* * * * * Chapter 2: It’s Not Nice to Tease * * * * *





Buffy is determined to not let him see the effect he is having on her with his intense look and sharp cheekbones. “What can I say, Spike? I always get a little worked up right before I put a beatdown on a lame ass vampire.”

Spike’s eyebrows quirk up as he looks from Buffy’s hands to his lap. “Is that what the kids today are calling it? A beatdown? I’ve always called it a hand jo-”

Buffy’s hand slaps over Spike’s mouth, cutting him off in mid-word. She shakes her head. “Spike, you don’t know when to stop, do you? Tied up, chip in your head and you are STILL trying to piss off the Slayer. I can’t figure out how you managed to survive this many years. Dumb luck, I guess. Emphasis on dumb.”

Spike’s eyes darken as he meets her sharp look and Buffy swears that flickers of gold flash there. And then, a wet warmth against her hand.

“EWW! You licked me!” Buffy jumps back, pulling her now wet hand with her.

“Was gonna bite you, but didn’t want to end up dusty, luv.” Spike smirks at her before licking his lips slowly with his tongue. Slayer may be the most aggravating girl he’s ever met in his long existence, but it doesn’t make her any less delicious in a very primal sense. He can admit to himself that she is bloody gorgeous. He hasn’t forgotten the feel of that tight rear wriggling on his lap, her rather enthusiastic kisses and the heavy petting that followed. Still has to hate her, of course, but he doesn’t have to like her to want her.

“So gross. And pathetic. Spike, the vampire who killed two Slayers, has now licked a third. Whoop-di-do.” Buffy whirls her finger in the air with mock excitement.

“Don’t knock it, luv. This tongue is legendary.”

“Yeah, for never knowing when to stay in its mouth and shut up!”

Spike smirks in a most lascivious manner. “Keep telling yourself that, Slayer. We all know the fallback for the slow mind is the clever ‘shut up’. Got you rattled.”

Buffy is verging on furious at the smug vampire. Closing the distance between them, she swings a leg over and straddles him on the chair, face inches from his. “You think you are God’s gift, don’t you? I’m sure I will melt into a big girly puddle from being this close to you. So you kept a wackjob vamp happy for a hundred years with your manly charms. Big deal. Oh, but wait. That’s not entirely true, either. I believe Angelus had his fair share, too…oh, and every other demon that she took a shine to.” Pressing forward, Buffy’s breasts nearly graze Spike’s t-shirt as she takes his chin in her hand. “So, keep your overrated tongue to yourself and – “

Spike squirms in his ropes, desperate to knock the Slayer off his lap. Bloody bint crawling on him like a piece of playground equipment. Unfortunately, the rubbing only serves to arouse him and he feels his erection grow. Just then, the Slayer shifts on his lap and is made fully aware of his current state. Her stream of insults is interrupted by the hard length pressing against her through her thin workout pants. She hesitates, eyes wide.

“ – and, and shut up!” She pushes off Spike’s chest, breathing harder than she would like. Spike is also panting slightly as he watches the Slayer try to compose herself.

Buffy’s mind races at her reaction to Spike’s obvious erection. For her, all that is for her? But he hates her, right? It’s just ‘cause she was mean to him. He gets off on it. But boy howdy, that vamp is packing…

Deciding that talking to Spike any further is just asking for trouble, Buffy turns away without another word. Neither says a word for the space of minutes. She goes to the last box she moved and reads the side to herself. ‘Buffy’s things - childhood’. Buffy smiles and mutters to herself. “My lunchbox! Oh man, I loved that lunchbox! It’s in here, I remember!” She opens the box and starts rummaging through it casually. And then more frantically. In a few more seconds, items start flying out of the box in all directions.

“Dammit. Where’s my lunchbox??” Forgetting that Spike was there for the moment, Buffy jumps when he answers.

“Um, Slayer. Do you mind?”

Aggravated at his continued presence, Buffy spins to snap at him, but is struck dumb before she can speak. Half her girl scout uniform is draped over Spike’s head and her favorite teddy bear has landed in his lap. Her previous anger with him is disrupted by her insane need to giggle at the sight before her. She covers her mouth as the laughter erupts and Spike scowls more. He shakes his head violently, dislodging the uniform, and it flutters to the ground. Buffy takes a few steps back towards him, still giggling quietly and reaches for the teddy bear. Her finger grazes Spike’s still straining erection and they both jump. Buffy blushes three shades of crimson as she backs quickly towards the box. The muscles in Spike’s neck tighten as she moves away from him, leaving him most uncomfortable and painfully constricted. “Uh, sorry.” Turning away from his piercing gaze, Buffy returns to the box, kneeling beside it. This time she takes the things out and puts them to the side instead of flinging them willy nilly. A minute later, she sighs and drops back to sit on her heels. She looks around the pile of toys and mementos, her face drawn down into a frown.

Completely pissed at himself for reacting to her and pissed at her for teasing him, Spike sits and stews in his chair. But then, she looks behind her a little and he can see the expression on her face.

Before he can stop himself, he blurts it out. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just…it’s not here. It was here, but it’s gone.” She sniffs pitifully.

Wishing he was free so he could kick himself, Spike asks, “What’s gone, Slayer?”

“My lunchbox. My molded plastic with thermos included Barbie lunchbox!”

“Getting all teary-eyed over a plastic box?” Spike’s snark reminds her who she is talking to and Buffy’s back tenses quickly.

“No. And didn’t I tell you to shut up?” Her voice goes hard as nails again. She wipes her eyes before starting to collect all the toys around her and shoving them back in the box. Suddenly, she stops and stands up, striding over to Spike. “You know what, that’s it. I’m so sick and tired of you. I’m done. I’ll do this later because I’d rather do it alone than have you within – “

And then, the strangest thing happens. Inexplicable to both of them, Spike interrupts. “Sorry, Slayer.” The two words hit the basement like an atomic bomb. Buffy’s mouth is still open to continue her tirade and Spike finds himself stunned at his own behavior.

Spike realizes it is no fun when the Slayer gets past the point of aggravation and just storms away. He actually likes having her around to joust with, even if it is just verbal nowadays. If apologizing will get her to go back to picking up boxes while wearing those tight pants, he will apologize ten times in a row. This floor show is too good to pass up. What amazes him is that he thinks he may actually be a little sorry.

“Um. Uh. Well. Good.” Buffy’s face is scrunched up with confusion as she looks at the vampire, wondering when he is going to take it back or make fun of her for accepting his apology. But he just looks back at her. And he’s quiet. For once.

Without another word, Buffy adjusts her top and returns to her work. With this uneasy truce in the air, she decides to continue cleaning out the basement. Her Mom is expecting these boxes sorted and transferred to plastic totes by the end of the weekend when she returns from a gallery trip. The unexpected snafu of Spike-sitting has to be worked around.

A few minutes later, Buffy realizes that he is too damn quiet. Not one sigh or lewd comment. Nothing. She glances over her shoulder quickly to find him watching her. Very closely. In fact, so closely it makes her skin go hot and her heart rate double. She looks away quickly, but the memory of those blue eyes burning into her is not easily forgotten. Suddenly, Spike just sitting there watching her is a little uncomfortable.

“Would you promise not to take off?”

His sensual voice rumbles to her and she realizes too late what a loaded question she offered. “Take off what, luv?” Mentally kicking herself, she decides to ignore his implication.

“I mean, you won’t leave the house.” She pauses. “If I untie you.” Buffy keeps her eyes on her work, afraid to let him see her face. He has a way of reading her inner thoughts that is most unsettling. If he figures out that the feel of his eyes on her body is making her hot, she will never live it down. This way, she can untie him and send him upstairs to watch television so she can work in peace. For some reason, she doesn’t think he’ll bolt. And if he does, she can just hunt him down as usual. Hopefully, the midday sunlight will be a slight deterrent to him.

Spike studies her back, wondering why the sudden change of heart. He decides to play along in the make nice game. “Promise.” His voice is approaching what she would describe as sincere and Buffy finally can’t help herself. She turns to look at him. No leer, no sarcastic grin.

She surprises Spike by agreeing more readily than she ever has before. “Okay.”

Striding over, Buffy goes around behind Spike to work on the knots she fastened earlier that morning. Unavoidably, her fingers graze his skin repeatedly as she tugs on the rope. Spike’s muscles tense and the erection he has been mentally fighting back down renews itself. Does the Slayer have to smell this damn good? Spike wants to tell her that the combination of her jasmine body lotion and the faint scent of her sweat is about to make him come in his pants, but he doesn’t think the sentiment will be taken very well. Finally, Buffy manages to undo the ropes completely and pulls them off Spike. Uncomfortably hard in his jeans, Spike remains seated. Buffy looks at him funny, but then heads back across the basement to her pile of dusty boxes.

Spike tries to distract himself so he can actually stand up without embarrassing himself. He looks away, around the basement, anywhere but at the Slayer. He hears her quiet grunts as she moves the boxes and clenches his jaw and eyes shut. That’s worse than looking at her. After a few minutes, Spike calms his body down. Standing up, he stretches his arms above his head, pulling out the kinks in his shoulders from being tied up for the last couple hours.

Buffy catches herself thinking about him again, wondering why he didn’t immediately head for the stairs and the ‘telly.’ Curiosity gets the better of her and she turns to see him stretching, eyes closed. Her breath catches in her throat as she watches the muscles shift under his tight t-shirt and reveal a slice of taut skin when his shirt pulls out of his jeans. Spike’s eyes open and she looks down and away quickly.

He saw her checking him out. When did being around the Slayer turn into a sexually charged event? Spike grins to himself. Truth be told, it always was to him. A good fight and a good shag have never been far apart.

Spike saunters over as Buffy makes herself appear busy, cursing at Giles under her breath for foisting this…this Spike on her for the weekend.

She jumps when his next words come from just a few feet away. He leans down to pick up a box, straightening to look at her. “Where do you want it, luv?”

“What?!” Buffy’s voice is strangled.

“The box, Slayer. Where do you want the box?” Spike swallows the smirk that wants to come out. Now THIS is fun.

* * * * * Chapter 3: Browsing Her Knickers * * * * *







Buffy just stares at Spike blankly. He is trying to look serious, but she can see the look in his eyes. A playful, teasing look which makes her blood run cold. Spike’s being nice to her. What can this mean? And it’s possible, no, not possible, he IS flirting. Or is he just being a pervert? Is it the same thing with him? How can she tell?

“There.” Buffy points randomly across the basement.

Spike looks the direction she points and then back at the Slayer, confused.

“There?”

She nods. A lot. “Yes, there. There’s the place.”

Spike shrugs and carries the box across the room. Buffy’s eyes follow his ass as he swaggers over and bends down to set the box on the floor. Why did she not notice his tight butt before? Oh yeah. Duster. He’s always wearing that long coat and hiding his… Oh damn. Buffy spins sharply away and faces the boxes, telling herself over and over not to look at him. And definitely not to look at his butt. Off limits. She curses the fact that not all evil vampires are ugly. Why can’t Spike be all bat-faced like the Master? She certainly never looked at HIS butt. She sighs. And he’s here for another whole day after this one. That thought should fill her with dread, but instead, a very unsettling thrill shoots through her body. So not good. Back to work. Work work work.

“Now what, Slayer?” Spike is still in the spot she left him, giving her a strange look.

Buffy stammers, “Why are you still down here, anyway? Thought you would run off to catch up on Passions or something if I untied you.” She fusses with the lid of the nearest box while she waits for his answer.

Spike studies Buffy’s body language, trying to figure out how to act with her. And figure out why he cares. “Told you I would help if you untied me, luv.”

Buffy spins around, looking for the sarcasm and finding only an unreadable expression on the vampire’s face. “Yeah, but you’re all evil. You’d say anything to get untied.”

Spike can’t help it. He really can’t. “Like being tied up is so bad, pet. Should try it sometime.” He winks at her before she can figure out what to do with that statement. “’Sides, being evil doesn’t mean you don’t keep promises.”

“It does, too!”

“Okay, maybe. But I’m different, eh?” Spike brushes past Buffy, loving the look of utter confusion on her face. And to think he thought this weekend might be boring. Not anymore. The fun may be just beginning now that he’s got the Slayer rattled. She’s awfully cute when she’s confused. “Does this box go to the same place then, Slayer?”

Buffy decides trying to figure out why Spike is acting this way is too much for her at the moment. She returns to her mantra to work, work, work. Spike holds the box in front of him, waiting for direction. His biceps at work make his t-shirt tighten on his arms and Buffy wishes to God she had not noticed.

“Um, yeah. I need to, uh, move those boxes out from under the stairs over here into the light so I can go through them. It’s less spider-y.” Buffy shudders at the thought.

“Less spider-y? Y’know, for the Slayer, you are squeamish about the weirdest things.” Spike doesn’t stop, though. He drops his current box in the middle of the floor as Buffy sits cross-legged in front of the first one to start sorting it.

Ten minutes later, Spike has all the boxes out from under the stairs, but Buffy is still flipping through the contents of the very first box. Wiping dirt and cobwebs off his t-shirt and jeans, Spike wanders back over to Buffy, peeking over her shoulder.

Buffy has a stack of pictures in her hands. She flips through them, unaware Spike is watching. Images of a cute little blond girl with pigtails fly by, eyes sparkling. A dark-haired man is with her and Joyce in many of the pictures – at the beach, in front of the Christmas tree. Spike realizes this must be her father. He never paused before to think about why Buffy’s father wasn’t around. Never cared enough to ask, that’s for sure.

“That your Dad, then?” Buffy gasps, dropping all the pictures into her lap.

“Oh my god, Spike. Sneak up much?”

“’Ey, I can’t help it if your Slayer skills let you down. Could’ve had you for a snack by now.” He smirks down at her, tip of his tongue caught between his teeth.

“Is that all you ever think about? Biting people, drinking blood?”

Spike puts on his offended look. “Course not. Think about sex a right little bit as well.”

Buffy’s cheeks flame as she starts gathering up the pictures, deciding if she ignores him, he might go away. It has never worked before, but hey, worth a try.

Spike leans down, picks up a photo that slipped off her lap. Before she can snatch it back, he stands up with it. Round cheeks and straw blond hair done in two braids, eyes green as glass as she grins straight at the camera. Slayer before she knew she was Chosen. Must be like 8 or 9. Still something defiant in the way her chin juts out, but none of that haunted, hunted look that she wears most days now. She is free. Just a girl.

Buffy scrambles to her feet, anxious to grab the photo back. She reaches for it just as Spike hands it to her without a word. Her mouth opens as she prepares to defend herself against some snide comment, but none comes. The silence makes her more uncomfortable than anything he could say. Letting Spike see her as a kid seems like a far too intimate act. Showing a weakness. Almost like he saw her naked. Plus, he saw her Dad. Buffy braces internally for the rudeness that is Spike and again, nothing happens.

“Gonna take a shower.” Spike gestures at himself, and Buffy realizes he is a bit of a wreck. Dust in his hair, dirt streaked on his arms and on his face. She nods and he turns to leave the basement.

As Spike heads up the stairs, Buffy realizes she didn’t even question him. He’ll think she’s getting soft. “Stay the hell out of my room while you’re up there, Spike! You hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you. You’re bloody yelling. Think I’m gonna browse your knickers or somethin’?” Spike ducks his head back down to look at Buffy.

“You could! I mean, you can’t, but you would. With the knickers. No browsing my…just no browsing. Or I’ll come up there and…” She trails off, realizing nothing she says will be taken the right way. “…and stop you.”

“Oh Slayer, don’t tease.” With a low chuckle, Spike disappears from sight. A few minutes later, Buffy hears the water start to run in the pipes above her head. Naked. Yep, Spike is naked in her house. That sure wasn’t part of the deal. She can hear Giles now, telling her the weekend would be easy. Just stay out of his way. Well, she didn’t. And now she has a naked vampire in her shower.

Standing under the stream of hot water, Spike looks over the selection of shampoos and soaps in the shower. He mutters to himself, “Gonna smell like a flower or a piece of fruit no matter what I do here.” Reaching for the last bottle, he sees it is shampoo. Dove. “Smells like a bird or what?” Flipping the lid, Spike sniffs it and smiles. “Finally, something that just smells like bloody soap.” Scrubbing the shampoo into his hair, he lets his mind wander to the tightly wound Slayer two floors below him. Since he’s stuck with her for two days, it seemed like a good idea to not get her so pissed she ‘accidentally’ staked him. But the electricity that popped and crackled between them down in the basement was unexpected. For once, their back-and-forth took a turn away from a knockdown fight into something else. Almost a flirtation? Spike shakes his head. “Bloody crazy. Slayer would rather poke her own eyes out than look at me that way. And me, I’d rather flambé on the back porch.” Spike turns back to rinsing his hair out, but he can’t help but think that he almost didn’t even convince himself that time. Truth is, Slayer is cute. And so damn aggravating. Just not gonna tell her that. Well, except maybe the second thing. Spike grins as he turns to giving his body a good scrub, looking forward to their next round.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy stares into the box, overwhelmed by the piles of paper and miscellaneous junk. “Can’t believe Mom thought I could sort this stuff. Packed by monkeys, I’d swear.” Standing up, Buffy brushes off her pants. Suddenly, she hears the water cut off and stares up at the ceiling. She sets her jaw and decides she will not participate in Spike’s little jokes this time. Ignore him, treat him like the evil thing he is. And above all, stop thinking of him naked.

With a sigh, Buffy stomps up to the kitchen. Not one more thought about the vampire with stupid hair. She goes out on the back porch, knowing at least that he can’t follow her there. Sitting on the back steps, she hatches a plan. A plan to keep Spike away from her so he can’t give her those lowdown tinglies.

Slamming back into the house, Buffy heads through the dining room to the foot of the stairs. She starts yelling before she turns the corner, “Spike! Spike, I’m going to – AAGH!” Buffy hits the ground flat on her butt after slamming into Spike as he rounded the corner.

“Damn it, Slayer. Watch where the hell you’re going!” Spike rubs his chin where Buffy’s head cracked into him. “And stop your bloody screeching. What do you want?”

Buffy feels the heat rise up in her face, only this time it is anger. No, it’s fury. How could she have been thinking of him at all? He’s evil and not just that, a jerk. She’s the one that hit the floor, not him.

Getting to her feet, Buffy jabs Spike in the chest. Yowch, that was hard. “In there, Spike. Now.”

Spike looks over his shoulder toward the living room. When he turns back around, Buffy is gone and he hears her footsteps on the basement stairs. “What the hell?” Spike debates whether he should stand right where he is or amble towards the living room. Remember his aversion to being staked through the heart, he turns toward the living room.

Moments later, Buffy storms back in with the ropes in hand. Spike grins, tongue curled behind his front teeth. “Are we playing those bondage games now, luv?” His comment is met by a stony silence as Buffy points toward a chair. The grin slowly fades. “Guess not.”

With a heavy sigh, Spike flops down into the chair. “Hands. Give me your hands.” Buffy’s voice is flat and laced with aggravation. Playtime appears to be over. Spike holds out his hands together.

“Slayer, not sure I’m ready to hold hands yet. Maybe we should get to know each other fir – OW!” The sound of rope zipping across skin is audible. “Planning on leaving any skin behind when you’re done there?” Spike scowls up at Buffy, wondering what got her in such a state. She was almost fun to talk to in the basement and now this. If there’s anything Spike hates, it’s the silent treatment. “Vow of silence, is it? Chastity can’t be far behind…” Nothing. He gets no reaction.

His hands secured, Buffy moves to the back of the chair, looping rope around his chest and tying it snugly behind him. “Buffy, luv, I thought we were past this whole tying Spike up thing. What happened?”

Buffy comes back around to stand in front of the neatly trussed vampire. “You happened, Spike. I almost forgot how you are, what you are. I won’t do it again. I’m leaving for a little while, and you are not. If you’re not right here when I get back, I will hunt you down like a dog. Got it?”

Spike opens his mouth to sass her, but Buffy leans forward, eyes flashing. “Got it?”

“Yeah, whatever. Got nowhere to go anyway, pet. Allergic to sunlight, y’know?” Spike slumps against his bonds, wincing slightly where the rope cuts into his skin. “Do they have to be this tight, Slay –“

When Spike looks up, he is alone in the room. The sound of the kitchen door slamming is the only sign the Slayer was just here.

Out on the porch, Buffy slumps against the backdoor, anger spent. She lightly bangs her head against the door. “God, he smelled good.” She pushes herself off the door with a sigh. “Damn it.”

* * * * * Chapter 4: All Tied Up and Nowhere to Go * * * * *

“She could have at least left me the remote for the telly.” Spike scowls at his tied hands and then the dark television across the room. He then yells, “You could have at least left me the remote for the telly!”

Buffy stomps to the opening into the living room and folds her arms over her chest. “If you yell one more time, I’m gonna…”

“What? Bore me more to death with your empty threats? Too damn late, Slayer.” Spike frowns at the extremely tense Slayer. He doesn’t understand why she has returned to her extra harsh treatment, but it’s a real drag. Poking fun at her is no fun if she doesn’t poke back. And he is really bored.

Buffy sighs and starts to turn away. Spike’s voice stops her. “Could I have the remote?” His voice is neutral. Not nasty, not pleading. She turns back, expecting him to be tricking her and following up with a snarky comment. Instead, she finds he is just sitting there, looking at her, waiting patiently.

Completely flustered, she grabs the remote from the coffee table and slaps it in his hands. Before anything else weird can happen, she escapes back to the kitchen.

Spike smiles, happy to both have the remote and to completely put the Slayer off kilter. It’s a right bit more fun to confuse her than be mean to her, he’s come to realize. She blurts out and does the most interesting things when thrown off-guard.

He flips on the TV, looking for something interesting. After checking over his shoulder to make sure Buffy is nowhere to be seen, he settles on a documentary on the life and works of Shakespeare.

Half an hour later, Buffy realizes it is much too quiet in the living room. No complaining, no yelling, no furniture tipping over as he tries to escape his ropes. She tiptoes out of the kitchen and towards the hallway, desperate for Spike not to notice her approach. She hears voices as she approaches and realizes the TV is on, very quietly. Murmurs of clipped, English voices reach her and she furrows her brow. What is he watching?

Her curiosity gets the best of her and she reaches the edge of the entrance to the living room. Her eyes go to the TV and she sees several people in unfamiliar costume, performing a play, speaking in a very formal English. Before she can suss out exactly what he has on, she turns to Spike. And freezes in place.

He’s sound asleep. Tied upright in the chair and hand still holding the TV remote, Spike’s head is back against the chair, lolled to the side slightly. The only light in the room aside from the faint glow of afternoon light through the closed blinds is the TV, which casts a bluish glow across his features. Cheekbones carved from shadow, lips full and just slightly open. Buffy is unprepared for how this scene makes her feel. She feels guilty, which is really uncomfortable. She knew full well that the daytime is his time for rest, but she tied him upright to a chair. She feels confused, as he appears to have been watching something on PBS. Something educational and cultural, two words she would have never associated with Spike. But the third feeling is the most unsettling by far.

She is completely turned on.

The telltale increase in her heart rate, the creeping of blood into her cheeks, Buffy knows these signs all too well. Not to mention the sudden wetness between her legs. He looks so vulnerable and yes, completely fucking gorgeous, in the dim light. Buffy’s inner dominatrix can’t help but drool at the hot vampire all tied up and helpless and so very unaware of her inspection.

Spike feels himself stir slightly in his sleep. Pushing aside his dreams of a naked Slayer riding him like a prized stallion, he rouses to a scent in the air. A heady scent, musky and tantalizing. Enough to make his cock twitch in his jeans. Without moving, Spike inhales, trying to locate and identify the scent. Like a ton of bricks, it hits him. It’s the Slayer. It’s Buffy. And she is highly aroused…and not far away. He keeps his eyes closed as he figures out how to handle this situation. If he wakes up suddenly, she will just dart away, probably make some lame excuse about hearing the TV on or something. Despite the high level of aggravation she gives him on a daily basis, she also makes his hands itch with the effort of not grabbing her tight little body and screwing her into the nearest flat surface. He does not want to make her run away. What he really wants to know is how far she will go. How tempted is she? He never gets to spend one-on-one time with the Slayer, so this weekend could get to be a lot more fun.

Spike makes a show of waking up slowly, and trying to stretch. He winces as his arms don’t move, firmly secured to his sides with the ropes. He cracks his neck back and forth, eyes on the TV, anywhere but the Slayer, who is still just behind him. By the scent and sound of her breathing, Spike realizes she must be just outside the room. He wants her to think she got away with the peepshow, see if it makes her bolder. With a loud clatter, Spike ‘accidentally’ drops the remote control to the floor. He mutters to himself, “Oh, bollocks,” before pushing at it with his foot. Pretending to realize it is futile, he slumps into the chair, as much as he can, with a dramatic and defeated sigh.

He hears her hesitate, probably wondering what his reaction will be if she appears so suddenly. Moments later, decision made, she backs up a few steps and then enters the room, making as much noise as possible.

“Spike! Can you – oh, what happened?” Buffy’s eyes go from the TV to the remote on the floor and back to Spike’s face. He puts on a look somewhere between pissed off and pained.

“Dropped the remote, if you must know, Slayer.”

“Oh, is that why you are watching…this?” Buffy gestures at the TV with a grin as a young man makes an impassioned speech to a girl on a balcony.

“It’s bloody Shakespeare, Slayer. If you stopped watching soddin’ reality shows for five minutes, you might know that.”

Buffy is surprised. She knew he was watching the show on purpose, but didn’t expect him to defend it to her. Without another word, Buffy moves forward into the room and towards Spike. She tries not to maintain eye contact with him, but finds herself unable to look away as he observes her approach. Finally, she is next to his chair and starts to bend down, hand reaching for the remote. In the process, her face moves down his body, dangerously close to his crotch. Buffy realizes this right as Spike does and grabs the remote quickly, standing back up, cheeks pink. She holds it out to Spike without really looking at him, but he doesn’t take it. She looks down to realize she is holding it just out of his reach. “Oh, sorry.” Buffy puts it into his hand, fingers just grazing his cool skin. She shivers, the sensation taking off down her spine at lightning speed.

Just then, as she tries to remain calm and show none of this on her face, she notices something. In the half-light of the TV, it’s hard to be certain, so she turns on a lamp near the chair. In the brighter light, Buffy frowns and leans down to look more closely at Spike’s hands. Which just so happen to by laying near his crotch.

“See something you like, luv?” Spike’s voice is so low, Buffy jumps.

“What? No! Not looking at – No!” Buffy’s face flames red and Spike grins at her, tongue caught between his teeth. “I was looking at your hands, you perv!”

“Hey, I never mentioned anything else, luv. Seems you had it on your mind, though, eh?”

Buffy shakes her hands, trying to get Spike to stop talking. She frowns again, reaching for his hands, lifting them from his lap more gently than he would have expected. Ever.

“This is awful. Oh god, Spike. I’m really sorry.” Buffy’s voice is strained.

Spike winces as her fingers lightly touch his wrists. She jerks back at his indication of pain. The ropes at his wrists have cut into his skin, leaving welts and raw skin. Spike had ignored the discomfort. She was so mad when she tied them, he didn’t think she would come back and loosen them. It’s not like it was the first time he had ever been tied up a bit too tight – Dru didn’t always know her own strength. He looks up at the Slayer and her expression is so distraught, he feels a strange compulsion to soothe her.

“’S alright, Slayer. I’ve had worse done to me.”

“Yeah, but I did that. It was careless. I wasn’t paying attention. Let me…” Buffy tries to undo the knots without hurting him more, but every tug bites into his skin further. “I’ll get a knife…”

“There’s a knife in my pocket. Front left.” Spike looks at the Slayer when she hears his words, and the reaction is priceless.

Her face goes completely blank and there is a definite hitch in her movements. Buffy chants to herself. I can do that. I can reach into his pocket. It’s not all dirty. Just getting the knife. That’s all. Not copping a feel. Nope. No feeling.

“Oh, good.” Buffy’s voice has all the practiced nonchalance she can muster on such short notice. Facing him, she reaches into the pocket on her left. It’s not easy with his tight jeans, so she has to force her fingers further in. Screwing up her face, she looks at Spike. “I don’t feel a knife. Are you sure?”

Spike smirks. “I’m sure, pet. Also sure it’s the other pocket. On my left?” Buffy jerks her hand back out of the wrong pocket like she’s been burned.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Buffy is panting, realizing she now has to reach into his other pocket. If she runs off now, he’ll know she has a hard time touching him like this.

“Felt pretty good, luv. Didn’t want you to stop.”

“OH! Oh, you are so - ! I can’t – You!”

“Guess eloquence is not one of the Slayer’s powers, huh?” Spike’s blue eyes dance in amusement as he looks up at the sputtering Slayer. She jabs her hand into his other pocket, yanking the knife free. “Whoa! Watch the delicates there, Slayer.”

“I did not touch your – delicates, Spike.” Buffy pops the pocketknife and Spike decides to not say what he was going to concerning his ‘delicates’ and her touching of them.

“Now, now. Watch the knife, Slayer. Don’t do anything rash.”

“You mean, something near your delicates?” Buffy lowers the knife towards his lap, turning it into the ropes and yanking upwards, cutting through one strand. “Now, hold still.”

“Still as the dead, luv. Well, you know…”

Buffy rolls her eyes as she saws through the rest of the ropes. She tries desperately to ignore the tinglies touching him gives her and also avoids eye contact while she is so close to him. Buffy remembers why she was removing the ropes when they are finally all severed. With slightly trembling fingers, she brushes across the harsh pink welts on his wrists, flinching when he does. Under her breath, she whispers, “Sorry, Spike. That wasn’t right.”

Spike fights his tendency to give her a hard time for this one. “No worries, luv. I’m alright. Looks bad, but it will be all gone in no time. Fast healer. Some fresh blood and I’ll be right as rain.”

Buffy realizes she has taken Spike’s hands into hers to get a good look at his raw wrists. The tinglies are getting more and more prolific. Time to stop with the touching. “Good. I’ll - that’s good. I’ll get you some blood.” Back to business, Buffy puts his hands down, looking away from Spike’s questioning eyes. “Okay, well, if you stay in here and don’t break anything, I’ll untie you. For now. Got it?” She puts her hands on her hips, trying to look firm and unbending.

One look into soft, dark eyes and she is undone once again. “Thanks, Slayer.” God, it pisses her off when he is nice to her. What the hell is he thinking? Going around behind him, she slashes through the ropes with one vicious upswing of the knife. Spike is suitably impressed as he takes the now folded knife from her hand.

“Uh yeah. Sure. Whatever.” Buffy, flustered as ever, turns to leave the room. On her way to the hallway, she asks, “Sure you’re okay?” She kicks herself for it, but also holds her breath, waiting for the answer. Why does it matter? He’s evil and a pain in the butt and –

“I’m fine, Buffy.” - and he called her Buffy. He never does that. Argh.

* * * * * Chapter 7: Lick, Drink, Suck * * * * *



They walk in silence for a few blocks. At least, there is no audible talking. Buffy’s inner voices are screeching at her in confusion. When this day started and she got stuck with Spike, she never in a million years would have pictured herself walking down the street with him, wearing one of her most minimal dresses, on their way to the Bronze. And she probably would not have had quite so many glasses of wine. Buffy giggles quietly to herself at the absurdity of it all.

“Care to share, luv?” She catches herself giggling and bites her lip before looking over at Spike. He is watching her, eyebrow arched in the most maddeningly sexy way.

“Just thinking that this is a very very bad idea.”

“Works for me. But then again, I am very very bad.” He turns away and keeps walking, a smirk playing across his mouth.

Buffy almost immediately giggles again. Spike is funny. She kind of ignores that when she hasn’t had a bit of wine. Okay, more than a bit. “Yeah. Good point.”

Spike grins wider, wondering when he started to enjoy the Slayer’s company. ‘Cause he definitely is. Maybe it’s the wine. At least a little. Some of it is probably that she is not punching him. Though, truth be told, he kind of enjoys that, too. Suddenly, Spike asks, “And by this, you mean?”

“Uh?” Buffy knits her eyebrows together in confusion.

Spike pauses and Buffy does the same. He turns to her, but she can’t make out his features in the shadows. “You said this was a bad idea. What is this?” She sees his head cock to the side.

Buffy just stares at him, wondering what exactly to say. “Um, this?”

“Yes, this.” Spike crosses his arms. He’s going to make her say something - truth or not.

Buffy braces herself, realizing the wine is making her impulsive. She hopes she won’t regret just answering the question instead of dodging it. “Going with you to the Bronze is this.”

“Ah.” Spike starts walking again, satisfied. Good to know the Slayer is right about where he is. Confused, turned on, maybe a little apprehensive. But just going with it for the time being. He can’t hide that her scent and skin make him horny as hell. Spike has never been one to over-analyze and he’s not starting now with the gorgeous Slayer next to him. And again, not punching him.

Buffy considers calling him on his short response, but decides she got off easy for the time being. Better to just walk. Less talk.

The silence that falls back over them is of the more comfortable, if more sexually charged, variety. Buffy catches herself stealing glances at Spike. His strong profile, cheekbones begging to be traced. With her tongue. Buffy’s eyes widen. Tongue thoughts. Not good. Not in the least little bit good. She rips her eyes away from him and swallows, hard. She wishes the foggy, warm feeling the wine has given her would let up a little, but being next to Spike is only amplifying it. Her blood is rushing through her so fast, pounding in her ears so loudly, she feels sure he can hear it. He’s close enough.

Spike lets his arm brush hers every few steps. Just reminding himself that Buffy is walking next to him. Willingly. And not quite half-dressed. He thought it would be fun to flirt with her this weekend since she is so damned uptight. With the chip in his head, it’s the closest he can get to fighting with her. The closest he can get to making her blood rise, her heart hammer in her chest. Didn’t quite bargain on feeling all warm and lusty towards the Slayer in return.

By the time this unlikely pair reaches the Bronze, both are feeling a bit off-kilter. Lust and wine are a dangerous combination.

The music is throbbing inside the Bronze and they hear it as they approach. Buffy realizes that this could be the dumbest thing she has ever done. To bring Spike with her to the Bronze? With all the bumping and the grinding? Not that she plans to dance with him. She’ll dance with other people. And he’ll watch. She feels a surge go through her at the thought of him watching her move on the dance floor. That’s not good, either. She returns to her earlier position: this is a bad bad idea.

Spike falls back a step to watch her. He can see her go tense, the muscles in her neck and shoulders tighten. Nervous? He wonders if that’s it. For the first time, he starts to really think about what is going to happen in the Bronze. The two of them, mortal enemies, are going to dance? Or maybe he can watch her dance? Or what else? Drink some more? Spike grins again. Maybe all of the above. Yeah, this is going to be fun. A great idea.

He reaches around Buffy and she almost jumps back into him. Grabbing the door handle, he pulls the door open and gestures inwards. The music pours over them, pounding and loud. Buffy takes a deep breath and goes into the club. A quick look around reveals it’s pretty crowded, as expected. The music is hard rock and she can immediately feel it in her chest, vibrating. The heat is palpable. Buffy feels a presence very close behind her and she jumps.

“Change your mind, luv?” The voice is very very close to her ear and it makes Buffy take a quick step forward. A light touch on her back - right on her bare skin - makes her take a sharp intake of breath. Spike’s cool fingers are welcome in the oven of the Bronze. No, wait. Not welcome. Spike’s fingers are not to be welcomed! Buffy moves again, towards the bar. More drink. She decides she is getting way too sober for this little outing. The booze makes it okay to have Spike turn her on. So, more booze.

She throws a glance over her shoulder casually, acting like Spike’s hand on her did not send shocks through her body. Meanwhile, Spike realizes his fingers are tingling where they touched her bare skin. He is so going to get staked if he doesn’t take it down a notch. A drink would be good here.

“Drink?”

Buffy nods instantly and again, it seems they are in sync with each other. There is no way the two of them should be here together like this, but neither one seems quite willing to burst that bubble just yet. A bit of fun wouldn’t kill either of them. Well, hopefully not. They move towards the bar. Buffy reaches it first and leans against it near the end, looking at all the bottles lined up along the mirror. Just then, somebody bumps Spike and pushes him right into her.

“Oof!”

“Watch it, mate!” Spike turns away from the drunken boy that bumped him and finds he is squishing the Slayer. He backs up, but does not break contact. “You alright, pet?”

Buffy tries to remain calm, but somehow, Spike being nearly mashed against her in this environment is more than unsettling. It’s taken her breath away. She nods, facing away from him. Full body contact is so not the way to good behavior in the Bronze. In fact, it is quite the opposite. Buffy makes a mental note - in the future, avoid the full body contact with Spike. Check. No matter how hard the full body may be. She slips away and perches on the empty bar stool next to her, acting like she is not having trouble breathing. He is too close. Too close.

Spike takes a nice deep breath himself, a habit he has never broken. He leans against the bar, taking in the Slayer and the liquor selection. “So, what’s your pleasure, Slayer?”

Buffy turns three shades of red at the question. “Well, that’s -! Spike! I’m not going to tell you my...” Her voice drops to a forceful, scandalized whisper. “...pleasure!” Spike laughs. Hard. Buffy crosses her arms, squinting at him. “What’s so damn funny?”

“Was asking what you wanted to drink, but if you want to do some sharing of another kind, I could be up for it.” His eyebrows jump on the word up and Buffy shoots a glance down at the front of Spike’s pants before she can stop herself. Though she quickly covers by turning to look at the many bottles, he saw her. He licks his lips, studying the smooth tanned skin of her shoulders. Imagining the taste of her there. A bit salty. Smooth, hot. When Buffy turns back to him, she finds a look in Spike’s eyes so predator-like she gasps.

Quickly recovering by looking away again, Buffy mumbles, “I don’t know. Don’t drink that much. What do you think?”

Glancing from the Slayer to the bar and back again, Spike nods. “Tequila. Definitely tequila.” The smile on his face is full of naughtiness.

“Oh, like in margaritas? Those are yum -“

“No, luv. Just tequila. You might have noticed this is not exactly the cute little umbrellas in frosty drinks kind of place. Straight up tequila. Not scared, are ya?” His eyes dance, a dare in them. He knows Buffy never backs down from a dare, from a challenge. Especially not from him. One of the things he...likes about her? Spike didn’t know he liked things about her until tonight. Or, at least, he didn’t admit it.

“Straight up?” Buffy flinches. Every word she says sounds dirty.

Spike grins. “Yeah, straight up. A shot. Ever done tequila shots?”

Buffy considers pretending she has, but knows it will just end badly. She imagines tequila coming out her nose ‘cause she did it wrong can’t feel very good. She shakes her head.

“No problem, I’ll show you.” Buffy realizes she never actually agreed to this shot business. That doesn’t seem to deter Spike in the least. Moments later, Spike has the bartender drop off all the fixins’. She looks at the various items on the bar.

“So, are we drinking or eating? What’s all this?” Buffy gestures at the gathered items.

“Hold your horses, luv, and I’ll show you. Now, here’s the thing.” Spike is very close to her, so his low voice can be heard over the musical din. Somehow, over in this corner of the bar, the crowd of people fades away and all she hears is the deep rumble of his words. Her body vibrates in time with his speech. “Tequila does not taste good. Makes you feel good, warms you right down to your -, uh, but the taste... that’s where the salt and the lime come in.” Buffy gives him a look, realizing what he almost said. As he is talking, Spike pours a full shot from the bottle of Jose Cuervo on the bar.

“First, the salt.” Buffy feels her mouth fall open slightly as Spike licks the back of his right hand, between the thumb and forefinger. He does it very slowly, his tongue sliding across his skin so slow she can almost hear it. Spike picks up the salt shaker and gives a few shakes to his wet skin. Buffy jumps when he speaks again, trying not to imagine that tongue doing...other things. “Then, you get the lime ready.” Spike picks up a lime wedge between his thumb and forefinger with the same hand. “Now, I’m going to do it fast, luv, but it is lick, drink, suck. Got it?”

“Got what!?” Buffy comes out of her trance. “Lick, drink, suck? I thought we were talking about drinking tequila!”

Spike bites his bottom lip, enjoying the rosy spots high on her cheeks. “I was, pet. Don’t know what you were thinking about. Like this, see?” Spike darts his tongue back out, licking up the salt, throws the shot back with his left hand and immediately sucks on the lime, moaning in pleasure. Buffy finds herself thinking it must have just gotten much hotter in here. She fights the urge to fan herself as Spike finishes sucking the lime and puts it on the bar. Slowly and carefully, he licks the stray juice from his fingertips. “Did you follow what I did, Buffy?”

“Yeah. I followed. Lick, drink, suck.” A twinkle of mischief sparks in Buffy’s eyes and Spike feels a stirring in his pants instantly. The way she drew out the word suck may have something to do with it. “My turn, right?” Buffy grins. Her inner voices have been struck dumb by the display she just witnessed.

“Of course.” Spike pours tequila in the shot glass in front of her. “Now, what comes first?”

“That would be the licking.” Spike bites back a groan as Buffy’s pink wet tongue travels up her hand. She shakes the salt on immediately. He holds out a lime wedge, which she tucks into her hand. “Okay, so it’s lick, drink, suck. That’s the order, right?” Spike is starting to regret mentioning those three words to her. He’s also starting to think if she says them in that order again, he is going to come in his pants. Or try to bite her since they remind him a little too much of that intimate act. Either way, not good. Though only the second one will get him dusty.

“You got it, luv. Remember, throw the shot way back. Don’t taste it.”

“Okey dokey.” In rapid succession, Buffy licks the salt from her hand, drinks the shot and sucks on the lime. She slams the glass down on the bar as Spike looks on, duly impressed.

“Wow, Slayer. You’re a quick study.”

Buffy wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling the surge of warmth move down her throat into her chest. It’s a good feeling and she decides she would like to have more of it. Very soon. What’s the worst that could happen? If Spike tries something, she’s still the Slayer. A bit of tequila won’t change that. But, first things first. Must have equal footing and all. And see Spike's tongue again.

She tips the bottle, filling the glass in front of Spike. The smile that spreads slowly across her face leaves Spike squirming in his tight pants. She pushes the glass towards him, biting her bottom lip and wondering when she got so bold and lacking in judgment.

“Your turn.”