An Englishman in New York
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,079
Reviews:
76
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,079
Reviews:
76
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS), nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
That Don't Impress Me Much
Author's Notes: Rach, Claire, Lynnette, Neo, Aisling, Spikestheman, thank you so much for you reviews. They get me through the rough spots -- like this chapter.
The song Spike sings is "Judith" by A Perfect Circle.
That Don’t Impress Me Much
Spike woke with a start the next morning at a little before six, bolting upright as though the jerking movement would shake the dream’s hold on him loose. There was a flicker of pain and fear in his eyes before he veiled it, glancing curiously at the other bed. Buffy was still asleep, burrowed beneath her bedspread. Good, the last thing he needed was to have her cute little nose poking around where it didn’t belong.
Cute? Oh, God…
Dragging a hand over his face, he rolled out of bed and grabbed a clean change of clothes identical to the ones he was wearing out of a drawer. It was then that he spotted a stack of fliers on the desk. Buffy must have put them on his desk by mistake. Smirking, he picked up a bright orange flier and scanned it. Dingoes Ate My Baby? He chuckled softly and folded the flier, tossing his clothes on the bed. If the Dingoes needed a singer, they would bloody well have one and showers be damned.
He grabbed his guitar case and slipped out of the room silently. His head throbbed from having had so much to drink, and he was vaguely surprised that he’d remembered to take the batteries out of the smoke detector, though he was certain Buffy would report him for smoking when she requested a new roommate.
He strode out of the building confidently, ignoring the many looks he received. He’d never doubted that he was a handsome bastard, and some other time he might let one of the silly little chits approach him, but for now he had a gig to audition for – and win. And so what if it was only a little after six in the morning? They would bloody well wake up and listen to him.
It took Spike nearly an hour to locate the apartment building because of the traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, and when he finally reached apartment 312, he was annoyed to find the door open, and that others were already there trying out for HIS gig. Scowling, he waited in line behind several men and even a few women.
After being subjected to “Louie, Louie,” “Crazy Train,” and a horrid rendition of “I Wanna Be Sedated,” Spike was at his wit’s end. Finally, a drummer and keyboardist had been chosen by the official band members, the guitarist and bassist, Daniel Osborne and Alexander Harris.
Finally, it was his turn. Rather than saying anything – they already knew who he was – he slipped the guitar strap over his shoulder, moved to the center of the room, and began to play something entirely different from the punk he was used to listening to and the pussy-boy soft rock the wankers had played.
From the moment his fingers plucked out the first note, he had everyone’s rapt attention. There was something in the way he played that was almost hypnotic, and he knew it.
You're such an inspiration
For the ways
That I'll never ever choose to be
Oh, so many ways for me to show you
How your savior has abandoned you
Your Lord, your Christ
Took all you had and
Still you pray, never stray, never...
Never thought to question why
It's not like you killed someone
It's not like you drove a hateful spear
Into his side
Praise the one who left you
Broken down and paralyzed
He did it all for you...
He did it all for you...
Oh, so many ways
For me to show you
How your dogma has abandoned you
Pray
To your Christ, to your God, never
Taste of the fruit
Never stray, never break, never...
Choke on a lie
Even though he's the one who
Did this to you
You never thought to question why
It's not like you killed someone
It's not like you drove a spiteful spear
Into his side
Talk to Jesus Christ
As if he knows the reasons why
He did it all for you...
Did it all for you...
He did it all for you...
Drawing out the last note roughly, Spike brought the song to its close and looked between Oz and Xander questioningly. He knew he had the job when he saw the respect in Oz’s eyes. Even Xander looked regretfully impressed. Knew I could one-up them, he thought.
“He’s got presence,” Oz said, consulting with Xander, who reluctantly nodded his agreement. “And a strong voice.” Again, Xander nodded.
“He’s right soddin’ here,” Spike said loudly.
“You’re in,” declared the redheaded guitarist.
“I’m not impressed!” Xander insisted. The punk-loving butt-monkey had walked in on Buffy changing, and that was something he, who had once had a crush on her, would never forgive. Spike had seen more than he ever had!
“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” he said sharply, turning his attention instead to the open-minded redhead. “When do we practice?”
“Everyday at six sharp, so if you have a class then, drop it.”
“Nah. Don’t have anything but morning and late classes.”
“Good. Come back tonight.”
“Good.” Gathering his guitar, the new lead singer of Dingoes Ate My Baby swaggered from the apartment confidently, leaving several jealous hopefuls in his wake. Wankers, all of them… well, maybe not all of them. Oz wasn’t half-bad. He appreciated good music and he wasn’t a whelp.
Finding his way back the way he'd come wasn't nearly as difficult as finding the apartment had been, and he weaved through the crowds with the ease of one born in the city. It wasn't so different from London, really. On a whim, he stopped by the café near his dormitory and bought coffee and several muffins for himself and Buffy. It was a peace-offering of sorts; he did have the gig because she’d left the fliers on his desk.
Returning to the dorm room, he opened the door without knocking and was greeted by the sight of Buffy in a pair of short-shorts and a tiny white tank top, sprawled on the bed between the redheaded girl – Willow, if he remembered correctly – and an angelic looking girl with light brown hair and kind eyes.
“Spike! What are you doing here?” Buffy demanded.
“I live here, remember? Here, I brought breakfast.” He tossed the bag of muffins at her and slammed the cup of coffee down on her desk.
Stupid bint. I bring breakfast and this is the thanks I get?
“You… what?” She suddenly sounded so shy, and she found a fascinating spot on the bed to stare at.
“I’m Tara,” the sweet-faced woman said, hoping to break the tension.
“Spike.” He’d meant to ask what she and the scrawny redhead were doing there, but the woman had the most calming presence he had ever experienced.
“Umm, should we go, Buff?” Willow inquired nervously.
“No.” Buffy finally looked up from her bedspread and opened the bag of muffins. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.” With that, Spike took his guitar case and started from the dorm. Why are chits so bloody difficult to understand? He would never figure it out – women would forever remain a mystery to him.
Eh, I’m better off alone, anyway. Still, he mused, why are things so tense between us? We’ve known each other a bloody day and she already thinks I’m… beneath her.
Putting that thought from his mind, he found a large tree to sit under and began to play.
The song Spike sings is "Judith" by A Perfect Circle.
That Don’t Impress Me Much
Spike woke with a start the next morning at a little before six, bolting upright as though the jerking movement would shake the dream’s hold on him loose. There was a flicker of pain and fear in his eyes before he veiled it, glancing curiously at the other bed. Buffy was still asleep, burrowed beneath her bedspread. Good, the last thing he needed was to have her cute little nose poking around where it didn’t belong.
Cute? Oh, God…
Dragging a hand over his face, he rolled out of bed and grabbed a clean change of clothes identical to the ones he was wearing out of a drawer. It was then that he spotted a stack of fliers on the desk. Buffy must have put them on his desk by mistake. Smirking, he picked up a bright orange flier and scanned it. Dingoes Ate My Baby? He chuckled softly and folded the flier, tossing his clothes on the bed. If the Dingoes needed a singer, they would bloody well have one and showers be damned.
He grabbed his guitar case and slipped out of the room silently. His head throbbed from having had so much to drink, and he was vaguely surprised that he’d remembered to take the batteries out of the smoke detector, though he was certain Buffy would report him for smoking when she requested a new roommate.
He strode out of the building confidently, ignoring the many looks he received. He’d never doubted that he was a handsome bastard, and some other time he might let one of the silly little chits approach him, but for now he had a gig to audition for – and win. And so what if it was only a little after six in the morning? They would bloody well wake up and listen to him.
It took Spike nearly an hour to locate the apartment building because of the traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, and when he finally reached apartment 312, he was annoyed to find the door open, and that others were already there trying out for HIS gig. Scowling, he waited in line behind several men and even a few women.
After being subjected to “Louie, Louie,” “Crazy Train,” and a horrid rendition of “I Wanna Be Sedated,” Spike was at his wit’s end. Finally, a drummer and keyboardist had been chosen by the official band members, the guitarist and bassist, Daniel Osborne and Alexander Harris.
Finally, it was his turn. Rather than saying anything – they already knew who he was – he slipped the guitar strap over his shoulder, moved to the center of the room, and began to play something entirely different from the punk he was used to listening to and the pussy-boy soft rock the wankers had played.
From the moment his fingers plucked out the first note, he had everyone’s rapt attention. There was something in the way he played that was almost hypnotic, and he knew it.
You're such an inspiration
For the ways
That I'll never ever choose to be
Oh, so many ways for me to show you
How your savior has abandoned you
Your Lord, your Christ
Took all you had and
Still you pray, never stray, never...
Never thought to question why
It's not like you killed someone
It's not like you drove a hateful spear
Into his side
Praise the one who left you
Broken down and paralyzed
He did it all for you...
He did it all for you...
Oh, so many ways
For me to show you
How your dogma has abandoned you
Pray
To your Christ, to your God, never
Taste of the fruit
Never stray, never break, never...
Choke on a lie
Even though he's the one who
Did this to you
You never thought to question why
It's not like you killed someone
It's not like you drove a spiteful spear
Into his side
Talk to Jesus Christ
As if he knows the reasons why
He did it all for you...
Did it all for you...
He did it all for you...
Drawing out the last note roughly, Spike brought the song to its close and looked between Oz and Xander questioningly. He knew he had the job when he saw the respect in Oz’s eyes. Even Xander looked regretfully impressed. Knew I could one-up them, he thought.
“He’s got presence,” Oz said, consulting with Xander, who reluctantly nodded his agreement. “And a strong voice.” Again, Xander nodded.
“He’s right soddin’ here,” Spike said loudly.
“You’re in,” declared the redheaded guitarist.
“I’m not impressed!” Xander insisted. The punk-loving butt-monkey had walked in on Buffy changing, and that was something he, who had once had a crush on her, would never forgive. Spike had seen more than he ever had!
“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” he said sharply, turning his attention instead to the open-minded redhead. “When do we practice?”
“Everyday at six sharp, so if you have a class then, drop it.”
“Nah. Don’t have anything but morning and late classes.”
“Good. Come back tonight.”
“Good.” Gathering his guitar, the new lead singer of Dingoes Ate My Baby swaggered from the apartment confidently, leaving several jealous hopefuls in his wake. Wankers, all of them… well, maybe not all of them. Oz wasn’t half-bad. He appreciated good music and he wasn’t a whelp.
Finding his way back the way he'd come wasn't nearly as difficult as finding the apartment had been, and he weaved through the crowds with the ease of one born in the city. It wasn't so different from London, really. On a whim, he stopped by the café near his dormitory and bought coffee and several muffins for himself and Buffy. It was a peace-offering of sorts; he did have the gig because she’d left the fliers on his desk.
Returning to the dorm room, he opened the door without knocking and was greeted by the sight of Buffy in a pair of short-shorts and a tiny white tank top, sprawled on the bed between the redheaded girl – Willow, if he remembered correctly – and an angelic looking girl with light brown hair and kind eyes.
“Spike! What are you doing here?” Buffy demanded.
“I live here, remember? Here, I brought breakfast.” He tossed the bag of muffins at her and slammed the cup of coffee down on her desk.
Stupid bint. I bring breakfast and this is the thanks I get?
“You… what?” She suddenly sounded so shy, and she found a fascinating spot on the bed to stare at.
“I’m Tara,” the sweet-faced woman said, hoping to break the tension.
“Spike.” He’d meant to ask what she and the scrawny redhead were doing there, but the woman had the most calming presence he had ever experienced.
“Umm, should we go, Buff?” Willow inquired nervously.
“No.” Buffy finally looked up from her bedspread and opened the bag of muffins. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.” With that, Spike took his guitar case and started from the dorm. Why are chits so bloody difficult to understand? He would never figure it out – women would forever remain a mystery to him.
Eh, I’m better off alone, anyway. Still, he mused, why are things so tense between us? We’ve known each other a bloody day and she already thinks I’m… beneath her.
Putting that thought from his mind, he found a large tree to sit under and began to play.