Distribution: Soulmates, Near Her Always and Bite Me, Please? Other than that, if you want it, just let me know. I always say yes.
Disclaimer: Alas, the characters don't belong to me.
Dedication: To Inell, for her birthday.
Spoilers: Through Season 4, set after Oz in that brief stretch when Willow and Tara were still just friends.
Rating: R
Summary: Spike brings Willow to his poker game.
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"Don't look at me, they're your friends!"
"Don't give me that;" Spike ranted. "I saw the way you giggled when Fred called you biteable. You *never* giggle."
"Why can't I giggle if I want to?" Willow protested, getting more annoyed each second with his attitude. "It's a free country! I have the right to giggle."
"Fred's barely more than a fledge, you know. He hasn't even seen the century mark yet. Clem may be a nice guy and all, but if you skinned him to make a coat, you could clothe an entire town! And Ralph's a chaos demon! All slime and antlers; how could you *flirt* with him like that?"
"For the last time, Spike, I wasn't flirting, I was just being *friendly*!"
"If you were any *friendlier* you'd have been giving him a lap dance!"
Willow fought the urge to scream. Spike had been like this ever since they had left the poker game, and he showed no signs of letting up. She didn't know what his problem was. The only reason she'd gone to the game in the first place was to spend time with him. She wouldn't have bothered if she had known it was going to upset him so much. She just been so. well. flattered that he'd asked her to come along in the first place.
Her crush on Spike seemed to grow stronger every day, ever since he had shown up at Giles' doorstep with a chip in his head. She'd always thought he was attractive, but the long conversations they had while he was bored out of his mind, chained up in Giles' bathtub, had made her truly appreciate how special the vamp really was. But she was constantly worried that Spike would never want her the way that she wanted him. Sure, he'd talk with her during research sessions, and he always paired up with her on patrol, but it wasn't that surprising that he'd choose her as the lesser of evils when his other options were Buffy, Anya or Xander. The idea that he would actually choose to spend time with her away from the gang was too much of a pleasant novelty for her to pass it up. So when she mentioned in a side conversation that her grandmother taught her how to play poker when she was seven, and Spike had responded by inviting her to join in his weekly demon poker game, she'd been thrilled to accept.
The evening had started off so well. He'd shown up right on time, leaning in her doorway with that trademark smirk that made her weak in the knees. He'd even commented on her dress, asking if it was new. (Of course it was new! The whole outfit: clingier-than-usual velvet dress, dangly earrings, low heels and a sparkly hairclip that held her hair temptingly off her neck were all new; bought that afternoon in an emergency shopping trip when she couldn't find anything in her closet that she liked for her first semi-date with Spike. But she didn't mention that when he asked about it, merely smiling and blushing profusely.)
He'd kept up a steady stream of conversation as they walked along, talking with her about everything from the surprise birthday party they had thrown for Giles the week before to the Harry Potter book he'd just finished, at her recommendation. (He'd told her that Hermione reminded him of her: spunk and brains, and always finding a way to save her friends. Her response was to smile like an idiot and blush some more.) Willow had been on cloud nine.
Then they had arrived at the game, and things had started to go drastically downhill.
"And what have we here?" the booming voice of the Stykien demon at the head of the table questioned as he turned all seven of his eyes to the doorway at their entrance and ran his gaze slowly up and down Willow's figure. "Spike with a guest? That's a first."
Willow looked to Spike, waiting for him to answer, but he was busy growling at the demon for some reason, so she stepped up to explain herself.
"I-I'm a friend of Spike's, and he said it would be alright if I came and joined in on the game, if. if that's okay with all of you." She looked around nervously at the half a dozen demons scattered around the table.
"Well, friend of Spike's," the Stykien demon drawled condescendingly, "you do know how to play poker, don't you?"
"It's Willow," she answered, growing a little more confident when no one jumped up to attack her. "And yes, I know how to play." The demon raised all seven eyebrows in obvious skepticism, and Willow felt the need to defend herself. "I do! Really! Well, I've only ever actually played with my grandmother, because she was the one who taught me how to play."
"Oooh," a vampire from across the table purred, "like a virgin. Only ever played poker with your grandmother? How sweet."
As Willow's indignation started to rise, she felt all of her nervousness slip away. "Yes," she stated in a saccharine sweet, poison-edged voice, "I'm a sweet little innocent who has stumbled into the snake pit. So let's get this game started so you can win away all my money, like you're convinced you will, shall we?"
Most of the demons laughed and even the vampire cracked a wicked grin.
"Alright, little witch, but you do know that we don't play for money, don't you? Are you prepared to play for something a bit more. unsavory?"
Willow grinned back as she pulled Miss Kitty Fantastico from her pocket. "I came prepared," she answered.
A demon with lots of loose skin hanging from his face (and all other visible portions of his body) piped up in a nervous voice. "That. ah. looks like a pretty nice pet you have there, Willow. Are you sure you want to be betting him?"
"It's a her," she answered. "And why wouldn't I be sure? I plan on winning anyway, so what's the risk?"
At that, even the vampire had laughed, and Willow grinned triumphantly as she seated herself at the table. Spike, on the other hand, was still scowling. She flashed a worried glance in his direction, but he didn't notice. He was too busy sending death glares at the players who had talked to her. Figuring it was some demon thing that she wouldn't understand anyway, Willow shrugged off his attitude, and focused on immersing herself in the game.
Willow won the first hand. And the second. She may have been taught by her grandmother, but Grandma Rosenberg had been a flapper in the 1920s, and had been very into the well-acclaimed 'night life' of that period. She had played cards with some pretty sharp players, and she had taught her granddaughter well. Willow lost the third hand, but it was mostly by choice. Not for nothing had she spent so many years learning about demon behavior and psychology.
She knew that no matter how cute they thought she was, no group of demons would let a human walk out of there alive after winning every hand. She'd earned their respect by winning the first hand. When she won the second hand and they realized it wasn't just a fluke, she became accepted. By losing the third hand, she guaranteed that they'd still like her when the night was over. Besides, she had won enough kittens in the first two hands to guarantee that Miss Kitty could go back safely into her pocket for the night.
Once the first three hands were finished, Willow could relax enough to really take in her fellow card sharks. Shark was a pretty accurate term for one man who looked like a cross between a shark (the actual lives-in-the-ocean-and-has-rows-and-rows-of-frighteningly-sharp-teeth kind of shark) and Dean Martin. It was an interesting look. He had a wicked sense of humor, though, that Willow couldn't help but appreciate, even when he ate one of the kittens in his pile, licking his lips and saying, "Hmm. tastes like chicken." Willow giggled in spite of herself, and shoved Miss Kitty even more firmly into her pocket. Better safe than sorry.
Clem, he-of-the-huge-hanging-folds-of-skin turned out to be a really sweet guy. He appeared to be in charge of the non-living snacks, and kept plying Willow with Cheetos and stale pretzels and lukewarm beer at every opportunity. It was kinda like playing cards with Xander. The Stykien demon had a name that was ten syllables long and sounded like something between a shriek and a death rattle, but he told Willow to call him Clive, while he winked at her with four of his eyes. Ralph, the chaos demon, kept accidentally dripping slime onto things, but he apologized so sweetly, it was difficult to hold it against him. Fred was a seventy five year old vamp with a wicked grin who took great pleasure in teasing Willow and watching her blush.
It all seemed to be going so well. Willow, thrilled to be so easily accepted by Spike's friends, smiled and giggled and chattered away without restraint. The only fly in the ointment was Spike. Willow had been so looking forward to seeing how Spike behaved when he was around his friends. Since she only ever saw him when he was hanging around with the Scoobies, she had been burning with curiosity to see how he behaved when he wasn't reacting to Giles and Xander and Buffy. After all, when he was happy and relaxed, he probably loosened up and talked more, laughed more, smiled that delectable smile that made her feel light-headed more. But if Spike was happy and relaxed at that poker game, then it looked like happiness from Spike was a whole lot like miserable-and-wanting-to-tear-someone's-head-off for Spike.
He flickered on the edge of vamp face nearly the entire night, and amber streaks never completed faded from his blue eyes. After the first five minutes, he stopped talking entirely, except when the game required it, and limited himself to growling at every demon there. He completely ignored Willow. She snuck glances over at him every minute or so, and felt her spirits fall as she saw how unhappy he looked. It had to be because of her; even though he had invited her, for some reason her presence was upsetting him. Willow felt her heart break a little at the thought that Spike didn't want her there, that he regretted inviting her.
When Clem offered her another beer and Spike sneered and asked in a snide voice if she didn't think she'd had enough, Willow couldn't take it anymore. It was obvious that Spike didn't want her there and equally obvious that he would never care for her. The evening had been a waste of her time. Pushing her chair back hurriedly, Willow had said that she'd had enough for the evening. She gathered up the twenty eight kittens she had won in the cage that Clem was nice enough to lend her, and got ready to leave as quickly as she could. The Shark guy pulled her aside for a moment as she loaded up her kittens.
"Chin up, doll-face," he whispered, patting a surprisingly gentle fin/claw/hand on top of her head. "A pretty girl like you should know better than to cry over an idiot like him."
"Is it that obvious?" she replied, sniffling slightly.
"As obvious as it is that he's head over heels for you."
She laughed slightly, a hard, dry sounding laugh very different from the tinkling giggle he'd heard from her earlier that evening. "Great, then," she answered, pushing the last kitten into the cage and locking it securely. "Not obvious at all." And without another word, she headed out the door.
She only got a few steps away from the crypt when Spike caught up with her.
"You don't have to come with me; I'm fine for getting home," she said, focusing on the ground so he wouldn't see that she was close to tears.
"Right, and have the slayer nail me to a cross for letting you walk home alone?" he asked, pulling the heavy cage out of her hands so he could carry it. Willow opened her mouth to thank him; after all, the cage was awkward to carry, especially since she had to be so careful not to let it snag on her new dress; but Spike spoke again before she had a chance. "Besides, if I hadn't left to walk you home, every demon in there would have rushed out to take care of you." His voice was so bitter that Willow was shocked into looking up at him. His jaw was clenched in a way that showed he was obviously furious. Sadness melted away as anger started to take its place.
"Look, if you don't want to leave the game, then don't! I won't tell Buffy that you didn't walk me home. If you're going to be in a bad mood, don't blame it on me. I never told you that you had to leave."
"What would have been the point in staying?" he sneered. "All they're going to do for the rest of the night is talk about you and the way that you acted."
"What are you talking about?" Willow asked, exasperated.
"Honestly, Red, how would your little slaying friends like it if they knew that you spent the night practically throwing yourself at half a dozen different demons, hm?"
Willow's temper was on edge already. She had been so excited about that evening, and the chance to spend time with Spike. But the way he had ignored her all evening had shattered any happiness she might have been feeling. She was upset and disappointed and her feet were killing her in her new shoes and the last, the very *last* thing that she needed at that moment was for Spike to lecture her on flirting with demons when she was only trying to be nice to his friends!
The bickering escalated until they were flat-out yelling at each other in the middle of the street. When Spike made the comment about the lap dance, Willow had finally had enough. With a raging fire burning in her eyes, she charged up until she was standing right in front of Spike, then yanked his head down until it was level with hers. She didn't kiss him so much as she attacked his mouth with hers, forcing her tongue between his lips, bringing his tongue into her mouth where she sucked on it harshly, tasting and rampaging every inch of his mouth and compelling him to do the same to her. To her surprise, he complied, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly as he returned her kiss with equal force. When she was completely breathless and clinging to him to hold her up, she finally pulled away.
"If I had wanted Ralph, I'd have done that," she stated, her voice surprisingly clear for someone who had just been kissed practically to unconsciousness. "But since the only demon at that poker game that I wanted was *you*, I was just being nice to the rest of them because I wanted your friends to like me. And they did like me," she continued, pulling herself out of his arms, "but from the way you've acted all night, it's obvious that you don't; so I'm going to go home now." She forced herself to walk away on unsteady legs, hoping against hope that he wouldn't follow her.
This time she didn't even manage to get a few steps away before Spike caught her. To his credit, he didn't say anything this time, choosing instead to simply pull her into another blinding kiss. And then another. And then another. And then Willow found herself in an alley with a wall against her back and a Spike against her front and her legs wrapped around his waist (while a cage full of twenty eight kittens lay at an odd angle on the ground with the kittens hissing in protest at the way they were so unceremoniously dropped to the ground) with no idea how she got there. On the other hand, as long as Spike continued kissing her like that, she didn't much care.
"I like you, Red," Spike purred into her ear as he ran his tongue up and down her exposed neck. "Never think I don't like you. I like the way you smile, and the way you think, and the way you talk, the way you laugh. I like the way you bite your lip when you're nervous." He proceeded to demonstrate by nibbling on her lip himself, which she reciprocated, cutting off all speech for another minute or so. When he had kissed her back into submission, he continued his speech. "I like the way you smell, and the way you blush, and the look you get in your eyes when you're looking at me."
Willow tried valiantly to keep her eyes open, but it was a losing battle as his hands drifted further under her skirt, making her moan with pleasure as her eyes, against her will, slammed shut. "I like this dress, and the way you look with your hair clipped up. And I'm just mad about the way that you taste, and the way that you moan, and the way that you feel in my arms, under my hands, responding to my touch." He ground himself against her, letting her feel just how crazy she made him. "In fact," he whispered, as he scattered butterfly kisses all over her face, "the only thing I don't like about you is the way that other men look at you." Willow moaned as her panties were ripped away and a cool finger traced over her dripping wet entrance.
"I don't like watching other men stare at you with admiration and desire and know that you could take your pick of any one of them. I don't like watching you giggle and smile at a whole string of blokes falling all over themselves to catch your eye when all I want is to have you for myself. I don't like knowing that you won't be mine, will never be mine, since you could have anyone you wanted." Spike buried his face in her neck, savoring her sweet smell and the feel of her wrapped around him for what he feared would be both the first and the last time. He was startled to feel her hands on the waistband of his jeans, unfastening the fly of his jeans and pumping his hard and *very* ready length in her hands as she guided him to her entrance.
"This is all I want," she whispered as she shifted her hips, slamming him inside her. "I want you, Spike," she murmured in his ear as he started a fast rhythm inside her. "You're all I want." She tightened around him as she attached her mouth to his again wanting to wrap herself around him completely, so he'd know how very thoroughly she belonged to him. It wasn't long before they both came, breathless, spent, and completely intertwined.
Willow was the first to recover, smoothing out her hair which had fallen from the clip, and straightening out her dress. She stepped out of the alley and into the street, turning to look over her shoulder at Spike.
"Well, come on!" she said, cheerfully though impatiently, waiting for him to join her. Spike eventually complied, zipping back up his pants and gathering up the cage of still-protesting kittens.
"Where are we going, pet?" he asked as he joined her, slinging his free arm around her waist and smiling in pure, proprietary satisfaction when she snuggled closer to him.
"To my house, of course," she answered. "My parents won't be home for weeks, and we have a poker game to finish."
"Poker?" Spike asked, stopping in his tracks. "You're going to take me home to an empty house. to play poker?"
"Sure!" she answered, grabbing his hand and pulling him along.
"So Spike," she said after a minute, when they had almost reached her house, "ever played strip poker?"
THE END