Flip, Click

By kats_meow & saturngirl1974

Flip, click. Flip, click.

“That’s why I called you all in this meeting. We’re gonna go through the whole history of Wolfram & Hart, try to beat them at their own game,” Angel said. “So Wes, you wanna get us started?”

Flip, click. Flip, click.

“Certainly. Historical records show that this very site holds a fantastic amount of mystical power, the source of which we can only begin to speculate…” Wesley began. But Fred had already tuned them out. All she could hear was…flip, click. Flip, click. Flip, click.

Spike and his Zippo lighter. Spike across the shiny conference table, hitched back in his seat, lazy, indifferent, defiant. Listening but not, all of his body language broadcasting that he would attend meetings but on his own terms, punctuating every pause in conversation with that incessant flip, click. Flip, click.

Such delicate movements for hands that she knew were so powerful, strong enough to snap necks but contained enough to produce this tiny impatient twitch. Flip, click. Fingers worn and easy, fingers that might feel like a cat’s tongue gliding on her smooth bare skin. Flip, click. She sucked her bottom lip at the thought of all the places the fingers could go. Flip, click. Steady as a pulse, her pulse, thrumming underneath her skin and lying in wait for the next flip, click. Flip – her lips parted in a small gasp of surprise.

Where was the click? He’d skipped a beat and with it her heart. The image of him burned through her wispy bangs. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Did he know she was watching him?

“Hey give it!” she heard Spike protest and the sound of a struggle.

“Enough with this,” Angel said with aggravation. “What are you, six?”

She looked up with relief, in time to see Spike smirking. “More like nine.”

“Think fast,” Angel muttered and tossed the lighter in Fred’s direction. Lorne could’ve caught it, maybe even Gunn. But she snatched it out of the air.

“There. Fred will keep it safe for you until after the meeting. Now does anyone know where we left off?” Angel asked. Wesley knew. He always did. All Fred knew is that she held the lighter.

She pressed it between her palms feeling her heat seep into the cold steel. It looked awkward in her hands, enormous and strange. She held it under the table and softly flicked the top open and down with her thumb, struggling to imitate Spike’s timed movements. But most of all she enjoyed the heady weight of it, the gunmetal polished smooth with use, worn around the edges with the most delicious curves, like a stubborn jawbone or one eyebrow arched in wonder, which is exactly the expression Spike was wearing when she glanced up at him. The brow slipped back down and a knowing smile played on his lips. You think you're so pretty. She swallowed hard and felt her cheeks flush hotly.

“Okay, that’s it for this week. Thanks everybody,” Angel sighed and the group of them filed out of the room. All except Spike and Fred.

Was it engraved? She looked carefully at the lighter, knowing it would be out of her possession so soon, suddenly it seemed very important to know what marks it held. But of course. No engravings. Not his style.

She felt a cool hand touch the curve of her shoulder, one that took the trouble to dip forward to avoid touching hair and find the sweaty skin underneath where the neck of her peasant blouse gaped open. Talented hands that could only belong to him.

“You’re worrying it,” he whispered. “Gotta let it come natural-like.” She stiffened in her chair when she felt his other hand on the chair's armrest. Slowly, he turned her chair around and knelt down at her feet. He took her hand that held the lighter and curled his own around it, flipping and clicking the lighter with precision and grace.

“Now you’re getting it,” he said proudly when she tried again. He wrapped his hand around hers and demonstrated once more. She flipped and clicked in response and smiled shyly.

“See there? You’re a natural. Just needed a bit of coaxing,” she heard him say next, his voice all gravel and honey, her insides in knots, his body so close, her hands desperate to clutch the lighter. Flip, click. Flip, click. Flip, click.

“Better get this away from you now,” he said. “No sense in starting on bad habits.” She chanced a look at him and found eyes easy and kind, a man relaxed and teasing and kind of blurry, as her glasses slid down her nose. He reached over with his middle finger and pushed them back up, took a quick brush at her cheek on his way down. Not a cat’s tongue at all, she thought. Softer.

“Are you guys outta here? ‘Cause we need this room pronto,” Harmony called from the doorway. The lighter fell from their hands in surprise with a heavy plop into Fred’s chiffon skirted thighs.

“Not quite finished yet,” Spike murmured over his shoulder. “Not quite done.” He stood up and bent over her then, not releasing the arm of her chair, not breaking the small connection they still held. “You want to practice on it?”

“N-no,” she stammered. “It’s yours, you should take it.”

She felt him hesitate and realized why when she noticed where the lighter rested. Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. “Go on,” she challenged him boldly. “Take it.”

Slowly, he leaned over her and fished the lighter out of her lap, the long fingers brushing against the curls beneath her panties and slipping ever too briefly between her thighs.

“You let me know when you want another lesson, love,” he smiled, holding the lighter briefly against his cheek. “Warm,” he mused and swaggered out of the room. Fred could hear the tune he played all the way down the hall: flip, click. Flip, click. Flip, click.

~Fin~