Patrolling-Schmatrolling

TITLE: Patrolling-Schmatrolling
AUTHOR: Ten (no, not that one, the Buffy one)
RATING: NC-17, baby, and don't you forget it!
PAIRING: Spike/Buffy
SUMMARY: Buffy gets distracted while patrolling, mostly PWP
SPOILERS: Early Season 6, before the musical
FEEDBACK: is joyously welcomed!
DISCLAIMER: All characters are the property of the god which is Joss Whedon (all hail and bow low before him), and WB, UPN, Mutant Enemy and probably some other people. I just enjoy playing with them.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Thank you Ditto & PK, my fellow Spikettes, for your encouragement and efforts to turn me into a bona fide fanfic addict and, now, writer. It's ALL YOUR FAULT!

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PATROLLING-SCHMATROLLING


CHAPTER 1

Buffy walked through the cemetery with a less than serious concern about patrolling. It had been a slow night; no vamps, no demons, not even a passing car, which was weird but hardly alarming. It was just dull. Her attention wavered to the squish of her shoes in the recently watered grass and the distant flapping of night wings, sounds in the dark that didn't make sense unless you were she who hangs out in cemeteries. She chuckled aloud, that's what Riley used to call her, "She who hangs out in cemeteries." At the time it had annoyed her, but now it amused her because it was so true. To an outsider, that's what she was, what she did. She who hangs out in cemeteries.

Her heart tugged a little. She had loved Riley, not in the same way she loved Angel, of course, but she had loved him all the same. And they were a good team, in both fighting and loving. She felt a warm tingle at the thought of him, his muscular arms, and the muscular ... rest of him, all wrapped around her touching her in so many delicious ways. Buffy's mental filing cabinet opened up to the word "yum" and remembered the full day they had spent in bed. On bed. Under bed. Against bed. Nowhere near the bed. Okay, they were under a spell, but they hadn't known that and it was hour after hour of touching, feeling, loving, exploring, tasting, tingling, tickling, licking, ummm ... what was she thinking about? Oh yeah, patrolling.

She shook her head to clear the naked Riley image which was stuck there, sighed, and began listening to the steady squish of her boots again.

There he was again. Riley. Knocking at the door of her thoughts, trying to get in. Urg. She was spending so much time mentally trying to shove those memories in a closet that she didn't anticipate the Angel visions sneaking in the side door of her memory. Ack! There he was, foremost in her thoughts, touching her face, stroking her hair, kissing her. Oh geez, Angel kissage. The man had 240 years to practice and he hadn't wastedomenoment of it. Just thinking about his lips made her knees feel a little weak and her face flush.

She stopped, stomped her foot and chided herself, "Geez, Buffy, need some much?" She sighed the obvious answer, looking desperately up toward the starlit sky, "God yes!" And she began the tromping march through wet grass again thinking about puppies and folding laundry and Giles cleaning his glasses and Giles and her mother and, oh geez, please let's not go there.

Lost in her thoughts she didn't see the tiny trail of smoke dancing in the air from amongst the thick gathering of trees and rocks. Spike watched her quietly, amazed that she hadn't noticed him, as he wasn't exactly low profile standing there in plain sight smoking. He rather enjoyed that she was distracted. It gave him a chance to do some Buffy watching without being caught, and he was tempted to give her a little surprise to remind her that she shouldn't be daydreaming on patrol. A wry smile spread across his lips as his mind turned in ways that he could ... well, in evil ways. "Hey ... evil .... remember?" he reminded himself. He continued to watch her as she strolled past him, completely oblivious. He got prickly that she didn't at least feel his presence. She was the bloody Slayer, how could she not feel him, an evil, blood-sucking vampire? Well, evil anyway. His smile crept back in. He could either jump her and risk getting staked or he could taunt her with their usual verbal foreplay. It always amused him that she never saw that for what it was. For a Slayer, she could be pretty dense. He licked his lips in indecision, then snubbed out his cigarette. Option two it is.

"So, little girl, what goodies are you taking to Grandmother's house?" said Spike, with a hint of wolfish intent.

Buffy whirled around. Dear God she had been so distracted that she didn't feel a vampire THIS close?? Even Spike?? She was visibly flustered and then she caught a look at him. There he stood, tall and sculptured, casually up against a tree with his arms folded, that trademark smirk on his lips, his usual black duster over black jeans and shirt. There was something different, a touch of masculine jewelry around his neck, on his fingers. It stood out starkly against his black wardrobe, as did his bleached, slightly mussed hair. He looked ... extraordinarily attractive, and she felt something inside her begin to warm. She quickly looked back down at the ground. Uh-uh. Oh no, we are so not going there. Puppies. Laundry. Spike. No! No, no Spike. Uhhhhh. Her thoughts were pierced by the persistent vampire.

He used a playful, sing-songy voice, "Slayyyyerrrr? Hello? Are you in there?" The bloody girl was sure distracted enough. Twelve vamps could have had the bloody twelve apostles for dinner in front of her and she wouldn't have noticed.

"What?!" She suddenly snapped at him, finally looking up directly into his face, her eyes both flashing and smoldering. And she knew at once her eyes had betrayed her. Damn.

Spike's grin spread even further. Oh, this was too tempting. The slayer out patrolling, all distracted, and with the heat of passion in her eyes. A glint of evil mixed with his own passion flared in his eyes. He looked deeply at her, then took a deep, intoxicating breath, not to breathe, but just to see if he could catch a scent of her arousal on the night air. He was rewarded, and his smile broadened.

Buffy flushed and looked away. Damn those vampire senses. He'd caught her and there would be no end to the jokes and snide remarks. She suddenly dreaded the rest of her natural life, well, this one anyway.

He stepped toward her casually, and pitched his voice low and almost whispered, "So, Slayer," he said, deliberately standing too close to her, letting the breeze carry his own, musky scent to tease her. She bristled uncomfortably. This was going to be fun. "Finding any action out here tonight?" It was deliberate. He knew it, and more importantly, so did she. She felt stripped and exposed and very, very caught with un-slayerlike thoughts on her mind. Damn.

She lifted her chin indignantly and opened her mouth to protest and then stopped. He looked so good tonight. Why couldn't he look all grr and fangy and dead like other vamps? It just wasn't fair that instead of looking pasty his skin shown like alabaster, almost polished and a stark contrast beneath his always-black clothing. It wasn't fair that, even beneath his duster, she could still see the definition of his arms and chest. Not fair that his soft blonde curly-ish hair begged to be tousled and touched. Not fair. Not fair. Not fair!

"Slayer!" He was insistent.

"What?!!" she snapped.

"I said, are you finding any vampires or other nasties about tonight?"

Nasties? He said nasties? He was mocking her, he knew damned well that her mind was not on her work or beasts or vampires, well, not vampires in general. He was enjoying this. Damn. Damn. Damn. "Okay, Buffy, regroup," she thought to herself. "Now, you could handle this in one of several ways. You could stake him right here, usually the first inclination anyway, but he honestly hasn't done anything to deserve it just now. You could punch him in the nose, always a good option. You could shove him up against that tree and press your lips to his, parting them slightly and letting your tongue ...... no, no, no that is NOT one of the choices. What are you thinking??? Ack!" She shook her head to clear it and looked up at him again, a mixture of innocence and confusion, and said, "Huh?"

A soft, almost seductive chuckle rumbled from deep in Spike's throat. "Girl, whatever you have, you have it bad. Did some naughty college boy steal another piece of you?

That was it. She clocked him. Her fist came smashing right across his well-chiseled cheekbone and took him down. He hadn't been expecting it, at least not yet anyway, so down he went onto the soggy ground. Before he could recover, she was on him, straddling his ribcage and looking like she was going to pound him into dirt. Except she didn't. She stopped, looking at him angrily. He was cool beneath her, cool against her inner thighs, her knees and every other part of her that touched him. She tried not to think about it, but her body suddenly became insufferably hot, her breathing more shallow, and she felt a tightness in her lower body which was threatening to spread.

She placed her hands on his chest, and Spike cringed, thinking, "If she has a stake up her sleeve, I'm dust."

Almost reading his thoughts, she took off her jacket, peeling it off her body slowly, too slowly, almost like she was ... Spike began to take notice and thought, "No, she wasn't doing that ... was she?" and the moment passed as she threw her jacket on the ground next to them.

Her eyes flashed down at him, and she pressed her hands onto his chest again. Then she curled her fingers into his t-shirt and without warning ripped it wide open.