Shot in the Dark

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Chapter 16: Distraction
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Spike grabs the nearest object and throws it with as much force as he can at the crypt wall. The sound of glass shattering fills the empty crypt. He kicks a small table over and then kicks it again into a sarcophagus.

“Wanker. If I ever get my hands on this bleedin' Cupid, I’ll rip his little wings off and stuff them down his throat.” Spike throws himself into his armchair, breathing hard, fists clenched. Every step to the crypt was filled with a vision of her. Even now, he can taste her skin on his tongue, can feel her taut muscles under his hands, can see her deep hazel eyes looking into his.

“Arrrgghh!” He stands up suddenly, running his hands thr his his hair. He decides he either has to get blinding drunk or kill some demons to distract himself. Maybe both. Spike storms out of his crypt, slamming the door behind him.

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Later that evening...

Buffy turns the nightstand upright, replaces the clock and lamp that were knocked off it. She looks around and sighs. “Man, did we ever tear this place up. Thank God Mom’s not back from her trip for a few more days. She would have split a gasket if she saw the house like this.” Finishing up in her bedroom, Buffy flops down on the bed with a sigh. The busy task of cleaning up has kept her distracted from the aching in her heart and the still pulsing need for him. Every room in the house where she and Spike ran wild has now been restored to order and her thoughts threaten to invade again. She looks hard at herself, at her now sweaty running pants and tank top. Going to her dresser, she pulls out some extra clothes she left there and heads for the bathroom. Opening the door brings a rush of memories back. Him helping her into the shower, gently washing her body... Cursing the emotional roller coaster she is on, Buffy yanks the curtain back and turns on the water. “I’ll just make it quick and get the hell out of here.”

The hot water pounds into her tender skin, awakening every nerve ending. She grabs the washcloth, soaps it and starts to wash herself off. She flinches as she rubs a bit too hard on her sensitive skin. Her entire body is sore from the strenuous activity of the last twenty four hours. Lightening her touch, she works the cloth up to her chest, up her neck. She grazes the still fresh bite mark there and instantly freezes. The look in his eyes when she offered her blood. The feeling that drove her to do it. The incredible sensation of pain/pleasure as he clung to her, as she felt herself filling him with life and warmth. Hot tears sting her eyes as they well up and fall. Buffy backs up until she reaches the cool tile. Sliding down the surface, she ends up sitting on the shower floor. Water pours over her as she puts her head down on her knees and pours out her disappointment in quiet sobs.

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Even later that evening...

“Another.”

“’ey, don’t you think you’ve had enough, buddy?”

Spike launches himself half over the bar, grabbing the bartender by the shirt. “I. Said. Another.” A low growl begins to emanate from the vampire’s chest.

“Uh, yessir. Right away.” Spike slumps back onto his bar stool. Filthiest disgusting dive in town and they try to cut him off? He turns on the stool and leans against the bar, surveying the crowd. Demons, vamps and the generally undesirable of Sunnydale. As long as the Slayer doesn’t feel like picking a huge bar fight, she won’t be here tonight. He was sure that would help, but it hasn’t gotten her out of his mind. Not her or her golden body or her breathless words in his ear as he... “Dammit!” He slams his hand down on the bar and turns back to face it. The drink has appeared while his back was turned. He sips it at first, letting the amber liquid burn his throat on the way down. Spike is finding it difficult to get drunk enough to forget. If anything, the alcohol is making him more and more depressed. He slams the remaining contents of the glass. Spike mutters to himself, “Damn my vampire constitution. Takes forever to get hammered.” He raises his voice to be heard over the clamor in the bar. “’ey! Another.” The bartender begins to open his mouth, but Spike holds up a finger, silencing him. He then turns the finger and points at the empty glass, an eyebrow raised. The bartender gulps and snatches away the empty glass. Again murmuring to himself, Spike muses, “Must be new. Won’t last in a place like this.” Five drinks later, Spike is finally starting to feel it. The bartender is keeping a safe distance from the vampire as he grows more and more surly.

“’Bout bloody time. Been drinkin’ for two hours straight.” He starts to turn around on the barstool and suddenly finds himself on the floor. A pair of large muscular arms pick him up. “’oy, thanks, mate. Stool musht ha’ moved on me. Wha - wha the hell you doin’? ‘EY!”

Spike is rather unceremoniously tossed out tossed out of the bar, landing in a sprawled heap in the dank alley. The door slams behind the two bouncers without a word.

“Was bloody rude, ya ashk me.” On his third attempt, Spike manages to stand up. He goes to the alley wall for support and stands very still for a minute. “ ‘aven’t been this sloshed in a bit. Everythin’s nice an’ blurry...”

Spike laughs to himself, and then squints as he sees two very blurry and large forms approaching him. “Not those bloody bouncers again.” He raises his voice, “ Shove off, alrigh' I’m out of the bleedin’ bar already!”

“So we noticed, Spike.” The deep voice is vaguely familiar.

“Tha’s funny, you sound a lot like that Wa’shaar demon I whacked t’other night. Oh wait, that was tonight, actually. See, I‘ve been drinkin - ”

“That was one of my brethren, Spike. And we don’t find it very funny.”

“Oh balls, don’t tell me you’re here for wha - revenge? Boys, not really the besht t fot for it. Maybe you could look me up later on?” Spike spreads his arms wide as the two demons get closer...and bigger. “Boysh?”

A sudden punch in the stomach is Spike’s answer. He tries to swing back, but his coordination is seriously hampered by his drunken state. The swing goes wild and the other demon slams his fists into Spike’s back, dropping him to the ground. Several kicks in the gut and punches to his head later, he hears a scream of pain from one of the demons. Struggling to see what is going on, Spike looks up and notices one of his attackers is now sprawled out on the ground... and maybe without his head. “Wha’s goin’ on? Who’s there?” The other demon turns his attention from kicking Spike to this new attacker. A familiar scent is on the air. Vanilla and jasmine tickles his nose. Spike sees a blur of blond hair and moans, his belief confirmed. He cannot escape her. Even in the filthy underbelly of Sunnydale she shows up. ‘Course it is her job... He lets his head drop back to the pavement, praying for unconsciousness. Moments later, the sounds of struggle cease and he feels a hand on his back, resting lightly.

“Spike?” Her voice is gentle, concerned. He imagines he looks pretty wretched after a couple hours of demon fighting, heavy drinking and now a one-sided beating.

He manages to pull one eyelid open and look up at her, despite a throbbing pain in his head. “Shlayer. T’anks.” With that last effort, blessed unconsciousness takes him.

Buffy sits back on her heels and sighs. Surveying the scene in the alley, she realizes she better get out of there...and fast. Only a few feet from the door to the roughest demon bar in town and she’s killed two of the customers. Plus, there’s Spike. Not the most popular vamp in town since he started going after demons. She cocks her head at his prone form. He is a mess. And wow, really drunk. With a grunt of effort, she pulls him off the ground, dragging one arm around her shoulder. He’s even more of a mess than she thought. “Good thing for you I couldn’t sleep, Spike. Otherwise, they’d be sweeping up your dusty remains in the morning.” Despite her light tone, she is worried. He really could have been killed...well, dusted. And despite all her protests to the contrary, it’s not what she wants for the blond vampire. “I’ve done a very good job of avoiding you so far. Been nearly five hours.” She sighs as she half-d him him down the alley and around the corner. “Stupid spell.”

Buffy struggles up the steps to her house, Spike’s limp body a dead weight, his arm around her shoulders. “This just keeps getting better. My house is closer and I can’t freakin’ carry you any further. You weigh a ton unconscious. And I must be really losing it to keep talking to a knocked-out vamp I’m trapped in a lust spell with. This evening just sucks on all new levels.” Kicking the door open, Buffy gets as far as the living room couch before dropping her charge. The momentum pulls her down on top of him. He grunts in his sleep as she stands with an elbow in his gut. She takes a deep breath before pushing herself off him. The rich scent of leather and the lingering smell of smoke. So Spike. It makes her thighs quiver just being this close to him. She backs a few steps away and stares down at him. Peaceful in his drunken stupor. She moves in again to check over his wounds. Split lip, black eye, definitely some bruising on his face. Her fingers run gently over his cheekbones. Her glance drops to his torso. “Should probably check for more serious injuries.” Glancing back at his face to make sure he’s still out, she slips her warm hands under his shirt, carefully pushing it up. Buffy holds her breath as she reveals his abs, the washboard stomach that was pressed against her mere hours ago. Slowly she presses up and down his chest, feeling for broken bones or any sign of major damage. “Probably some cracked ribs or at least bruised ones. He’ll be alright.” Her voice is low and she speaks just to keep herself from shaking. With her hands on him, her self-restraint is slipping. Damn lusty feelings. Buffy looks up at his face, battered a bit, but still beautiful. Gently, she pulls the shirt back down, covering him. She stands up quickly, moving away from him before she can make a mistake. “Can’t act on the spell. It will go away. It WILL go away.” She chants it like a mantra, wondering if that will make it true. Her eyes pop up to the curtains, which are wide open. Moonlight washes over him, but she knows that also means dawn could make Spike extra crispy. Risking another approach, she leans over him and yanks the curtains closed, checking for any stray light. Satisfied he won’t end up a pile of dust, she turns away and heads for the stairs, taking them two at a time to escape as fast as she can.

A few moments later, the silence is broken as Spike cracks open his eyes. His hands go to his chest where her warm hands danced up his skin. Never has he employed so much willpower. Ever. Even now, his erection strains his pants as he remembers the haze of her warmth and her delicate scent around him, over him when she closed the curtains. “Soddin’ magic. Always consequences. Always...” With that, he drops back off to sleep, hoping his dreams will provide escape.