Banner by spuffy_noelle

Title: Are We Friends?(1/3/05)

Author: Slaymesoftly

Challenge #31 at the Bloodshedverse

Rating NC17

Disclaimer: Joss’s characters; my story

AN: Response to Challenge #31: set between Season IV and V, Buffy catches Spike wanking off, sees his manly bits and smut ensues. Takes me a while to get to the smut, but it happens eventually. Clearly leaves room to sequel - perhaps with another challenge. Wasn’t there one about Spike and Buffy getting drunk? That could happen if he ever actually takes her to LA...

Are We Friends?

Chapter One

The Slayer walked along, kicking at stones as she muttered to herself.

“This just sucks! Everybody goes away on vacation – including Riley. But does Buffy get to go on vacation? Oh no, The Slayer has to stay on the Hellmouth. Just in case some vampires might need staking. Like every vampire in Sunnydale hasn’t gone away for the summer just like everybody else!”

She continued her self-pitying diatribe all the way into Restfield Cemetery, where she stopped and sat on a tombstone to pout.

“I could be at the beach. I could be shopping in LA with Dawn. I could be hitting the clubs with...” She stopped, not sure exactly who she would have been hitting the clubs with. Somehow she just couldn’t picture Riley dancing it up in an Los Angeles nightclub. She giggled at the idea of her straight-arrow boyfriend sitting next to a couple of transvestite coke dealers. Or dancing to one of the hot bands currently playing in Los Angeles.

“It’s not his fault he has no rhythm,” she said loyally. “Or that he’s a foot taller than me and my face gets smooshed into his chest when we slow dance. He’s my boyfriend and if I was going to go out, of course, he’s who I’d want to go with.”

“Talkin’ to yourself, then, Slayer?”

The fact that she was glad to hear that familiar British drawl was proof positive to Buffy that she was officially bored out of her mind. She glanced up to see the good-looking, but oh-so-annoying vampire staring at her curiously with his head tilted to the side. She found herself staring at him, running her eyes from the chiseled features of his face down his undeniably toned body.

“Slayer?” he repeated when she didn’t answer him immediately.

His second question snapped her out of the wildly inappropriate

(Very bad. Bad, bad Buffy. There will be no ogling the sexy vampire.) thoughts she found herself entertaining about him.

“Huh?”

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and repeated, “I asked if you were talkin’ to yourself?”

“Oh. I knew that.” She blinked at him and continued, “It’s not like I’ve got anybody else to talk with.”

Her lower lip went out as she began to pout again. “Everybody is away on vacation. Except me. I never get to go anywhere!”

He studied her unhappy face for a minute, forcing himself not to dwell on how tempting her lower lip was.

(No, mate. Don’t go there. Don’t think about sucking that sexy little lip into your...)

The vampire shook himself and asked carefully, “So everyone? Capt’n Cardboard didn’t stick around to keep you company?”

(Bloody fool! Leavin’ her on her own.)

“No,” she said with another pout. “He went back to Iowa to visit his family. Everybody’s gone somewhere. Everybody except me. There aren’t even any vampires to slay...” She looked up at him speculatively and he backed up quickly.

“Easy there, pet. Harmless vampire, here, remember?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes at him.

“I know that, you big baby. I’m not going to slay you just ‘cause I’m bored.”

“Could help you patrol,” he mumbled, looking at the ground and poking it with the toe of his shoe.

Buffy stared at him, not even trying to hide her gratitude.

“Would you?” she asked more hopefully than she had intended. “Even your company is better than no company at all.”

“Oh, thanks ever so, pet,” he answered, rolling his eyes. “You really know how to make a bloke feel wanted.”

“Why would I want to make you feel wanted?” Her brow wrinkled with genuine confusion.

“Never mind,” he growled, “it’s just an expression.”

Buffy shook her head at him and jumped off the tombstone.

“’K, then. Let’s go find something to beat up.”

He grinned as he fell into step beside her.

“My kind of woman,” he smirked.

“As if,” she huffed, giving him a little shove.

(As if you’d be interested in the woman who was born to kill you.)

(Oh, Slayer, if you only knew...)

To the delight of both frustrated blonds, they ran into a Faryl demon skulking outside the Bronze.

“After you, m’ lady,” Spike laughed as Buffy jumped in front of him yelling, “Mine!”

As much as he would have enjoyed the rough and tumble of a fight himself, he was just as happy to watch the little bundle of power in front of him as she kicked and punched and whirled around the angry demon. As always when he watched her fight, his pants were soon uncomfortably tight and he shifted under his duster to relieve the pressure. When a strong backhanded swipe from the Faryl sent the Slayer into the brick wall, Spike went instantly from interested onlooker to active participant.

With a roar, he leaped onto the demon, trying to wrestle it to the ground. Instead, he found himself being thrown off to join the Slayer in the dirt at the foot of the wall. The two temporary allies exchanged a look and then leapt to their feet simultaneously. Without having to say a word, they attacked the still angry demon, Buffy going for his knees and Spike leaping toward his head.

As Buffy’s leg sweep brought the demon down, Spike went into game face and buried his teeth in the Faryl’s thick neck. Buffy heard a soft, “oof” as the large demon fell backwards and landed on the snarling vampire. She kicked the Faryl as hard as she could in what she assumed would be his most tender parts, and when he reached for himself with a very un-demonlike scream, Spike grabbed his now upright head and twisted until its neck snapped.

He threw the dead or disabled Faryl off and sat up with a grin on his face. He was met by the Slayer’s matching grin as she offered her hand to help him up.

“That’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” she panted, still smiling at the equally energized vampire.

“It was a bit of alright, luv,” he agreed, smiling back at her.

He was still holding on to the hand she had used to pull him up. Without realizing what they were doing, they had moved closer together. The Slayer’s still-heaving chest drew the vampire’s eyes and he found himself breathing in concert with her. A sudden escalation of her heart rate made him glance up to her face and he saw that she was blushing furiously.

He found himself leaning in towards her, not really sure what he was planning to do, but unable to stop himself from getting as close to her as he could. Buffy was staring at his rapidly approached mouth, remembering from Willow’s spell the previous fall how incredibly soft and supple those lips could be.

(What am I doing? Am I gonna try to kiss her? She’ll stake me for sure. Might be worth it, though...)

(What is he doing? Is he going to kiss me? I don’t want him to kiss me! Evil vampire. No kissing the evil vampire. Why am I not moving?)

The moment was interrupted as the door to the Bronze opened and a group of laughing, shoving boys came tumbling out. Buffy and Spike jumped away as if they had been shocked, neither one willing to meet the other’s eyes.

By silent mutual agreement, they faded back into the shadows until they were sure the boys’ attention was on the dead Faryl; then they left the alley as quickly as they could.

They walked in uncomfortable silence for several blocks, until finally Spike couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Slayer, I—“

(Bollocks! What the hell am I gonna say? I wanted to kiss you? I didn’t want to kiss you? I want to shag you into the ground? There’s no way to get out of this without gettin’ dusty)

“It never happened.” The Slayer’s voice brooked no disagreement, and he sighed briefly before he agreed.

“What never happened?”

“Exactly.”

(I never, for one second, wanted you to kiss me. Ok, maybe in the heat of the moment...but, no. Not an option.)

They walked some more in silence until Buffy suddenly realized they were in front of her house. She looked at Spike curiously and wondered if he’d meant to walk her home, deciding quickly that she really didn’t want to know.

“Well, I live here,” she said awkwardly.

“Yeah, know that,” he responded with a grin.

“It was kinda...fun. Beating up the demon together, I mean.”

“Yeah, it was. Nothin’ like a bit of violence to perk up an evening.”

“So, maybe...you might want to--”

“Oh, absolutely! Tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah. I was thinking tomorrow night, we could...If you’re not busy doing...stuff.”

“Nope, no stuff.”

“’K, then. See ya, Spike.”

She turned quickly toward her door, still not willing to look at him.

“Good night, Slayer,” he said softly. When she was safely in the house, he turned back toward his cemetery and whispered, “Till tomorrow.”

The rest of the summer weeks passed quickly as they fell into a routine. Spike would appear outside her house and wait for her to come out to stroll with him through the cemeteries of Sunnydale, looking for demons or vampires to fight. Even though the chances to work up a good sweat remained as few and far between as had been the case all summer, the evenings were much less boring as the two former enemies settled into companionable habits.

Spike was full of tales of foreign countries and exotic demons, and funny stories about his years of mayhem with which he would entertain the Slayer for hours. He was careful not to bring up anything involving Angelus once he discovered that it could ruin Buffy’s mood for the rest of the evening. Although he did catch the corners of her mouth quirking up a couple of times when he was describing something Angelus had done that was particularly pompous.

The Slayer talked about her classes at Sunnydale University; about how surprised she was to find that she enjoyed her class in poetry and how she wished she had more time for it. When Spike let on that he also liked poetry and was quite knowledgeable about it, Buffy began to look at him in a totally new light. Especially when he surprised her one night by shoving a book into her hand as he was leaving.

“Thought you might like this, Slayer,” he said gruffly, leaving before she could even thank him.

Buffy walked into the house and took the book into the well-lit kitchen to look at it. It was bound in leather and appeared to be quite old. Her mother noticed and took it out of her hand.

“Buffy, this is a first edition of William Wordsworth’s poetry! Where did you get it?”

“Sp—Spike gave it to me. He said he thought I might like it.”

“Well, it’s too valuable for you to accept as a gift. You’ll have to give it back to him after you’ve read through it. You can make copies of any poems you really like.” Her mother was firm and Buffy didn’t feel like arguing with her so she nodded her head and took the book back. She took it upstairs with her and spent the rest of the night reading the poems until she fell asleep.

The next evening, when Spike appeared outside, her mother went out and insisted he come in the house to wait for Buffy. She fixed him a cup of hot chocolate and studied him over the rim of her cup as he drank it.

“Spike,” she began finally. “You know I like you. We’ve never revoked your invitation. Why do you always wait outside?”

He blinked at her in surprise.

“Didn’t know that, Joyce. Just assumed it had been and didn’t want to ask the Slayer to...”

“To ask the Slayer what?” Buffy asked as she came into the kitchen.

“We were just discussing the fact that Spike could have come in any time, rather than standing out on the lawn to wait for you. Why didn’t you ask him to come in, Buffy?”

Her mother fixed her with one of her patented, ‘I raised you with better manners than that,’ glares and Buffy looked at the floor with embarrassment.

To the vampire’s amazement, the Slayer mumbled a sincere sounding, “I’m sorry, Spike. I just didn’t think about it. I thought you didn’t want to come in.”

He just stared at her with an expression of complete astonishment on his face.

“Did you just apologize to me for something?” he asked, a smile beginning to turn up the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Fangface,” she snarked at him, but she smiled as she said it.

Her mother shook her head at the two of them and excused herself to go pack for her upcoming trip to New York.

Buffy and Spike began their usual rounds with the Slayer being uncharacteristically quiet.

“What’s the matter, luv?” he asked curiously. He really wanted to ask if she’d liked the book, but was afraid to bring it up until she did.

“Nothing,” she sighed. “It’s just… Mom’s going to New York for a while and once again I’m left behind to twiddle my thumbs while everyone else goes off to have fun.”

“Oh,” he said quietly, then, “I thought we’d been havin’ fun, pet.” He tried to keep the hurt out of his voice, but she shot him an apologetic look and put her hand on his arm.

“We have, Spike. Really. I would have gone insane by now if I hadn’t had you to patrol with me every night. It’s just...”

“Just...?” He cocked an eyebrow at her and waited for more information. His arm felt like it was on fire where her fingers still rested on it.

She sighed and dropped her hand back to her side, not noticing the disappointment on his face.

“I just wish I had a chance to go somewhere. Even if it was just LA for a night. I’d like a reason to get dressed up. I’d like to go dancing...”

She looked up a Spike and shrugged, “I’m sorry, Spike. Guess I’m not very good company tonight, am I? I’m all whiny Buffy.”

“’S alright, pet. All work and no play makes the Slayer a grouchy girl. Got it. Think I’ve got the cure,” he said carefully, peering at her out of the corner of his eye.

She gazed back at him expectantly.

He looked away from her, just in case she was going to over-react to his suggestion, and offered, “Could take you to LA. Take you clubbin’ for a night. If you want. It’s not like there’s so much goin’ on here in Sunnyhell that things are gonna get out of control if you miss a night.”

He held his unneeded breath as he waited for her to recoil in disgust. Instead, she looked at him with wide eyes and squealed.

“Would you do that for me? Would you really? We could go to, like, a real club? With people, and music and drinking and dancing?”

She looked up at him with sparkling eyes, then suddenly her joy faded and she asked tentatively, “You did mean a human club, didn’t you? Not some demon bar.”

Biting back his irritation, he nodded his head and said, “Yes, luv. a real club, with music and dancin’. Not too sure about the drinkin’, though, Slayer.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Heard some awful things about Slayers and beer...”

“It was MAGIC beer!” she huffed, then realized he was laughing at her. “Well, it was,” she repeated, flushing slightly. “Although, alcohol and Buffy? Probably not such mixy things.”

“The English language and Buffy aren’t such “mixy” things either,” he snarked at her, earning himself a punch on the arm. The punch didn’t hurt, and the physical contact made him smile again.

His comment about language reminded Buffy of the poetry book he’d given her and she quietly changed the subject.

“Spike? That book you gave me – Mom says it’s really valuable and that I shouldn’t keep it.”

“Did you like it, pet?” He waited anxiously for her answer.

“Oh, I loved it! Can I keep it long enough to make copies of the poems I like best?”

“If you like it, luv, I want you to keep it. Just hide it from your mum if you need to. If I want it back someday, I’ll know where to come for it.”

Buffy couldn’t think of what to say to lighten the conversation again, so she settled for a quiet, “Thank you”. She then shocked both of them by standing on her toes to put a quick kiss on his cheek.

She quickly whirled away from him, her face flaming, just in time to see two fledglings climbing out of their graves.

“Oh looky! One for each of us!,” she cried as she sprinted toward the hungry-looking vampires. Spike stood rooted to the spot, his hand touching his cheek where her lips had brushed it so briefly. He finally shook himself out of his stupor and leapt to join the fight.

Neither of them was ready to continue their conversation, so they took their time, playing with the newly risen vampires until Buffy started to tire. When she decided it was time to dust her playmate before she made a mistake, she looked at Spike and nodded. He ripped the head off his opponent at the same time that she staked hers and they stood amidst the floating dust, smiling at each other.

Chapter Two

As had become their custom, Spike walked with her back to the house on Revello Drive. He came all the way up on the porch this time and there was a moment of awkwardness before Buffy’s mother rescued them by opening the door and smiling at Spike as Buffy walked in.

“You two are back early tonight. No bad guys about?” she asked as she motioned for the vampire to come in also.

He looked at Buffy first for permission and laughed when Joyce rolled her eyes in a good imitation of her daughter.

“It is MY house, Spike,” she said with exasperation. “You don’t have to have her permission to come in.”

“I find it’s better for my overall health if I do.” He smiled gratefully at the older woman and laughed when Buffy glared at him.

Joyce sent another disapproving look at her daughter, then said “Goodnight” to both of them and went to her room. She gave Buffy a kiss and told her she would undoubtedly be gone by the time she got up in the morning.

“I’ll call you when I get to New York,” her mother said as she went upstairs.

Spike sauntered into the living room and sprawled on the couch, TV remote in hand.

“Come on, Slayer. Let’s see if we can find a Monty Python movie.”

“Oh joy,” she grumbled as she sat down beside him. “More unfunny British humor.”

The vampire looked at her in horror. “Unfunny? Are you daft? This is timeless!” He found what he was looking for and turned the volume up.

“Hey, turn that down! My mom’s trying to sleep,” she hissed, grabbing for the remote. He immediately held it up out of her reach and laughed as she jumped for it. With a triumphant shout, she snatched it out of his hand, only to find that her leap had left her lying across his body with her breasts pushed up against his face.

They remained frozen in place, each waiting for the other one to do something. Buffy gradually slid back down toward her seat on the couch, a motion that caused her breast to drag across the vampire’s face. She felt a cool puff of air across her nipple as he let out a muffled groan when it slid past his mouth. No sooner was her breast free from close proximity to his lips, than she found her face right in front of them.

Spike’s arm had dropped to help support her body as she tried to get back onto the couch without dropping the remote. He could feel her trembling as he wrapped the other arm around her and held her in place. Piercing blue eyes bored into uncertain green as their faces moved closer together.

He brushed his lips lightly across hers, reveling in their warm softness, even as he waited for her to shove him away. Instead, she slowly applied pressure until she was kissing him back almost against her will.

When Buffy’s lips parted in a sigh, he slid his tongue in and gently ran it over lips and teeth, asked for more. He was immediately rewarded with her warm tongue darting out to touch his briefly, and then retreating as though she’d thought better of it. Slowly and gently, he continued to kiss her, lightly touching her with his tongue, but not forcing it into her mouth. When she opened her mouth wider and sent her own tongue out to tangle with his, he groaned and pulled her down into his lap just as he had during their brief, spell-induced engagement.

Buffy allowed herself to sink into the bone melting kisses that she already knew so well from the spell. In no time she was breathing hard and lying across his lap while his free hand roamed over her body, leaving heated trails everywhere it went. She made no attempt to touch him except where her lips and tongue were glued to his. She just reclined bonelessly and let him kiss and fondle her into a dream-like state in which the fact that he was a vampire and that she had a boyfriend were only vague thoughts floating through her pleasure seeking brain.

Even when his hands became bolder and slipped under her shirt to cup a breast and roll the peaked nipple between his fingers, she didn’t have any reaction to what he was doing except to hope he kept doing it. It wasn’t until the things he was whispering in her ear began to register that she remembered who they were and how wrong it was to be doing what they were doing.

“Got to touch you, pet. Let me touch you. Want to taste you. Want you to touch me. Please, Buffy. Touch me, love.”

Buffy came back to earth with a thud when she realized that one of his hands was slipping into her low cut jeans. His other was pushing her hand down between their bodies to where his hard length was pressing into her thigh.

“Oh my god! What are you doing? Stop it Spike. Stop it, now!”

She pushed so frantically at his chest that she actually fell off his lap and landed on the floor. She looked up at him in horror, her hair hanging in tendrils around her face, her eyes wide open with fear and disgust.

He stared at her horrified face and felt something inside him go from soft and warm to hard and cold.

“What was I doing? Case you didn’t notice, Slayer, there are two of us sittin’ here.”

The hands that had been caressing her so skillfully just a few seconds ago were now clenched into fists and blue eyes that had been so heated now had gold flecks flashing through them. He was taking rapid, unnecessary breaths as he struggled to control his demon.

The Slayer sat on the floor, the expression on her face going from horrified to angry as she responded to the rage on his face.

“You...you took advantage of me,” she spit at him. “I trusted you and you tried to—“

“I tried to make love to you, you cock-teasing bitch. And don’t you try to tell me you didn’t know what I was doing. You were bloody well enjoying every second of it until I asked you to touch me. Guess that’s a little too much for those lily white Slayer hands, huh?”

He stood up and headed for the door, his duster billowing behind him. When he heard a quiet “Spike” from the living room, he stopped, but didn’t turn around.