Chapter 8: Go Get It

Several shots later, Buffy starts to wonder if she is going to be able to stay on her barstool much longer. Since it has taken to tilting wildly without warning. Spike is starting to get blond and blurry, so she holds up a hand. "Whoa."

"Whoa?" Spike stops with the bottle in the air, tipping towards her glass. His eyebrows are up. At least she thinks they are. Blurry.

"Yes, whoa. I'm done. Crispy. Insert fork."

"Insert fork?" Spike puts the bottle down and smirks at her. The way he says fork is not at all proper. Stupid English accent, thinks Buffy.

"Wait, no. No inserting. Just stop. I'm done."

"You mentioned that, luv. Meaning you are drunk?" Spike quickly takes another shot and Buffy stops talking, leaning closer to watch him carefully. When she realizes she is about to sway right into him, she jerks back quickly. And doesn't fall. Spike's hand on her arm holds her there and Buffy feels her whole body twitch at his firm touch on her bare skin.

She stops moving and lifts her eyes to his slowly. "Thanks." A spark passes between them, making both very still.

"No problem, pet. Didn't know you couldn't hold your liquor." Spike's voice lacks its usual snark as he fights the urge to yank her off the stool and into his lap.

"Can too hold it. See, I'm holding it right now." Buffy picks up the bottle of tequila and waves it at him, desperate to both strengthen and break the electricity snapping between them, and torn about which she wants more.

Spike smiles and lets go of her arm. Buffy sighs and pours herself another shot. "Thought you were done, Slayer."

"I'll need one more before." With a newly acquired ease, Buffy licks the salt, takes the shot and sucks on the lemon while Spike studies her, brow furrowed.

"Before what?"

Buffy pops off the stool and puts her hand out. "Before we dance."

"Before we what now?" Spike remains seated, mouth slightly agape. "Slayer, I thought we agreed. No dancing, not a date, remember?" He tries to scowl a little, but truthfully, his hands are positively twitching to grab ahold of her tight little body. The gleam in her eyes is full of a mischief never directed at him before.

"Yeah, but I'm bored with drinking and I like dancing and you're here. And you never dance. So, let's. No one will see us and blow our cover. What could happen?" The innocence in her eyes is only partly feigned. Buffy definitely worries about what could happen, but one more shot and she is going to be in Spike's lap. Between certain badness and maybe temptation, she'll take the temptation. And she does like to dance.

Spike cocks his head, picking up the slow and sensual beat of the song. And the singer is pouring it on, thick like honey. Yeah, he could dance with the Slayer to this. He smirks at her and stands up, completely invading her personal space. Buffy gulps, faced with the physical presence of Spike mere inches from her. The air caught between them pulses with tension.

"Alright then. Shall we?" He looks down at her and Buffy cranes back to meet his gaze. The heat between them has nothing to do with the temperature in the Bronze. She is somewhat startled he agreed so readily and also deliciously pleased. Buffy licks her lips and tugs on him, and Spike follows her to the dance floor. The thought that maybe, just maybe the tequila was making her act a bit, oh what do you call it - brazen, maybe stupid - occurs to her. With a mental wave of her hand, she brushes that thought away. Tasty vampire on the radar screen. Consequences are just little blips she can ignore.

They move together onto the dance floor and all of a sudden, Buffy realizes what she is doing. Dancing with Spike? What the? She goes completely tense and ponders escape routes. But then, his hands. Hands on her waist. But where is...behind her. He's behind her. With only a slight hesitation, Spike pulls her closer, her ass a few short inches from his crotch. Buffy's string of protests blink out of existence when his mouth tickles her ear. "Relax, Slayer. Can't dance if you're holding your breath." She lets it out, all at once. And lets the music in. The throbbing, pulsing beat fills her, starts to move her hips. Spike glances down when he feels his hands swaying with her hips. She swivels in time with the music and he feels a sudden tightening in his jeans as his cock twitches to life. He leans his head back slightly, desperate for some control. Can't help thinking that this night has the potential for all kinds of craziness. But for now, the way the Slayer's hips move under his grip is all he can focus on.

Buffy drifts into the music, letting the effects of the alcohol and the heavy weight of Spike's hands on her waist take her inhibitions down about a dozen notches. Without warning, she steps back into him. Spike hisses as her tight ass comes right up against his hardening cock with a wriggle. Buffy's hands drift up above her head and find their way into his hair. She closes her eyes with a sigh, moving into Spike's embrace more and more. His hands move up her sides, drift up the underside of her arms and back down again. The active mental abilities of both Slayer and vampire experience a sudden blackout in the face of such overwhelming sexual energy.

Spike leans down, brushes his lips against her hair, the edge of her ear. His voice a warm whisper. "Slayer, do you know what you're doing to me?" Buffy rotates in his arms, quickly closing the space again until nothing but their clothes separate the two.

"I've got some idea." She presses just a little harder, fully aware of his currently aroused condition. The darkness in her eyes telegraphs a message of lust that buckles Spike's knees. Somewhere behind the fog of tequila in Buffy's mind, a voice is screaming her name, but it is just an annoyance. A gnat. She doesn't want to stop and no stupid inner voice is going to tell her what to do.

"You're not teasing me, are you?" Spike smirks as his hands travel down her nearly bare back to rest on her butt. The slickness of her skin, coated with a sheen of sweat, is positively intoxicating.

Buffy leans into him, eyes on his mouth and answers in a quiet voice, eyes flicking up to his eyes. "Not teasing if I finish what I start." The spell of the music, the pounding beat, the heat, the alcohol and just plain old horniness is taking its toll on both of them.

She leans a little closer, lips almost brushing. Spike wonders when it became so much more interesting to find her tender spots than her weak spots, but decides not to overthink it. Just then, she freezes. Her eyes bug out and the grip on his arms grows too tight for comfort.

"Ow, Slayer! Bloody hell!"

"Shhh! Oh crap. Crap Crap Crap. Come on." Spike glances the direction she is looking and sees the source of her panic. The Whelp and his ex-demon bird coming through the door. Damn. Buffy is madly yanking on him. "Spike, come on!"

"What for?"

"They will see us!" Buffy pulls harder, but Spike resists.

"So?"

"So? SO?! Do you WANT to be staked? Some kind of dust-wish?"

"What, by the boy? I could take him in a second, luv."

"Hello! Chips ahoy! You can't even slap him!"

Spike pushes out his bottom lip in a mini-pout. "Could, too. Well, you could, anyway."

Buffy bites out her next words in a quick, low voice. "Are you trying to kill me? You are, right? Now that you can't bite me, you want to just drive me so crazy I do myself in? I can't let Xander see me macking all over you! What would I tell him?" Buffy ducks behind Spike as Xander and Anya head to the bar to order. She knows his stupid hair is a beacon in the dark Bronze and they will be seen any second. "I'm supposed to have you tied up at home, not here at the Bronze dancing!"

"Oh, so you want to go back and tie me up again, pet? Why didn't you just say so?" Spike's waggles his eyebrows, watching the Slayer turn an odd shade of purple. Then, that familiar flinty glare makes him sigh. "Fine, fine. Let's go." Spike allows himself to be dragged quickly off the floor and under the stairs just as Xander and Anya move towards a small table with their drinks.

Safely out of sight, Buffy slumps. Against Spike. She starts to pull away, but his hands have a vise grip on her. "What's the rush, luv?"

Buffy realizes she is now in a small dark space with an extremely aroused vampire. Even more frightening is her reaction. She hesitates. Doesn't pull away automatically. She looks up at him, but his eyes are unreadable in the dark. He could make fun of her any second. What if it was all an act out there? What if she was the only one feeling it, whatever it was? Buffy stands up, putting a few inches between them as Spike's hands drop with a sigh. She makes a show of straightening her short skirt, swaying slightly, and looking over towards Xander and Anya.

"That bitch!"

Spike jumps, his frustration briefly forgotten. "What's that, Slayer?"

Turning towards him, she sputters, pointing back towards the couple at the table. She hisses her reply. "She's got my lunchbox!" She spins back around and grabs onto a column for support, leaning against it.

"Huh?" Spike moves up behind Buffy, looking over her shoulder.

"Anya has my molded plastic with thermos included Barbie lunchbox, dammit." Spike frowns as he sees Anya flip open the pink lunchbox and get out a compact to check her makeup.

"The one you lost?"

Buffy's voice is all Slayer. "Didn't lose it. She stole it." Spike can feel the muscles in her back tense. He realizes he can feel this because he is now right up against her back. Again. Since Buffy has gone all one-track, she has not noticed it just yet. Spike glances down at her shoulder. The one he was sure would taste so good. So salty and tender. Before he can stop himself, he feels himself leaning towards the smooth curve of her hot skin and then his lips graze the skin. Perfect.

Buffy goes very still and he feels the anger seep out of her, quickly replaced by something equally dark and powerful. She clutches the column tighter, but she doesn't stop him. Doesn't make a sound. Feeling bolder, Spike kisses her shoulder again, lets his tongue taste her tanned skin. Savors the salt of her sweat on the tip of his tongue before moving up towards her neck. Pushing her hair out of the way carefully, Spike lays an open-mouthed kiss on her neck and is rewarded by a full-body shudder from Buffy.

Her eyes threaten to roll back into her head. His lips should hiss against her searing hot skin. Drops of water on a fire. They vaporize on impact. Just as his mouth moves up her neck, Buffy's eyes come into focus once more.

"Go get it!"

Spike jumps slightly at her rather unorthodox come on line. "Pardon?" He resists the urge to laugh at the flushed Slayer as she spins on him, eyes wide. The mood is broken, once again.

"She left it on the table. Get it."

Spike shakes his head, lust making him foggy. "What?"

Buffy stomps her foot in exasperation. "The lunchbox. Spike, weren't you listening? Look!" She points toward the table and Spike sees she is right. Anya and Xander have moved onto the dance floor and left her lunchbox unattended. "Get it for me!"

"Why? You get it!" Spike crosses his arms, put out by once again being dismissed. This time by a bloody lunchbox.

Buffy juts out her bottom lip. "Can't. I'm all, y'know, tipsy. They would catch me. But you, you're all stealthy." She leans closer on the last word, dragging one finger down Spike's black-clad chest. He breaks instantly.

"Dammit, fine. I'll get it. Meet me in the alley."

Buffy wrinkles her nose. "Eww. The alley?"

"Want we should go out the front door after I steal someone's bag... or box, or whatever?"

Buffy nods. "Good point. Glad you're planning this one. I think...I think that tequila has really gone to my head."

Spike slips out from under the stairs without response. Buffy watches him walk towards the table casually. All the while, he is watching the dancing couple from the corner of his eye. The contents of the box are on the table and the box under his coat before she can blink. She whispers, "Damn. He's good. I mean, bad. He's very bad." A small smile escapes her as she turns and makes for the backdoor behind the stairs.

A minute later, a grinning Spike joins her in the dark alley. He holds out the lunchbox and can't help but laugh as she squeals in pleasure. He could get used to this version of the Slayer. Though it apparently takes a not insubstantial portion of alcohol to reveal her. She hugs the box to her and then marches dramatically up and down the alley, holding the box up in the air, Leaning against the wall, Spike lights up a cigarette, watching. "What's this then, luv?"

Coming to a halt in front of him, Buffy grins goofily, eyes gleaming. "A parade in your honor, of course. My hero."

Normally, he would flinch at being called something so nancy as a hero, but somehow, the unadulterated joy on the Slayer's face makes him remain silent. He even smiles back. "Was nothing, luv. Humans are not too bloody quick, y'know? Didn't even see me."

"Yeah, you were supa fast. Quick like a ... hey, what's that bulge?"

Spike nearly chokes on his cigarette, coughing hard for a minute. When he recovers, he sputters in reply, "Buffy, luv, if you don't know, I don't think I can..."

She interrupts him, reaching inside his duster suddenly. Her hand returns with a nearly full bottle of tequila drawn from the inside pocket. "This bulge! I meant, this one." Buffy flushes bright red as she realizes what made Spike cough. She tries desperately to glance down and see if there was <i>another</i> bulge, but he is watching her too closely. "Where did you get this?"

Spike grins, taking the bottle from her hand. His voice is playful and deep, giving Buffy all kinds of naughty thoughts. "Told you they didn't see me."

"You stole it!?!"

"Bit louder, Slayer. Don't think everyone in town quite heard you."

She whispers, loudly. "You stole it?"

"Yeah, I nicked it. Thought you might want some more." Buffy is torn between being pleased and indignant. She knows they can't go back in to return it now. Not with Xander and Anya in there, probably realizing the box was gone...

"Oh damn, let's go! They might come out here looking for this!" Buffy holds up the pink box and grabs Spike's arm again.

"Where to, pet?"

"My house! Come on!" Buffy tugs harder, pulling Spike along the alley.

The smirk on his face would melt her panties. "Thought you'd never ask..."

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* * * * *
Chapter 9: Is that a Stake in your Pocket Or... ?
* * * * *


A few blocks later, Spike calls to Buffy. “Luv, I really think it’s safe to slow down now, don’t you?” She still has his hand in a death grip, the pink lunchbox swinging from her other hand as she runs. At his words, she slows down and finally stops.

Face lightly flushed from the alcohol and excitement...and maybe something else, Buffy looks back the way they came. No one is on the street. “Guess you’re right. Doesn’t look they followed us.”

“Probably didn’t bloody well notice yet, pet. “And they certainly didn’t see me. Much too clever for that.”

Buffy smirks up at him, forgetting for the hundredth time tonight that she violently dislikes this vampire. Possibly because she no longer does. He’s much more interesting than she thought. Oh, and impossibly hot. That helps.

“Yeah. Guess it’s safe. Um...” Buffy nibbles on her bottom lip, shooting glances at Spike. He half expects her to draw little circles on the ground with her toe. “...so, I just wanted to say... y’know, thanks. For getting my lunchbox back.” She looks up at him a little longer this time, smiling hesitantly.

Spike is startled by her sudden sincerity. It’s very unexpected. And he’s quite sure the Slayer has never thanked him for anything. “No problem, Slayer.” He wants to say why he did it, but he is not altogether sure himself. Something to do with her smile and the light in her eyes when she looked at him before they danced. Made him want to do anything to keep it going. The way she is looking at him right now is not bad, either. Thoughts of teasing or pissing the Slayer off this weekend have officially and permanently migrated into much more naughty territory.

Feeling self-conscious, Buffy lowers her eyes again. From the corner of her vision, she sees something quite strange. Her hand. Her hand still wrapped around Spike’s. The realization that the two of them are standing in the middle of a street holding hands hits her. Her eyes back on Spike’s are a little wider as she quickly releases him. When she lets go, Spike realizes they were holding hands, too. The fact they were both too comfortable to notice it is probably the part that freaks them both the most.

The silence is awkward and almost physically painful. Buffy tries to look everywhere but at Spike and wishes she could regain the easy fun they were sharing just minutes ago. And maybe some more of that intense groping, too. Spike also keeps his eyes down to the street.

All of a sudden, Spike jerks his head up. Before she can react, he shoves Buffy to the side, hard. Stumbling off her high-heeled sandals, Buffy hits the pavement. “Hey!” Her tone is indignant until she sees why he pushed her. And realizes he’s not where he was a few seconds ago. The vampire who was clearly about to tackle Buffy is on top of Spike on the pavement a few feet away. Buffy, head swimming with tequila, decides against standing up quickly and instead crawls over to the fracas.

“Get off him! I’m the only one that gets to tackle Spike!” Spike pauses in his struggle to look over at Buffy, eyebrows raised. Just then, the other vampire connects with a sharp left to Spike’s face.

“Bloody hell!”

Buffy blushes as she realizes what she said and that it just got Spike punched. “Sorry!” She thinks to herself that helping would be a good idea. With a good wind-up swing, she clocks the vampire across the cheek with her Barbie lunchbox. A resounding whack echoes as plastic meets bone. The vamp goes flying off Spike, landing next to him on the street. Setting her lunchbox down carefully, Buffy notices the bottle of tequila also sitting on the street and wonders when the hell he had time to put it down there out of harm’s way. Buffy reaches Spike and sticks her hand in his duster, rummaging inside.

“Whoa, luv! Don’t you think we better take care of our friend over there first?” Spike gestures towards the prone vampire next to him, who is quickly recovering from being smacked.

Ignoring his question, Buffy pulls out her intended target - a stake. “Aha! I knew you’d have one of these in there. And here I thought you were just happy to see me.” With a quick wink to a speechless Spike, Buffy lunges over him to stake the not-quite-recovered vamp with a flourish. “HA! That’ll teach ya to jump MY vampire. Or um, me. Teach you to...jump me.” Buffy’s victorious taunting slows as she takes in her new position. Sprawled across Spike, butt in the air. She considers a quick scrambling retreat until she feels something quite hard under her stomach. Now that’s not a stake in his pocket. Spike sees her wide-eyed reaction as she wiggles a little and he has to bite his lip nearly in half to keep from moaning. His hand comes to rest on the back of her knee and Buffy shudders slightly from the coolness meeting her heated skin. Without making eye contact, she lifts herself slightly up by bracing her hands on the ground. Spike’s hand slides up her leg to the back of her thigh as she changes position. Buffy feels her heart racing in her chest. Finally, she turns her head to meet his eyes. Light from a nearby streetlight casts sharp shadows across his face and she can’t make out his expression. But, the hand. The hand on her leg is curving toward her inner thigh and Buffy tenses suddenly. He freezes. “We should...move.”

“Was moving.” His voice is deep and tender at once.

Buffy gulps, willing his hand to keep inching, but knowing she should not will it so. “Off the street. We’re in the street, Spike.”

Looking around, Spike sighs. “Yeah. Guess we are.”

A few moments pass and neither one moves. “Um, Slayer?”

“Yes?”

“I could move more easily if you weren’t on top of me.”

“OH! Oh yes! Of course, I...I’ll get right up.” In Buffy’s efforts to get up, Spike’s hand ends up on her butt for a few seconds, which makes her jump as if electrocuted. “I’m UP!” And in the next few seconds, she is standing, wobbling a bit on her heels, cheeks flushed high and hot.

Spike sits up on his elbows, glancing at her skirt, hiked up to the point of near indecency and muttering to himself. “Yeah, me too.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Spike gets to his feet, brushing off the duster and trying to hide the telltale bulge in his pants. Nothing like full body contact to get the motor running.

Buffy watches Spike quietly, her body still tingling from feeling him under her. The hardness of him, the firmness of his muscular body below hers. The feel of his hand sliding against her skin further and further upward. The unmistakable erection. And her reaction to all of it. Her chest heaving, temperature rising, skin twitching reaction to it.

Not to mention the fact that he just saved her life.

“Wait a minute. You just saved my life.”

Spike looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Nah, I just knew you didn’t...you aren’t...with the drinking. And I caught his scent. Just a reaction, luv.”

Buffy grins at him. The reluctant hero. She knows this is putting a real smear on his badass image to help the Slayer. Luckily, the only other witness is a pile of dust at their feet. She leans closer to him, hesitates as she comes within an inch of his face, but continues on. Lightly, she brushes her lips across his cheek and leans back. “Thanks for reacting, then.”

Without waiting for his reaction, Buffy leans over to get her lunchbox, nearly flashing the neighborhood, including Spike, when she does. While down there, she picks up the bottle of tequila as well. Handing it to Spike, who is standing very still, she smirks. “Wouldn’t want to forget this, would we?” She puts it in his hand and starts walking down the street, an extra sway in her hips. It might be the booze talking, but she wants to have that reaction again. Feel him beneath her again. Only maybe with less clothes this time. Noticing Spike is not next to her, she turns and continues walking backwards, facing Spike. Lunchbox swinging by her side, she crooks her finger at the blond vamp.

Recovering quickly from staring intently at her tight ass and from the warm sensation on his cheek where she kissed him, Spike moves forward in a blur. He falls into step next to her, neither saying a word.

Buffy’s mind is screaming again, wondering why she is flirting with Spike and why she is thinking of him in positions most inappropriate to the Slayer-vampire dynamic. She hesitates, considering if this voice is correct. Only it feels so good to touch him and he is making it so easy to look at him in a different light.

Spike takes a quick look at the Slayer and tries to figure out when her face ceased to aggravate him and began to make him want to shag her. Well, truth be told, he may have always wanted to shag her, but now he doesn’t want to kill her afterwards, after all. Might want to keep her around. He grimaces slightly, thinking this is an impossible scenario. One that could not end well. And might just end dusty. Just as he decides it will be better if he keeps his distance from this Slayer, he feels something warm on his arm. Her hand.

Buffy meets his eyes for just a second as she curls her hand into his elbow and keeps walking. Spike takes his pile of concerns and shoves them in the back of his head, safely away from logic and other reason.

After a few more blocks of quiet walking, they reach the front porch of Buffy’s house. Retrieving a key from somewhere in her tight dress, Buffy steps into the dark house and Spike follows. She reaches around him and closes the door behind, bringing herself quite close to Spike in the process. The silence is palpable as Buffy adjusts to the darkness in the hallway. Spike can see right away and finds himself reaching out slowly with a hand to touch Buffy’s cheek. Right before he makes contact, she moves away quickly toward the kitchen.

Her voice nervous and light, she calls back, “So, are you thirsty, Spike? I’ve got blood in the fridge.” Spike stands still for a moment, shaking his head. She’s scared. Well, she’s got a right to be. This is very bizarre behavior for both of them. Supposed to be at each other’s throats, not planning ways to get naked. He follows her into the kitchen.

Spike arrives to find the refrigerator door open with Buffy rummaging inside it. Her butt shimmies at him in a most intriguing way. His voice causes her to stand up quickly and peer around the door at him. The sight that greets her makes her mouth go slightly dry.

Lounging against the door frame, black leather draping him, mouth twisted in a devilish grin, Spike holds up the bottle of tequila. “The question, luv, is whether you are thirsty. I’m willing to share.”





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Author’s Note: Thanks for the feedback on this fic! Hope ya like this chapter! - Ti :)

* * * * * Chapter 10: Kiss and Make It Better? * * * * *



Buffy stares at Spike, eyes darting from the bottle to his face down his body and back again in a loop that starts to make her wobble. She swallows before finally answering. “Yes. Thirsty.” She smacks herself in the forehead - in her mind - for her Me Tarzan You Jane reply. “I mean, yes, I’m thirsty, too.” She furrows her brow and looks back in the refrigerator. Spike hears drawers opening and closing inside as he continues to watch her scantily clad rear wiggle. “YES!” Buffy stands up straight, startling Spike into jerking his eyes to her face. Noticing her arm is held up triumphantly, he glances up to her hand to see two lemons. She smacks them down on the counter. “These will work just as well as limes, right?”

Spike’s smile is slow and delicious as he swaggers into the kitchen and sets the bottle down on the island next to the lemons. “Will work just fine, love. Do you have any shot glasses?”

Buffy squinches up her face in an exaggerated thinking posture, finger tapping on her chin. Suddenly, her face lights up. “No, but I have these!” She scurries over to a cabinet, her heels click clacking on the linoleum. Reaching up into the cabinet, hiking her skirt up to an indecent level, she pulls down two small juice glasses. Showing these to Spike, she raises her eyebrows. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Buffy bites her bottom lip. She decides she really likes how it sounds when Spike says ‘yes.’ Almost immediately, she thinks of other situations in which she would like to hear him saying - okay, yelling - yes. Spike cocks his head at her as the red flush races up into her cheeks with no warning. He tries to figure out what he said or did this time. And how he could do it again.

Remembering she was in the middle of something, Buffy stops thinking about Spike naked for just a few seconds. She points at the items in turn. “Okay. Tequila. Lemons. Glasses. We need...” She glances around. “Salt!” She grabs the salt shaker near the stove and adds it to the group.

Spike watches Buffy, thinking he is getting to see the Slayer in a way he never has before. Playful, sexy. He is almost nervous about how attracted he is to her. Almost. Mostly just turned on as hell.

He blinks when Buffy yanks her latest needed item from a drawer and brandishes it a bit too happily.

“Um, a big knife? We need that?” Spike takes one step back.

“For the lemons, silly.” Buffy smiles, wide and unabashed. Sticking her tongue out to one side in concentration, she corrals a lemon and starts to cut it before Spike can grab it away. “OWWWWW!”

Buffy drops the knife and sticks her finger directly into her mouth. Eyes wide, she hops up and down. Spike jumps forward quickly, the scent of blood sharp in his nose.

“Bloody hell, woman. You’re half-drunk, you shouldn’t be using a knife!” Spike decides his extreme concern is a fluke. Otherwise, it would indicate some deeper feeling for the Slayer besides lust and that is not admissible to his brain. Thankfully, the distressed Slayer is an excellent distraction from such thoughts. He reaches her, pushes the knife out of the way on the island and puts his hands on her arms, making her stop bouncing up and down. “There, now. Let me see. Do I need to take you to hospital or what?” Buffy, startled by the obvious worry in his voice, forgets the sharp pain for a second and withdraws her finger from her mouth at his gentle tugging. She shows it to him, eyes averted.

“Is it bad? Is my finger hanging off?” Buffy avoids looking as Spike takes her hand in his to study her wound.

“Well, it’s bleeding, pet. But it’s firmly attached.” Spike injects a little merriment in his voice, and feels what he can only describe as relief. It’s only a small slice in the tip of her finger.

“Oh thank god. I thought I - OH!” Buffy whips her head back towards Spike at the sensation shooting up her arm, electrifying her. The intensity of his eyes only serves to freeze her in place. “Wha - what are you doing?” His mouth has descended to her injured finger and as he brushes his lips against the tip again, she gasps. Not in pain, but in sudden and sharp arousal.

Spike’s gaze is unwavering. “Just a little kiss to make it better, eh, love?” There is mischief in his baby blues and Buffy feels her smile match his. “Is it better, Slayer?”

“Yeah.” Her voice is nearly a breath. “But, uh, maybe one more to make it all better. Safe side and all.”

Spike doesn’t answer, just lowers his mouth to her finger, the taste of her blood on his lips sweet like honey. Without really thinking it through, he slides her finger into his mouth, sucking lightly. The blood of a Slayer is too much for him to resist. Especially when it is this particular Slayer in front of him, chest rising and falling a bit too fast, skin a bit too warm and eyes open just a bit too wide.

Buffy feels herself drawn closer to him, mesmerized by the warm wet feel of his mouth on her finger. The intimacy of it brings her within inches and her other hand lifts to rest against his chest, palm flat. It’s both to steady herself and just to touch him. She really wants to touch him. Her fingertips dig into his shirt when she feels his tongue swirl around the finger before withdrawing it. The cool air strikes her wet skin, making her jump. The cut has stopped bleeding already.

“Better?” Spike licks his top lip and Buffy can do nothing but watch. She nods, lowering her finger and drawing on a reserve of will she thought empty to just step back from him. Neither one is willing or completely ready to cave into the sensations of their bodies. Yet.

Spike steps to the side of Buffy and picks up the knife again. Wiping it clean with a kitchen towel, he starts slicing the lemons into wedges as Buffy recovers from the moment that just passed between them.

Her brain screeches from one reaction to another, settling on nonchalant. Yeah, she thinks she can pull that one off. Of course, she’s also fairly drunk, so her judgment is not top-notch. She leans casually on the kitchen island, watching Spike wield the large knife with ease.

“Aren’t you drunk?”

“Me, pet? No. Maybe a little...touched, but not drunk. Not like you.” Spike grins, continuing to cut.

“Am not!” Buffy stands up straight, realizing that while leaning on the island she was flashing Spike a view straight down her dress. So much for nonchalant.

“Whatever you say, love. Shall we?”

She answers a bit too quickly. “Shall we what?”

Spike grabs the bottle and the glasses and gestures to the lemons and salt shaker, ignoring her question for the moment. “Grab the lemons and salt, will you, Buffy?” Buffy feels the ripple of excitement over her skin when he says her name. She won’t admit it, but just hearing him say it is nearly orgasmic. “Um, Buffy?”

“Right, but what shall we...what? Uh. What?” Spike chuckles, loving the way words tangle up in her mouth, the tequila sending them every which way.

“Thought we might tuck into this bottle somewhere more...comfortable.” Buffy stifles a reaction, her mind flashing visions of bodies in bed and all sorts of naughty activities. Spike gestures toward the living room with the bottle. “The couch?”

Buffy’s mind switches to entangled limbs on the couch with ease. Biting her lip and reining in her hormones, Buffy manages a smile.

“Sure, sounds good. I’ll just grab something for the lemon wedges, ‘kay?” Finally finding her false nonchalance, Buffy smiles and makes for the cabinet, mentally encouraging Spike to go into the other room. It works. He struts out of the room, all leather and bad and she watches him go over her shoulder. Buffy darts over to the freezer and whips it open, sticking her face into the freezing air. She breathes hard, trying to bring down her temperature. Digging around in the ice cube tray, she takes a cube and rubs it up the nape of her neck, around her neck and down her cleavage. The goosebumps come up immediately as the ice melts rapidly against her heated skin. When she feels like she will not tackle Spike on sight, she chucks the ice cube in the sink, closes the freezer and straightens herself out. Adjusting her dress and wiping off excess water with a dishtowel, Buffy takes a few deep breaths. Glancing around, she finds a small bowl and drops the wedges in it. Salt shaker and bowl in hand, she walks slowly and calmly toward the living room.

All her work cooling down goes right out the window when she sees him again. Buffy can remember just this morning when seeing him just made her want to punch him and now...well, it can’t all be the tequila. Some underlying attraction is just rising to the surface. The punching was maybe a good way to push that away, to push him away before her weakness was revealed. Whatever she felt about Spike before, the only thing she can feel right now is wanting. She wants him. No matter how wrong, no matter how stupid. No matter the consequences. Whether she contains that want or even tries to, is the $100,000 question of the evening.

Right now the answer is no. No containing, no resisting.

Spike has shed his duster and is sitting on the couch, stretched out. Booted feet on the coffee table, arms folded behind his neck, entire black-clad body on display, sleek and trim. Her mouth goes dry, taking the few seconds before he opens his eyes to take as much in as possible. He sits up when he sees her, gaze appreciative over the curves of her body. The way her dress clings to her in all the right places makes him wonder what all those right places would look like without the dress in the way. Buffy hesitates, nibbling her bottom lip. He smiles and she smiles back, heart pounding. Finally, decision clearly made, she strides in, and going right for the couch, sits next to him. Right next to him. So close Spike can feel her body’s warmth.

She sets down the bowl and the salt shaker next to the other items on the coffee table. Without meeting Spike’s eyes, she uncaps the bottle and pours two shots. She passes one to Spike, along with a lemon wedge. Taking one for herself, Buffy brings her hand up to her mouth to lick it. Just as her tongue starts to slide over her hot skin, her eyes flick to his. He is watching her, watching every movement she makes and her temperature kicks up to supernova. She shakes the salt on her hand and passes the shaker to Spike.

She stares at his tongue and then the salt sticking to his wet skin. Her designs on the vampire across from her start to coalesce in her mind. So much for restraint. Spike holds up his glass to Buffy, in a toast.

“Bottoms up, love.” He licks the salt and tips the glass into his mouth right as she answers him.

“Maybe later.” With a wicked grin, she takes her salt and throws her shot back as Spike sputters and chokes. Eyes watering, he wipes his mouth and looks at her.

“What - what did you say?” Spike narrows his eyes a little as Buffy removes the lemon from her mouth and licks her lips. She pours another shot into his glass and into hers before answering.

“Hmm? About what?” Buffy licks her hand again, drawing Spike’s attention. He feels his cock stir, responding to her. She smirks at him, the recent shot of tequila making her tingle. Making her more brazen by the second. Shaking the salt on her own hand first, she passes it over.

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Spike quickly licks the side of his hand and shakes salt on it. Buffy holds up her glass, preparing to take the shot. Spike starts to bring his hand up to lick the salt off when he notices something. Buffy’s hand on his wrist, stopping him. His eyes dart to hers, confused. His whole body tenses when she leans forward, never breaking eye contact. The tip of her tongue grazes his skin and Spike nearly drops his glass. She flattens her tongue, taking in all the salt from his hand in one sweep. Sitting back, she tips the glass to him before taking the shot quickly. Buffy sucks the lemon wedge quickly and tosses it to the table.

“Thanks.” Her voice, dripping with sensuality sends waves of arousal through Spike. His hand is still frozen in the air where she licked him. He shakes his head, clearing it. His own tongue darts out, wrapping around his front teeth as he grins at her. So, baby is ready to play.

Buffy feels the playing field start to level. They both want, they’re both willing to throw the rules out the window. Game on.

Spike grabs her wrist in his hand, pulling her hand to him. The salt is still there, waiting. Licking his lips, he leans closer, his tongue brushing her skin.

Buffy gasps quietly, her nipples hardening. “Um, Spike...the salt is - oh! - on my hand...”

Spike lifts his mouth from her shoulder to answer. “Getting there, pet.” She sits straight up as his tongue drags down her arm, stopping every few inches to kiss her skin, soft and wet. She shivers, a fresh wave of goosebumps covering her arms and legs. Finally, after what seems like hours, he reaches her hand. With one very slow motion, he takes up the salt, curling his tongue into his mouth, eyes closed.

“You taste bloody fantastic, Slayer.” Buffy whimpers involuntarily, wanting his tongue to find other places to taste. And soon. He watches her breaths shorten, watching him closely as he finally takes the shot and sucks the lemon wedge.

Holding up the bottle, he raises his eyebrows. “More, love?”

Buffy’s hand shoots out with her glass in hand.

“Oh god, yes.” With a chuckle, Spike starts to pour.