E - Mail: BellaDonna12000@aol.com
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Pairing: Willow/Spike (sort of)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Spike's turn thinking about Willow while in the shower. Sequel to "Showery Badness" .
Spoilers: None, really.
Timeframe: mid-season 4.
Warnings: Explicit Sexuality, Language. This is a Plot? What Plot?, so if you don't like those type of fics, you can leave now :-)
Distribution: Near Her Always, Rapture, WillSpikeFic, spike -n -willow-fic, and Willow_Vampires mailing lists. Anyone else just get in touch and I'll give you permission to archive the fic at your site.
Beta Reader Thanks: Thanks again to Kaz for the beta.
Disclaimer: These characters and their universe are owned by Mutant Enemy, Inc. and Fox Television. I make no claim to anything but my own writing.
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Spike cursed himself as he leaned into the spray of water coming from Giles' shower and rinsed the shampoo from his hair. How could he have been so stupid? The Slayer had warned him against trying to find the escaped Verash demon on his own. But he'd stubbornly broken off from the group, insisting that it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He'd been so concerned with killing something - anything - that he hadn't stopped to think what the Verash might do to him. Two weeks in captivity by the Initiative was bound to make any demon a little pissed off. Spike was lucky to still be undead. If Willow hadn't shown up and knocked the mucousy, hulking thing away with a well-placed spell, it would have ripped him apart limb from limb. As it was, he'd merely gotten a severe sliming.
<Big Bad? Yeah, right. Can't even take on a simple Verash anymore. And *Red* of all people coming to the rescue?>, an inner voice said with humiliation.
He could already hear the taunts from the other vampires down at Willy's bar. "Hey, Spike! Heard you got slimed real good. Heard you had to have a *human* save you. A human *girl*. Is she your 'pet,' Spike? Oh, wait, yeah, that's right. You can't bite, can you?"
<Fuck. You. Fuck the lot of you.> He felt for just a second like he might cry and took a long, but unneeded, breath to calm down. As far as he was concerned, everyone could just rot in hell. As soon as he found a way to get the chip removed, heads were going to roll. Well, maybe he'd let Giles live. He *had* let him use the shower, and they'd watched Passions together. Not much, but it counted for something, at least from his perspective. He'd have to turn Willow as soon as he could manage, though. He definitely would not the witch as an enemy.
Willow.
Spike felt something in his stomach twist as he thought of her now, a throb of desire coursing throughout him. The way she looked at him sometimes - a look that he could never quite figure out; that face; that nice little body. Immediately, he felt disgusted. What the hell was he doing having thoughts about a *human*? That was unwritten rule #1 for vampires - never get too involved with humans. And she was the *Slayer's* friend. So what if she was attractive? So what if she was all soft and warm and smelled bloody *fantastic*? So what if she was the only one who really seemed to give a damn what happened to him? He bit his lip, wishing he could put his arms around her just once. Christ, what was wrong with him?
<Haven't gotten any since Harm left, and something about Red turns you on. That's what's wrong.>
And it *was* wrong. And it was all *her* fault. Did she have to be so...inviting? It's not as if anything was going to happen. Willow just wasn't the type. The girl was definitely a white hat. He couldn't imagine her ever wanting to touch him. He snorted, grabbing the washcloth and bar of soap Giles had given him, and lathered up.
<Wrong, but you could do her good, couldn't you? And just imagine those small hands on you; Willow *wanting* you.>
The earlier throb was now a dull, maddening ache, and he gave up and let himself imagine it as the water rinsed the soap from his tense body. He imagined Willow and himself backed up against a wall in a ferocious kiss, her hands snaked under his shirt; imagined her with her head thrown back making little sounds of pleasure as he nuzzled her; imagined the feel of her naked body against his; imagined her underneath him, on top of him; imagined her moaning his name as she came; imagined her kissing his bare chest while lightly stroking his -
<Oh, God. Red...Willow...>
Spike jolted back to reality, rock hard and touching himself. His hand was curled around his cock, a very small bit of pre-come leaking from the head. He stroked downward twice, desperate for any sort of release, then stopped, and growled softly. No. Not here. Not in the Watcher's shower. Maybe later. Or maybe not at all.
He stepped forward into the water again for a couple of minutes, getting control of himself and relaxing. Not at all, he decided as he shut the water off and wrapped a towel around himself. He wouldn't ever allow himself to get this way over the witch again. Willow was off-limits. Willow = bad, and that would have to be that.
END