Torrid Immortality

Title: Tongued Impatience

Authors: Amber Kupy and Daquiri Seffib

Email: amber_daquiri@hotmail.com

Rating: PG to NC-17 depending on chatper

Summery: Spike takes Buffy on a date!

Spoilers: Takes place after "Gone"

Pairin: B/S

Disclaimer: We don't own the characters, we're just borrowing them.
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Tongued Impatience

"You stupid sod! You couldn't just let it be? Had to go and mess it up? Couldn't leave it alone, ha bri bring feelings into it!" A miniature comment of red and orange flames arced through the night air and landed in a puddle. Spike reached for another cigarette, only to curse violently when he realized his pack was empty.

"I have feelings too, you know," he explained, in the general direction of an indifferent street light. "I'm not just her punching bag. I'm a man, god dammit, with a heart!" He paused. "Well, not exactly a man. And not a beating heart, but a heart anyway. And I deserve to feel special."

Feeling the need to relive past glories - and incidentally, to break something - Spike headed towards the Sunnydale High School site, where work had recently begun to rebuild the place. The place where he had first touched Buffy. Maybe if he went back to where it all started, he thought. Well not quite the start, but to where he had touched her ravishing, golden beauty for the first time, felt the first electric jolt. Originally Spike had mistook the feelings for the thrill of finding an equal, someone who would make a worthy opponent. It was only later, after he had left Sunnydale for the second time, that he had had any inclination of what the jolt had meant.
Okay, he hadn't realized, but Dru had. Details.

"Why can't she see past the demon to the man? I'm good enough to fuck, but not talk to? I want a real conversation, like we used to have. I have needs too, it can't be about her needs all the time! When are we going to affirm my worth as a person? What I really want is a nice long, walk on a moonlit beach."

He was nearing the construction site now. Seeing the pile of debris from the old buildings - shattered concrete, broken glass, ragged two-by-fours - made him smile with thoughts of how he had relieved his Buffy-related frustration, except for the last few nights that was. He had spent long, sweaty, ultimately satisfying nights here in weeks past, flinging bits of debris into the mocking orderliness of the new construction.

Now, however, the ambience was reminding him a little too sharply of his recent climactic encounter with the slayer in the run-down house. The jagged two-by-fours reached into the sky like broken ribs in the skeleton of his self-respect.

"Damn you! You're everywhere!" No matter where he looked, what he did, she was always on his mind.

Searching for something to take out his frustration, he fixed upon an innocent nearby piece of wood. He was just winding up a truly satisfying kick--

"'No, no! I cannot let you take my womanly virtue!' And even as she spoke those word she felt her traitorous body yiel to to his manly hardness." A strangely discordant voice issued from the still-standing remains of the building that had once housed the high school library.

"What in the bloody hell is that?" Silent as a panther, Spike stalked towards the noise.

"He seized her by the shoulders and shook her roughly. 'The time has passed for you to be a child. Now, you must let me make you a woman.'"

Spike turned into the old library and froze.

Never, never in his long life had he seen anything quite like the scene before him. And never, he hoped, would he see such a thing again.

There, on an upturned bucket amid the rubble, with a thermos on one side and an old cassette deck on the other, sat Xander. He gazed out, entranced, over the ruined library as if the scene he was listening to was unfolding before his eyes. In his hands, momentarily forgotten, were a pair of knitting needles, from which trailed a garish confusion of canary yellow and maroon wool.

Spike didn't know if he should run away and desperately try to erase the image from his mind, or collapse on the floor in hysterical laugher. The laughter got the better of him. It rose in him, unstoppable as the tides, until he was holding his sides and shaking in the attempt to suppress it.

"'Oh, Hunter! Please, teach me. I want to know all the secrets. Make me a true woman, Hunter!' The tinny voice gasped from the black and silver box. 'Yes, Jasmine, I will initiate you into the ways of love.'"

Spike could no longer contain his mirth. He collapsed against the building frame, howling with laughter.

A girly-scream rent the air. Xander leapt up as though the pail he was sitting on had come to life. The knitting needles and yarn took flight across the room in an angry fruit salad fury of color and string, narrowly missing the bleached vampire.

"Oh! I was... uh...Merciful Zeus, Spike! Didn't your mother ever teach you to knock?" Xander stood, frozen in shock.

"'Yes, Hunter, just like that! You make me feel like a real woman --'"

The sound of the tape released Xander from his untimely paralysis. Turning swiftly, he failed to notice the thermos at his feet. The thermos shot off across the ruined library and Xandeummeummeted to the ground, landing on the cassette player. The tinny voice abruptly fell silent.

Moving gingerly, Xander saw that there was no hope for his cassette player. "Aww," he muttered. "Willow and I bought this with our allowance when we were ten."

Xander drew a deep breath before pushing himself slowly to his feet to face a Spike who had tears streaming down his face. Attempting to salvage some shreds of dignity, Xander ran his hands through his hair, and brushed off his clothes. At the sight of Spike's uncontrollable laughter, Xander felt his anger rising.
Spike held up both hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, sorry, okay? I was minding my own business, how was I supposed to know it was you, doing," Spike nodded towards the mess of tangled yarn, where Xander's needles had fallen. "What exactly were you doing, whelp?"

"They weren't mine. I was just--Hey, what are you doing here anyway, fang-breath?"

"I heard something. Thought I'd see if it was demony. Instead it was something far more disturbing. That's never going to leave me, you know."

"Do you want something, Spike?" Xander asked, irritation growing in his voice. "Other than to make my life a living hell?"

Spike paused, as the beginnings of a plan formed in his mind. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. "Yeah, now that you mention it I could use some cash. I'm running short on blood and smokes." 'Plus I could use some legitimately acquired money to take Buffy on a real date,' Spike thought to himself. The Slayer had some peculiar notions about stealing.

"You come out to my job site and scare me half to death, and now you want to take my money too? Of all the..." Why he was surprised, Xander had no idea.

Spike bent to retrieve the mess of olive and baby pink yarn that had fallen at his feet. "Of all the what? The way I see it, you're the bloke who doesn't want me to tell his honey and the Scoobies what he's doing with his evenings."

He held up the small, oddly, shaped riot of clashing yarn, squinting at it. "What is this, anyway? A sock? For a very small, colorblind, person?" Spike waved the thing at Xander.

"There was--I was--What I mean." Spike just cocked a brow, as Xander floudered for a moment, and gave up. "Okay, Spike. How much will it take?"

Spike let his gaze drift purposefully from Xander to the small woolen thing in his hands, enjoying watching the boy squirm. "Oh, I think... a hundred should do fine." How much could it cost to take a bird out to dinner and the pictures?

"What, you want my legally, hard-earned cash just to keep your mouth shut? They have a word for that."

"Yeah, sucker." Spike pulled curiously at a dangling lime green thread. "What did you say this thing was again?"

Xander sighed. "It's a hammer cozy, okay? And please - stop that."

"It's a what?" The thread Spike was pulling began to unravel, and Xander reached out to snatch the thing from him.

"A hammer cozy. You know... for when it's cold..." Xander trailed off.

"This is bloody California. How cold can it get?" Spike shook his head. "Never mind -- I don't want to know. Just hand over the cash." This was getting to be almost too much trouble. If he had his fangs...

"Hey, tell you what. I'll give you a hundred and," Xander searched through his pockets, emptying them of a red ball of wool, two nails, some old gum and four dimes, three quarters, and seventeen pennies. Pulling out his wallet Xander found an additional twenty-three dollars. "I'll give you one-hundred-twenty-four, thirty-two if you take the rest of my shift, make sure no nasties, real nasties show up to cause any trouble."

"So why does this old dump suddenly warrant such a," Spike looked at Xander, who was cradling the remains of his knitting, and searched for an appropriate word. "- special guard?"

Xander shook his head. "Someone's been out here, the past few weeks, wreaking some petty havoc. Nothing serious, just minor vandalism. But it costs us cleanup time. I've come out a couple of times to look around but I've never seen anyone. I thought if I spent the night, I could catch them in the act. But so far you're the first thing I've seen."

"Okay," Spike said hastily, visions of blissful evenings of petty destruction rising in his mind's eye. "You've got yourself a deal. Anyone wants to mess with your place, they'll have to come through me first." He eyed Xander warily, waiting for the boy to make the connection, but Xander was gathering up the ruins of his cassette recorder and his knitting. "Oy! Where's my money?"

"I'll give it to you tomorrow." Xander's mind was already on how he'd wake Anya up when he came back six hours earlier then expected.

"No way mate, I want it now. How do I know you're going to give it to me in a timely fashion?"

With a heartfelt sigh Xander counted out sixty-two, sixteen and placed in Spike's outstretched hand. "Be careful deadboy jr. This place had better be shiny and clean in the morning if you want your money."
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The following evening, Buffy emerged from her kitchen door just as the first stars were peeking out through the deep purple velvet of the evening sky. She was dressed in a stylish, yet affordable slaying outfit.

Lurking behind his tree, the bleach-blond vampire rose casually, drawing one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it with practiced ease onto the porch. It rolled to a sparkly stop at the Slayer's feet.

With casual indifference, Buffy crushed the tiny red cylinder beneath her black leather clad heel. "I thought you were going to stay away? And yet here you are. You know what? You're too much trouble. I don't need you any more. The itch has been scratched."

Spike lazily strolled up to the porch, a knowing smirk plastered across his pale features. He stopped just in front of her, close enough to feel her body heat radiating out from her clothes, seeping into his own cold body, warming his cold heart. Or his cold something, anyway.

"You been scratching it yourself, then? Because if I remember rightly, we were interrupted last time. You left a mite frustrated, as I recall."

"You're such a pig, Spike." Though she meant it to be a sneer, it came out in a deep moan as Spike hands slowly ran over the thundering pulse at her neck and traced her collar bone. His nearness was intoxicating to her. Buffy could feel her resolve melting under the heat of his gaze and the trail of fire his fingers left in their wake.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with desire, her moist lips parted slightly, breath exiting them in small, rapid puffs. Her breasts were heaving with the swelling tide of desire. If she didn't get to taste him soon she would die. Again.

With a guttural cry Buffy grabbed the back of the vampire's head and pulled him in for a impassioned kiss. Her tongue demanded and instantly received entry into his cold mouth.

A low growl issued from deep within Spike as he slammed Buffy up against the donevenever breaking their heated embrace. He slid one hand up the inside of her leather-clad thigh, feeling her melt under his caresses. Mindlessly Buffy brought one had down from Spike's neck and groped for the door handle.

"What're you doing, love?" he murmured as he tore his lips form hers and started to devour her neck under her left ear.

"Door." As if hearing her word, the door conveniently swung open. Her hand now free, she slid it beneath Spike's leather duster and around his waist, bringing his pelvis to grind against hers, pulling him backward into the house with her.

They shuffled over to the stairs, hands racing over each others' bodies, relearning, remembering.

"God, Spike," Buffy moaned as Spikes hungry mouth descended to the top of her heaving breast, his fingers toying with the top button of her red blouse. "I need all of you. Right now!"

"Here?" a hint of mocking crept in beneath the desire. Spike ran his fingers through her now-shorter hair, pulling back to look at her. "You know, I can't shake this nagging feeling that something is missing, luv. All the romance has gone out of our relationship of late."

Buffy looked up at him with a slightly confused expression, her eyes glazed over with desire. "Romance? The bed's upstairs."

Spike smiled at her. "Well, love, that's not exactly what I had in mind."

"You're right," she panted, "too far away. Couch."

"No. I want you to prove that you appreciate the real me."

Truly confused now, Buffy frowned. "Appreciate? You? I'll truly appreciate you if you shut up and get undressed."

"Listen up, luv. If you want to see me naked again, you're going to have to do it the hard way." He paused, making sure he had her full attention. Ormuchmuch of it as he could get while she ground her hips against his. "Candlelight. Soft music." A particularly accurate thrust caused Spike to moan and momentarily lose his train of thought. "Ambience," he husked.
Frustrated, he grabbed her shoulders and held her steady.
"We're going out to dinner."
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TBC...