Untouched

“What if they don’t like me?” Buffy fretted as she wheeled the green suitcase through the terminal.

“They’ll love you.” Angel chuckled. “Speaking of…” His gait slowed to a stop as he focused his gaze on a group of three people standing near baggage claim. His mother, Jenny, was just a slip of a woman, with a strong face and neat, dark hair. Her hand was clasped in her husband’s, who was dressed in a tweed suit and carried a leather briefcase. The boy on their left could only be Spike, Buffy mused. His platinum hair was slicked back severely and he was dressed in tight, black jeans, a black tee-shirt, combat boots, and a long black leather duster. Buffy also noticed that his fingernails were painted black. Go figure.

Angel waived at the three. Jenny released Rupert’s hand and charged forward, jumping into her son’s arms.

“Liam!” Buffy stepped forward, releasing her suitcase and waiving shyly at the family. “You must be Buffy!” Jenny reached forward and hugged the unsuspecting girl. “I’m Liam’s mother. You can call me Jenny. Please no Mrs. Giles, here!” Buffy nodded and turned her attention to Angel’s stepfather, who had just caught up with his wife.

“Hello,” he stuck out his hand. “I’m Rupert Giles.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” She shook his hand. Buffy leaned to his right and looked over his shoulder.

“Oh, excuse me,” Giles said in a clipped, English tone. “That is my son, Spike.” He shot a dangerous look back at his son who shrugged and sauntered forward.

“Angel.” He clapped his step-brother on his back and stopped to take in the blonde before him.



Hot little piece of ass. The girl standing next to his stepbrother was dressed in a pair of tight-blue jeans and a red long sleeved shirt. Her long blonde hair tumbled down her back. He’d always had a thing for blondes. She smiled coolly at him.

“I’m Buffy.”

“Buffy?!” He exclaimed, a laugh catching in his throat.

“Is something funny?” She frowned, placing a hand on her hip. Spike found her angered expression incredibly enticing.

“What kind of name is B-Buffy?” He asked, stifling another laugh.

“It’s my name.” She narrowed her green eyes and tossed her sheath of blonde hair over her shoulder. “The way I see it, Spike, isn’t the most normal a moniker, either.”

“Point taken.” He lifted his hands, showing his palms in defeat.

“Be nice to the lady, Spike.” Angel said, placing a defensive hand on Buffy’s lower back.



Buffy followed the group outside where a shiny black car was waiting to take them to their destination. As Angel loaded the luggage into the trunk, Buffy slipped into the backseat. Spike slid in next to her. She eyed him critically.



If Billy Idol and Satan had a love-child…



“So, Buffy,” Jenny said from the passenger seat. “What is your major?”

“Um,” Buffy chewed on her pinky nail nervously, “I haven’t really chosen one, yet.”

“That’s okay. I went through five before I settled.” Buffy heard the trunk slam shut and Angel and Giles entered the car. As Giles started the engine, he whipped his head around.

“You kids hungry?”

“Yes!” The three said in unison.

“Excellent. Marguerite has your favorite waiting at home.” Jenny promised.

“Marguerite?” Buffy eyed Angel curiously.

“The maid.” He mouthed. Buffy swallowed. Her childhood meals definitely did not include maids. After her parents had divorced, her mother had spent a lot of time at the gallery. This equaled a childhood of pizza and frozen dinners for Buffy.

“So..Spike,” Buffy started, “Where do you go to school?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“Spike’s in a band,” Angel said, a disapproving tone evident in his voice.

“Oh, that’s nice.”



-----------------------



An uncomfortable silence filled the car as it trundled along the highway, finally bringing the group into some suburbs of upstate New York. Spike shifted in his seat, procuring his pack of Marlboros and Zippo lighter from his duster pocket. He pressed the cigarette between his lips and aimed to light it.

“Spike! What have I told you about smoking in the car?” Jenny’s angry voice filtered into the back of the car. She reached back, grabbed the cigarette dangling from his lips, and crushed it into her palm.

“Hey!”

“Now Spike…I know you’re eighteen and I can’t tell you not to continue with that filthy habit, but don’t smoke in the car, please.”

“Sorry, Mum.” Spike shoved the lighter deep into his pocket.

“Buffy,” Jenny continued. “Tell me you don’t smoke…”

“Of course she doesn’t smoke, Mom.” Angel said, patting Buffy on the knee like a child.

“We’re here!” Giles announced from the driver’s seat, pulling the car into a stretch of driveway longer than Revello Drive. Buffy gazed up at the house in awe. She had never even seen a house so huge. She looked over at Angel and smirked---she could easily imagine him growing up in such a home---extravagant, classy, clean-cut. She glanced to her other side at the slouched figure of Spike Giles. She definitely could not picture him in this “Barbie Dream House”. He seemed much more ‘dirty pub’ than ‘distinguished mansion’.

As the car rolled to a stop, Angel slipped out and went around to the trunk to grab the luggage.

“Spike!” Mr. Giles shouted.

“Yeah?”

“Will you take Buffy inside and give her the tour while Angel and I carry in the bags?”

“Spose’ so, Da.” Spike rolled his blue eyes and grabbed Buffy by the elbow, dragging her out of the car and in the front door.





“Ow!” Buffy tugged her arms away from Spike’s grasp. This guy was infuriating!

“Well, come on then--” Spike beckoned her through the foyer. “This is the dining room, living room, kitchen, library…” Buffy followed him up a grand staircase. “This is Mum and Da’s room, here’s Angel’s room,” he continued down the hallway, “Here’s my room if you ever fancy a visit--”

“Ew!” Buffy swatted him on the shoulder. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Just you wait, love. You’ll want to know where I lay my head.”

“No, I won’t. Pervert.” He smiled cheekily.

“If the shoe fits.”

“Will you just show me where I’m staying?”

“There.” Spike pointed to the door directly across from his. “Guest room.”

“Thanks.” Buffy said through gritted teeth, swinging the door open and peering inside. “Wow.”



The room was gorgeous. A queen bed of dark wood sat prominently in the middle of the room, decked out in a fluffy white comforter and at least ten pillows. Across the room there was a vanity and a spacious wardrobe. Ivory tapestries hung from each spare inch of wall-space, and a gigantic picture window gave views to the rolling greens the house was situated on. Buffy was snapped out of her admiration by the slamming of Spike’s bedroom door.

Pleasant guy. She thought to herself.

“Buffy?” Angel crept up to the doorway. “What do you think?”

“Oh, Angel!” She smiled brightly. “It’s amazing! I love it.”

“I’m glad.” He smoothed a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Come on downstairs, dinner is ready.”



Buffy followed Angel down the staircase and into the dining room. The table was set beautifully, complete with lit candles and so much food she wondered if Thanksgiving had come early. Angel took his seat and Buffy sat down next to him, Spike on her other side. She noticed briefly that he’d removed his duster and slung it over the back of the Queen Anne chair.

She looked down at her plate at the Chicken Cordon Bleu, mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables, and side salad. It all looked amazing. She laughed to herself, wondering if Angel was going to have to roll her out of the house at the end of the week. “This looks amazing.” She breathed in the scent of the freshly made food.

“Angel tells us you’re quite the athlete,” Jenny said, digging into her plate.

Buffy looked at her boyfriend incredulously. She had no idea he even knew how often she was at the gym. He was always at practice when she went.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me---Athletic Girl!”

“She could probably take half the guys on the team.” Angel laughed, spooning more potatoes onto his plate.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Spike snorted. Giles, Jenny, and Angel all shot him disapproving looks. “I jus’ mean she looks a little thin.” Spike grumbled.

“Looks can be deceiving, Spike.” Buffy smiled sweetly, having a faint idea that her saccharine annoyed him to the hilt.

“Sure hope so, because you look sort of like a-”

“Spike!” Giles’ voice rang out above the table, silencing Spike before he could finish the cutting comment he was about to make.

“Ignore my step-brother, sweetheart. He’s got an attitude problem.” Angel glared angrily over his shoulder at the peroxide blonde.

“Anyway-” Jenny started, obviously frustrated at the evident tension. “Tell me how you met my son, Buffy.”

“We met last May at a party for the team, Mom.” Angel said before Buffy could answer. “The rest is history.”



Dinner continued in an orderly fashion---Spike kept silent for most of it, except for the occasional biting comment under his breath that went largely ignored. Angel dominated most of the conversation, talking about football. Buffy had learned very early on that the easiest way to make Angel happy was to let him take charge and therefore, only attempted to break into the conversation every few minutes. As soon as everyone had finished eating, Jenny stood, wiping her hands on her trousers.

“I’m sorry to be a bad host, Buffy, but I’ve simply got to get to bed. I’m exhausted. Rupert, will you clear the table for me?”

“Of course. Angel, give me a hand.” Angel nodded obediently and followed his step-father out of the dining room, leaving Buffy and Spike at the table alone. Spike leaned to his side, inching himself closer to the girl.

“Well I guess he got his dream girl.” He tapped her condescendingly on the nose.

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Well what was it then?” Buffy huffed.

“Subservient, boring, a perfect little ice queen.”

“I am not an ice queen.” Buffy narrowed her eyes and leaned towards Spike.

“Don’t see much of a personality, that’s all.”

“You know, everyone else might let you get away with being an arrogant prick, but do not piss me off, Spike”

“Or you’ll what? Stare at me with blank eyes a little longer?”



Buffy slapped him. Hard. He pressed a hand to his cheek. The slap hadn’t really hurt…but man, had it shocked him. Where was this fire the entire dinner while she was sitting idly by?



“Buffy? You guys okay in here?” Angel stepped behind Buffy, placing a hand on her shoulder and massaging it gently.

“We’re great. Just making friends.” She stood up, smiled at Spike, and sauntered out of the room.





---------------------



Spike stalked upstairs, his hands shoved angrily in his pockets. The chit had slapped him? Who did she think she was? He kicked the wall near to his room, leaving a scuff mark from his boot. He flopped down onto the black comforter and looked over at the picture on his nightstand.

Drusilla. Stupid bint. He tossed the picture into the waste basket next to his bed, the glass shattering as it hit. As he rolled onto his side, he could hear muffled voices in the guest room across the hall. He couldn’t believe his step-brother had actually brought that insufferable little brat home. He leaned over, turned the volume knob of his stereo way up, and closed his eyes.



-------------------



Buffy opened her suitcase and pulled out the gray nightgown and set it on the bed. She was exhausted---though the Douglas-Giles family (sans Spike) seemed perfectly nice, the tension all day was too much for her body to handle. She peeled off her shirt and jeans. Just as she was about to undo her bra, the door to her room swung open.

“Angel?”

“Oh God, Buffy. I’m so sorry.” He spun around. Buffy laughed and walked up to the door. She grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

“It’s just underwear, Angel.”

“I know---I just wanted to say goodnight.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

“Night!” She shimmied her hips a little as she shut the door. She couldn’t take it anymore---being treated like a little doll. Tonight was the night she was going to make Angel see her as something more. She took off her bra, tossing it back into her suitcase and slipped the thin, jersey-cotton nightgown over her head.



Perched on her bed, Buffy waited patiently until she heard Jenny and Rupert go to bed. Nervous, she waited fifteen extra minutes, just to make sure. Then she silently crept out of her room, the floorboards creaking underneath her bare feet. Finally, she reached Angel’s door. She twisted the doorknob and snuck in.

Angel was stretched out his bed, wearing only boxer briefs. His hands were behind his head, and his eyes were half-lidded as he lazily watched football recaps on the television on his dresser. “Angel.” She whispered.

“Buffy?” Angel turned his head, his eyes flying open. She smiled innocently at him. He couldn’t help but appreciate how gorgeous she looked in her simple nightgown---the way it clung to every curve. Her hair was soft, hanging against her glowing cheeks. She made a fist around the material and swallowed. “What are you doing here, baby?”

“I just wanted to see you.” When she noticed the way Angel was looking at her, her confidence grew. She sat down gingerly on the bed and grabbed his hand. She leaned forward and kissed him, trying to incite passion in the boyfriend she loved. The kiss grew more intense as Angel’s hand tangled up into her hair.



Yes. Success. Gooo Team Buffy!



Angel leaned her backward and rolled so that his body was completely covering hers. His hands snaked along her sides, her bare legs, her arms, as he kissed her like he’d never kissed her before. She was just starting to feel the startings of arousal against her thigh when he rolled off of her and pressed a hand to his chest.

“Okay…well you should get yourself off to bed.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Buffy, I just don’t want to move too fast.”

“Too fast, Angel? How is this too fast?” Buffy stood up, angered by his inability to let go and put her hands on her hips.

“I just don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret. I mean, you’re a virgin--”

“So this is about me being a virgin? You can’t handle that I’m inexperienced?” She couldn’t help it, tears began to pool in her eyes as rejection set in.

“It’s not that, Buffy---I just don’t want to ruin a good thing.” Angel couldn’t understand where this hurt was coming from. He loved her. And she was good, pure. Why would he want to ruin that?

“I’m not a child, Angel!” She threw up her hands in frustration, spun around, and walked out the door, slamming it without a care.



Spike heard a bang and awoke with a start. What the…?

He opened his door and peered out, and there he saw her---a blonde little thing wearing only the tiniest scrap of material, her face red and flushed. She didn’t look anything like the perfectly prim girl of the earlier evening. This girl was wild abandon. She turned her head, for the first time noticing his watchful glare and frowned.

“What do you want?” She backed up against the wall, as if trying to escape from him.

“Just heard a slam is all. Thought there was trouble.” He ran a hand against his bare stomach and Buffy noticed for a brief second how the pale, smooth skin stretched almost artfully across his hip bones.

“Well there’s no trouble. None at all. Things are perfect.” She tapped her tongue incessantly on the letter T and turned to leave. Passing by the window, her tiny form was bathed in moonlight and Spike was able to see exactly how little she was wearing. Just a tiny gray nightgown, barely covering the tops of her thighs. The material was so thin he could see the outline of every curve. He watched, entranced, as her chest heaved, giving way to the delicate bone structure just below her neckline.

“I wouldn’t suggest you walk around practically naked, love.” He stepped out of the bedroom and placed a hand on the wall, trapping her. “Some beastie might get you.” Buffy ducked under his arm and walked partially into the opened door of the guest room.

“Well, now,” she purred sweetly, gripping the door frame in anger. “We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?” Spike crossed in front of her door and leaned in, his head almost crossing the threshold into her room.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He smiled arrogantly, loving the way his insistence made her soft cheeks blush and her expressions harden.

“Never.” This time her voice was quiet, but forceful. Dangerous. He leaned, taking in the sweet scent of her shampoo and whispered against her ear.

“Are you sure?” He drew out the last word, letting his hot breath fan against the sensitive skin, enjoying the way her body tensed up in delicious little shudders.

“I--I..” Buffy mumbled, caught off guard completely. Suddenly he pulled back and straightened.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, love. I want nothing to do with--” he looked her up and down, a look of disgust on his face, “that.” He reveled in the shocked expression now settling on her delicate features and tapped her on the nose. “Now run along.” With a wink and a click of his tongue, he was in his room, safe from the flood of anger that was sure to follow.



Buffy walked back into her room, dumbfounded. What had just happened? Was he hitting on her or was he trying to hurt her feelings? She was completely thrown. No wonder Angel didn’t like him---he was so..so…so…irritating.



And a little hot.