Her thoughts returned to the tattoo she saw on his ankle. She may be blond, but she wasn't naturally so. The statement was quite obvious - Spike had a thing for her. Pushing away how that made her feel, she ventured downstairs to retrieve a broom, dustpan, sponge, rubber gloves and the scrubbing bubbles. She had a bathroom to clean before her mom got home.

Spike stopped purring the moment Buffy left the bedroom. His lower lip stuck out in a pout as he raised himself to a sitting position. "Always leavin' me, that Schlayer," he mumbled. He slid off the bed to his feet and promptly fell to his knees from the pain. "Ok, we ken crawl."

Naked ass in the air, he crawled around to the other side of the bed. Empty bottles of liquor were all over the area, as was his clothing. "Jose, donde esta?" he said, digging through a large, open bag with only three bottles left in it. He pulled out the Jose Cuervo Tequila and saw the worm inside. "Hola, Senor Worm."

Opening the bottle, he flicked the cap to the floor and watched as it rolled under the bed. He leaned forward and lifted the dust ruffle. "Hey, Senor Worm. Don't tell no one, but the Schlayer has Easter bunnies under her bed," he whispered. Straightening, he tipped the liquor up, drinking steadily until half the bottle was gone. "Musch better."

Going to stand again, Spike put one foot on the floor and started to push up, but immediately fell back on his butt. He glared at the offending appendage, taking another long swig from the bottle. "You listen here, little piggies. I'm the one in charge, not you. So you do your job," he told them firmly. Reaching out, he grabbed his toes.

"Thishlittle piggie goes to the market, and thishlittle piggie stayshome. Thishlittle piggie had roast beast and thishlittle piggie had none, because he didn't bloody deserve it. He was a werfless piggie. And you," he grabbed his pinkie toe. "Wassup with the wee-wee-ing? Hold it like a man, you werfless pig."

Shoving his foot aside in disgust, he drank again until only a small amount was left. Eyeing the worm in the bottom of the bottle, he muttered, "I ken hear you, ya know. In the ground, crawling and wigglin' ‘round like the little wormie you be. Scooter sang a schong about that, ya know. An' iffin you take of Scooter's glasses, he's got no eyes!"

Spike clamped the bottle between his bare thighs and looked down through the top. "I'm gonna get you, schuker," he told the worm, then stuck his middle finger into the top. He frowned when he couldn't reach it and tried to pull his finger back out. No luck. "Hey, gimme my finger back, you friggin' bottle!" But the bottle didn't listen.

Growling, he moved his hand and the bottle followed, flopping onto the floor beside him. Something on the television caught his eye and he quickly turned his head. "Babe! I didn't know you waschere," he said to Mr. Gordo. "Didja have fun in the schity? Meet any women? I gotta woman, but sche don't love me. Sche hates me. An' I lovver. Lovver, lovver, lovver. Find a brand new lovver. A-o, a-o."

He crawled over to the tv, bottle thumping on the floor with each forward movement. Stopping directly in front of it, he grabbed the stuffed pig with his non-stuck hand. The light behind him was casting a shadow of his profile in the set. He saw this, cocking his head to one side and watching as his shadow did the same. "Looky that," he whispered to the pig. "There'schomeone in the telly."

Spike leaned closer and saw the shadow grow larger. Then he went up on his knees and looked around the side of the television before returning to the front. "How'dy get in there?" he asked, holding up the hand with the bottle attached to it. "Hey, Senor Worm, do you know? Have you met the pig? Babe, Senor Worm, Wormie, Babe the Piggie. He ken talk to the scheeps an' the ducks an' the doggies an' the cowscho go moo!"

Giggling like the drunk he was, he tossed the pig over his shoulder and let his hand fall to the ground, the bottle clunking on the floor. Turning his head to the left, he saw into the open closet and his eyes widened. "Schalyer stuff," he said, climbing to his feet. He stood on his tiptoes and started pushing the clothes on the hangers. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, yesh!"

He pulled the dress out of the closet and held it out in front of him. The long sleeve dress was purple, long and summery, almost like a hippie dress. "Little Schlayer, wanna dansh wit' me? Yesh? Then letsh cha-cha," he said to the dress. Pulling the dress close, he picked up one sleeve and held it in the classic dance position, the bottle hanging from his finger. The other hand rested flat on his stomach on the back of the dress.

"Bet'cha didn't know I ken dansh, did'ja?" Spike asked the dress, moving on his toes. He executed a quick turn, stumbling as he became dizzy, but catching himself before he fell. He held out the dress arm and did the infamous tango walk out the bedroom door and down the hall into Joyce's bedroom.

Buffy thought she heard something. She looked over her shoulder from her position in front of the bathtub on her knees, sponge in hand. "Maybe Spike fell off the bed," she said to herself, before returning to her task. Just after she turned her head, the blond vampire waltzed silently by the open bathroom door with the dress.

Spike stumbled when he got back into Buffy's bedroom, falling onto the bed face first. The soft material of the dress rubbed up against him and he groaned. "Cor, Schlayer, you're a horny little girl," he mumbled, shifting his hips so his hardening cock thrust against the material and the bed. In his mind, Buffy writhed under him and he grinned. "Wanna get me in dat hot schnatch don'tja? You're tight little pusshy where I ken pound in ya over and over ‘til you scream. I love it when you scream, Schlayer."

As he spoke, his movements on the bed became harder and faster, his brain playing the image that he was slamming into Buffy, her vaginal walls clamping around him. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, feet hooked around his back as she moaned beneath him. He could see her breasts bouncing with each thrust, her head thrown back exposing her neck to him. He could hear her breathing heavily, mewling with each hit of his pelvis against hers. "Buffy, Buffy, cum wit' me, pleash cum wit' me," he whispered in a hoarse voice.

His eyes rolled back as he felt his sac tighten, his thrusts against the bed and dress increasing to a frantic pace. He snarled loudly as he came, his face changing and he bit into the comforter on the bed, visualizing that he was sinking his fangs into Buffy's neck. His cold semen shot against his bare abdomen and chest, soaking into the purple dress beneath him.

Spike released the comforter, giving Buffy in his mind a confused look. "How come you don't got no blood?"

"Spike, what the hell are you talking about?"

Shaking his head, he turned it and looked over at Buffy in the doorway to the bedroom. "Cor, pet, your a fascht one. How'dja get to be so bloody fascht? I's gonna aschk the Scot. Scotty, beam me up," he said loudly, pulling himself across the bed, the dress bunching under him until he was hanging half off.

Buffy blushed at seeing his bare ass, telling herself that she did not think it was sexy and firm and begging for her to grab. Suddenly, he turned over, giving her yet another eye full as he sat up. Then, she saw her dress bunched on the bed and she frowned. "What are you doing with my dress?"

"Schlayer, Schlayer, Schlayer," Spike slurred, shaking his head. The bottle on his finger clanked against the bottle in his other hand as he twisted off the top. "Come an' have a nip wit' me. Make you feel all warm an' tingly. You'sall warm an' tingly an' tight an' schweet an' fuckable an' mine." He tilted his head back and took a long drink of the Beefeater's Gin, then lost his balance and promptly fell backwards, the liquor spilling over him and onto the floor as he began to giggle wildly. "Oopsh."

"Spike!" Buffy yelled, running around the side of the bed to grab the bottle from him. She ended up almost tripping over the multitude of bottles littering the floor as she snatched the now empty one from his hand. "What did you do, rob a liquor store?"

"Yup," he agreed, staring upside down at her, his blue eyes wide and completely bloodshot. "Jus' like in the pictures, bam bam bam, gimme that, you dirty copper." He raised the arm with the bottle attached to his finger and pointed at her. "An' that's jus' how it happened. You look cute all upschide down, Schlayer. Think we ken schag upschide down?"

Buffy closed her eyes and began rubbing her temples. She could not believe that she had a drunk, naked vampire with a bottle stuck to his finger on her bed asking if she wanted to have sex with him upside down. "I so need a vacation," she muttered before opening her eyes. Spike was staring up at her with a thoughtful look on his slowly drying face. "What?"

"I love you," Spike replied, the words precise and clear.

She didn't want it to, but she felt her heart melting at his admission. Her face softened and her lips curled up into a small smile. "Come on, Spike. Let's get you cleaned up and into bed."

"You gonna join me?" Spike asked, a dopey grin on his face. "An' mebbe Cap'n Nemo ken come, too, on cuz he schmells like you."

"Maybe," she told him, walking around to the other side of the bed by his feet. She leaned between his legs, trying hard not to look and grasped his wrist, pulling him up. "When did you get so heavy?"

"Schlayer, is the room schupposeta schwim?" he said, narrowing his eyes.

"That's the alcohol, Spike," Buffy replied. "Now scoot down here so we can get you on your feet." With grand production, the inebriated vampire was on his toes, one arm around her shoulder. "You know, I just got the bathtub clean."

"Didja use the scrubbing bubbles?" Spike asked as they walked to the bathroom. "I like them, they's funny."

"Yes, I used the scrubbing bubbles," she told him as they entered the small room. "Hmm, I don't think you're going to be able to take a shower standing up." She led him to the side of the tub. "In and sit."

Spike did as instructed, almost cracking his skull against the wall as he sat in the tub, the bottle clanging against the porcelain. Buffy tossed a washrag on his lap, leaned forward and turned on the water, then detached the shower head and pulled up on the knob. The spray came out of the head and she ran it over her wrist, testing the temperature before aiming it right at him. "I feel like I'm washing a dog," she commented as she soaked him with it.

"Woof," he replied, holding up the bottle on his finger to look at the worm. "Senor Worm doesn't go woof, he goes ole."

"That's nice, Spike," she said, dumping a large amount of the vanilla scented body wash on his lean, muscular torso. She set the bottle down, then used her hands to soap him up, telling herself she didn't like the feel of his chest and tight abs under her fingers. She ran her hands around his neck and down each arm, a tingling feeling centering between her thighs with her actions. She managed to get the bottle off of his finger, setting it on the floor beside her.

"Close your eyes," she instructed, then washed his face. She picked up the spray and rinsed her hands off before turning it on him. She giggled when he sputtered as she aimed it at his face, then moved it down his body, rinsing the soap away. She ran the spray quickly over the rest of him, then shut it off. Reaching out, she grabbed the fresh towel from the bar and handed it to him. "Dry."

Spike took the towel, wiping his face off, his lids growing heavy. He blinked rapidly, then opened them wide, staring at her. She took the towel from him and began to dry him off. In reaction, he started to purr, his eyes falling shut.

"Spike," he heard a voice calling to him from what seemed like far away. He pried open his eyes to see Buffy smiling down at him. "Come on, drunk boy. Time for bed."

She half dragged, half carried the blond vampire back to her bedroom. She threw off the comforter along with the dress onto the floor, then pulled back the blanket and sheet all the while propping him up with her body. Then, she prompted him to get in and he slid beneath the sheets, a content smile on his face. "Schlayer?"

"Yeah?"

"You gonna come to bed wit' me?" Spike asked, looking at her through half-slitted eyes. "I wanna hold you."

Buffy glanced at the closed blinds on the windows, then back at him. *What the hell,* she thought, toeing off her shoes. She went over to her dresser and quickly threw on a dry t-shirt with her back to him, then returned to the side of the bed. "Ok, Spike. But only for a little while," she told him as she lay over the covers next to him.

Spike's arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her as close to him as the blankets would allow. He nuzzled the back of her neck, his eyes shutting for the last time. "You're my Schlayer, my Buffy. No one elsches," he mumbled, then dropped off into sleep.

Buffy reached out and switched off the lamp. "I'm beginning to see that," she said quietly, enjoying the feel of his arm around her, his body pressed against her back. Closing her eyes and relaxing, she soon unknowingly followed him into sleep.
 

Continued...