Life Serial Revisited

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Chapter 3mirkmirk
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Spike’s smirk is stuck on his face, I’ve decided. He can’t get over the new and improved Buffy tonight. I’m tired of being down in the dumps all the time. Yeah, my day sucked beyond the telling, what else is new? Time for some fun and it turns out Spike is my first choice to join in the having of that fun. Go figure.

Spike hasn’t answered me yet. He is just standing there with the bottle and glasses.

“Hello? Spike?” I walk over to him and wave my hands in front of his eyes. Suddenly he snaps out of it, refocusing those dangerously blue eyes right on mine. Gulp.

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It’s a damn good thing vampires don’t blush. Or at least, I don’t. Never thought ‘bout whether we could. Point is, it’s also a damn good thing the Slayer’s powers do not extend to mind reading or I’d be meeting my dusty end at the point of a stake right about now. Standing there with the bourbon in hand, I thought of the Slayer all drunk and friendly and it just…well, another good thing is the lack of light down here so she can’t see my…reaction to that thought. What? Oh. She’s looking at me.

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“Right here, Slayer. Bit lost in thought. So, you’ve really never done this before?”

I roll my eyes at him, his tone clearly adding those double meanings he is so fond of. “Right, Spike. Never.” I put one hand on my hip and look around, noting the lack of chairs to sit on. “So, where should we do it?” The minute the words fall from my lips, I feel the blush come back with a vengeance. Buffy’s mouth is not connected to her brain tonight. I stammer because Spike’s grin just got much, much wider. “The drinking. Where should we do the drinking thing?” I try to act like I don’t know what he is thinking, but since I am so obviously thinking the same thing, I fail miserably.

“Well, Buffy.” How does he say my name like that? I almost shiver from the sound of it. “We can do it just about anywhere you want to. Soft-like, on the bed there.” He gestures at his admittedly big and cushy bed with the bottle. “Or maybe hard-like, on one of the tombs up there.” This time he swings the bottle towards the upstairs. “You have a preference, luv?” His eyes dance in amusement, but there is something else there that makes my stomach flip flop.

Still, I could just stake him. Teasing me. Making me feel positively goose-bumpy with his sinister intentions and deep voice and…did I mention his lips? Yum. OH. No. I did not say that. We better get away from his bed area with all the bizarre ideas that are traipsing through my clearly overworked and overtired self. I’ll go with upstairs. I nod that direction before speaking.

“Hard. Definitely hard.” And that is the way I choose to say it? What the? I bite back a groan at my choice of words. Well, his choice of words, but I repeated them. I really do think the connection between thought and word is permanently short-circuited. The only other reason for me talking like this to him is really quite unmentionable.

“Prefer it hard, do you? I figured. Well, let’s go, then.” He turns and heads towards the ladder before I can protest and make the situation potentially worse. Again, sneaky bastard. I can just about see him smirking from behind. Behind. Lookit that. Mental note: Rear view equals good.

I decide to avoid speakaltoaltogether for the moment, mentally trying to reign in my so out of control hormones. Yes, it’s true. Spike is a hottie. Particularly just out of bed with that tasty bedhead and stormy blue eyes. Stormy. Is that what the blue reminds me of? Kind of the blue right after a thunderstorm. Yeah, that’s it. When the sky is unsettled, the air still and electrified. Which is just the way he makes me feel when he looks at me with those eyes…

“Buffy? Coming, luv?” Spike hesitates at the top of the ladder, poking his head back down to see me rooted to the spot, eyes glazing. I really honestly hope I did not start drooling, but I’m afraid to check.

I blink, forcing my body into motion, even putting on an attempt at a normal smile. “Yeah, right behind you.” Oh yeah, right directly behind you. The slap to my inner self is ineffective. Every word out of my mouth is full of my darkest intentions when it comes to him. Those intentions are not to be spoken, but I can’t stop implying them tonight.

And the part that freaks me out far more is that I don’t want to.

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I am so pushing it right now. Don’t know why the Slayer hasn’t put me back in my place. She is – dare I say it – flirting with me. And I can’t help it. I’m giving it back in spades. First, she sneaks into my crypt and gives me the eye while I’m naked. Then, she wants to drink with me. And now, with the flirty talk? Only so much a love-starved vamp can take, especially when it is the very object of my affection doing all of the above. ‘m not going to push it, though. She’s as skittish as they come nowadays. Take it bloody slow, Spike.

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I gulp and head towards the ladder as Spike’s feet disappear. I step up the ladder carefully, startled to look up and meet Spike’s gaze. He is waiting at the top for me, hand out. What’s that for? Oh, he’s helping me. Sweet. I reach up my hand, eyes never leaving his, and slide it slowly into his. His skin is smooth, slightly cool to the touch, but not too much so. I rarely touch him on purpose if not to punch him. It’s…nice. As his hand tightens on mine, I feel the nerve endings of my arm awaken, firing in sequence from the point of contact up to my spine and down my back. Goosebumps pop up and I try to feebly blame them on the chill in the room, but I know it is the way he is touching me that causes them. Gentle but firm, he pulls me up to a standing position as I try not to stumble, since I stubbornly refuse to release his eyes.

“Is it hard?” Spike’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at my statement. Think, Buffy, think! “Taking shots. Is it hard?” I am so, may I say again, busted. Sooner or later, he’s going to call me on this flirtation and I’m going to have to admit that he is the only one. The only one I like to be around anymore. And being around him more and more is only making my feelings topsy turvier than ever. He’s good to me and I just hardly know what to do with that.

“Mm. Not too hard, Slayer.” I can tell he’s holding back. There are so obviously some words he would like to be saying to me, but he is most certainly holding back. I kind of wish he wouldn’t, but that’s just the kind of thinking I am trying to avoid. A gentle pressure reminds me that we are still standing in front of each other, holding hands. Oh god. Just then, he releases my hand, letting his thumb graze the back of it as he does. I shiver involuntarily. “Cold?”

I should lie, say yes, I am cold. Frosty cold. Brr. “No, I’m okay.” Smooth, real smooth. He is studying me, absorbing my reaction to him, which he so obviously caught. Could he be a little less perceptive? “Where to?” I look around and he gestures to a nearby sarcophagus. Desperate to put at least a bit more space between us before I do something colossally stupid, I dart over to it. I hop on, swinging one leg over to straddle the cool stone. I thank my lucky stars that I was smart enough to switch to jeans tonight. This perch would be quite difficult, not to mention revealing, in the skirt I had on. Settled, I look up to see Spike in the same spot, head cocked, just looking at me. He leans over to pick up the shot glasses and glass carafe partly full of bourbon. Guess he set them down when he got up the ladder. My eyes instantly drop to his rear end, snapping away when he stands up and almost catches me. I pretend to study the walls of the crypt as he swaggers over to me. And oh, does he ever. When he arrives next to the crypt, I carefully place the most innocent expression I can on my face. I was not looking at his butt. No sirree. I glance up when he doesn’t sit down and the innocent expression I worked so hard on is instantly corrupted by that damn smirk of his. When did the little curve of his mouth become such an issue for me? I find myself matching it with one of my own as he settles down across from me, also straddling. Best not to think about straddling.

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Vixen. Thinks she got away with checking me out. Wish I knew what the hell was going on in that cute little head of hers. She’s driving me bloody crazy tonight. She must have had one hell of a day to arrive in my crypt this vulnerable. So un-Buffy-like. Let the walls come crumbling down. With a bit of help from some whiskey, ‘course.

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He sets down one shot glass in front of me and one in front of him. He pulls the stopper out of the carafe, puts it aside. For some reason, I am god-awful nervous. I’ve been coming to see him for weeks. I’m not sure why tonight feels different. Kinda feels like a date. A very unofficial, ill-advised, secret-like date. Yeah. I watch intently as he fills my glass and then his. Carefully putting the carafe down, he waits until I lift my eyes to his.

“Ready, Slayer?” Oh, damn. Am I?

“Yep. Soooo, how do I…?” Just then, Spike picks up the glass with just his thumb and forefinger and then proceeds to down the shot in a blur of motion. Before I know what happened exactly, the empty glass is back on the stone top.

“Your turn.” He smiles at me, mischief running rampant across his features. “Don’t sip it, luv. You have to down it in One. Quick. Swallow.” Oh, he is such a dead man. Well, a more dead man. Does he ever say anything that doesn’t have at least two meanings, one of them sexual? When I just sit there, half-scowling at him, he reaches out and lightly touches my hand, making me jump. “Scared?”

“Oh, right. I’m scared. I kick demon ass every night of the week without breaking a nail, but I’m scared of a little liquor. I mean, really, Spike.” I pick up the glass, sniff it and am startled at how strong it smells. “Nervous would be a much better word for it.”

He grins at me, lets out a low chuckle. “Worst thing that could happen is that you spit it all over me. Or swallow it too slow and burn your throat. Neither one very fatal, luv. Ready to give it a go?” I nod. I hold the glass to my mouth, eyes locked on his. “Open up your throat to help it slide down quick. Try not to taste it. Drinking shots really has nothing to do with tasting, pet.”

Screwing up my courage, I squinch my eyes shut, open my mouth and throw the liquid into my mouth. It burns on contact. I try to swallow fast, but it stays in my mouth long enough to make my eyes water and to set me off into a coughing fit.

Wiping my eyes, I glance back at Spike, who is desperately trying not to laugh at me as the coughs diminish. “Not bad, Buffy. At least you didn’t spit it back out. Burned a bit, though?”

I nod, still coughing a bit. “Guess I need to be quicker about it.” I feel a small pocket of warmth in my chest as the whiskey slides down. Mmm.

“Yeah, throw it further back, straight to the throat instead of your mouth.”

“Got it. Well, don’t wait all night. I’m not gettin’ any younger. And well, you’re not gettin’ any older, for what that’s worth. Pour.” I wave at the two glasses with my fingers. And wouldn’t you know it, there’s that smirk I’m starting to…well, not dislike quite so much anymore…