike tugged at his tie and wished the guy would just shut up so he could find the Slayer, throw her onto whatever flat surface was available, and shag her brains out.

The little bitch was doing it on purpose. She had to be, Spike thought, as he shifted uncomfortably on the hard booth seat. Okay, so he hadn't known the Slayer was going to be at Scoops, the university ice cream and coffee shop, the same time he got a craving for a double mint chocolate chip dish -- not cone, too unmanly -- of ice cream. But by the way she was drinking her vanilla shake...she had to know he was there.

It was torture, pure and simple. She was getting back at him for last week when he'd slipped a naughty letter into her class notebook and she'd returned to Giles's, where he had been holed up researching with the man, all flushed and flustered and unable to do anything because of her former Watcher's presence and the fact that the sun was shining high in the sky, preventing his leaving.

Yep, that had to be it, he thought, as she smiled at something one of her classmates said. Buffy was sitting at a similar red and white hard plastic booth like he was, a tall vanilla milkshake in front of her on the checked-formica table. She was sitting beside another girl and across from a boy and a girl, and there were notecards scattered between the four.

Spike knew she was studying for an exam. He'd tried to hint about giving her a quick seeing to before patrol that night, but she'd called off on account of her test, which left him to patrol alone unless he conned one of the Twitkateers into going with him. It also left him horny and with no one to do. He really needed to find another shag-mate who wasn't so busy with tests and dates and preventing world endage.

Great, he was thinking in Buffy-speak. Spike frowned and tore his eyes away from his object of cockfection. He stabbed at his dish of ice cream with the spoon as if it were the plot trying to develop in his simple fuck and run non-relationship he had with the Slayer. They scratched each other's itches, that was all. Sex for the sake of physical satisfaction and not because they were in love, or even in like. Horny male plus horny female equals shagging, no more, no less.

His eyes moved on their own volition back to the blond partway across the room from him. She leaned forward on her arms, which were resting on the table, giving him a great view down her shirt. The bulge in his pants grew even harder when he saw she was sans bra and her nipples were little points because of the cold shake she was drinking.

And then she wrapped her coral-painted lips around her straw and sucked the milky white liquid up into her mouth. Spike dropped one of his hands to his lap to press on his throbbing cock as he watched her cheeks pull in as she sucked. Her mouth slid back on the straw, leaving a coral streak, as she slowly released it.

A touch of the thick, white substance lined her lips where they were around the straw, and he silently moaned. Her little pink tongue darted out to lick them, and it was all he could do not to beg for her to come over to his booth and suck on his cock like she did the straw. He'd happily drizzle some of his double mint chocolate chip on his erection if she wanted ice cream. Hell, he'd happily bathe in the bloody stuff if she'd wrap her lips around him right there and then.

Spike dropped his eyes to his melting dish of ice cream and wiggled on the hard seat again, trying to ease the ache. He knew she'd be really pissed if he bothered her tonight, what with her test and all. He didn't want to lose out on the sex because he couldn't control himself after seeing her suck on a soddin' straw. He was over a hundred years old, not a teenager with his first boner. He could sit in the shop and eat his ice cream and walk out without stopping to jump the Slayer's bones.

Confidence in himself bolstered, the blond vampire stuck a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth and glanced back over at Buffy. He nearly choked on the mint chips. As it was, his eyes started watering and he had to cover his mouth with a napkin to muffle his coughing. He grabbed the glass of warm water -- a must with cold ice cream -- on the table in front of him and gulped most of it down.

He was a man of the world. He'd lived a long time. He'd seen a lot of films. He'd read hundreds of volumes of erotica. None of it prepared him for actually witnessing Buffy pick up the banana that had been on the table beside her milkshake, peel it, and wrap her mouth around it.

She'd been just about to take a bite when one of her tablemates had obviously said something, because her mouth slid back over the light-colored banana, leaving it whole, a slight coral ring visible around it. It was cruel and unusual punishment for him. She had to be doing it on purpose, he thought. What sort of woman eats a banana the same time she has a vanilla milkshake?

He saw her slide the pale banana back into her mouth and whimpered. Her cheeks had bulged slightly as she ate the curved, thick piece of fruit, reminding him vividly of what she looked like with her mouth around his cock like that. Granted, she bit down next, but he was a vampire, he liked biting. She could bite him anytime. Fuck, he'd probably shoot his wad the instant she sank her blunt, perfect teeth into him.

Bloody hell, he needed to get out of there before he burst. Most definitely before she wrapped her sexy, kissable, hot mouth around anything else other than his prick. If he could walk. Or even stand for that matter.

Spike managed to slide out of the booth and stand, his back towards the Slayer. He pulled his duster forward in order to adjust himself mostly unobserved. "Come on, mate," he muttered to himself. "It's only five meters to the door. You can walk past the bloody chit without grabbing her, forcing her to her knees and shoving your cock down her throat."

Mentally geared up, he turned around and forced himself to walk forward while not looking at Buffy. He got more than halfway to the door before his eyes once again did what they wanted and traveled over to the blond. She was leaning on her hand, her elbow on the table, her eyes focused on the milkshake glass in front of her. He saw her dip her finger of her other hand into the thick concoction and swirl it around as each step towards the door brought her closer to him.

She took her finger out of her shake and he swallowed heavily at the white covered digit. Then she sucked her finger into her mouth just as he was a single booth away, and he let out an uncontrollable, strangled sound of sexual agony.

Her eyes came up and she spotted him, her finger still in her mouth. The surprise reflected in her gaze and on her face indicated that she really hadn't known he was there, and a rush of anger ran through him. Every other male in Scoops was probably as hard as he was because of her actions. She was giving them all a blatant sign that she was a cock-tease, for crissakes!

Spike growled low and dangerously, the sound rolling across the ice cream shop just under the music. So what if he couldn't back his warning up? The Slayer's cunt was his, as was her mouth and hands and every other part of her body.

Buffy's eyes widened fractionally. He ground his blunt teeth together and stared down at her with fire in his blue eyes. She was his and his alone to satisfy and make cry out in pleasure until one of them terminated their non-relationship. He was not going to allow anyone else to touch his Slayer in a sexual way.

Reaching her table, he pushed the milkshake halfway across it. He put one hand on the back of the booth, the other flat on the table in front of Buffy and leaned into her, invading her personal space. "No more shakes or bananas," he ground out. "Or I'm going tie you up and allow every soddin' male who's got a hard on because of you have a turn, understand?"

It was a lie, he'd kill any of the gits who tried to get into her knickers, searing pain or not. But it was a threat that she would understand and quickly realize what she'd done to him and every other hetero bloke in the place.

"Y-yes," Buffy stuttered in reply.

Spike nodded once. Then, pushing back from the table, he stalked out of Scoops, his duster flying out behind him from the gust of wind as he opened the door.