Untouched

A/N: There are some lines in here that were taken directly out of the show. They are not mine and I don’t claim they are. It’s just my own personal shout out to the show J







“You all ready, Buffy?” Angel peered his head into the guest room, searching for his girlfriend. She’d been getting ready for what seemed hours.



“Yes!” Buffy rounded the corner from her bathroom, smiling brightly. She was dressed in a white, cable-knit sweater dress, black leggings, and slouchy gray boots. Her long blonde hair was in a messy bun and around her neck was the string of pearls Angel had given her the previous week.



“You look gorgeous.” Angel stretched out his arms in appreciation, showing off the tight blue tee-shirt that complimented his muscular form.



“Thanks, boyfriend.”



Angel had dedicated the entire day to gaining forgiveness from the stubborn blonde for his rejection the night before---starting out with Angel delivering breakfast to her bedside. She’d crossed her arms stubbornly and refused to eat any of the delicious meal---a croissant, freshly squeezed orange juice, and scrambled eggs--until he had apologized. He’d sat by the bedside for almost an hour, coaxing her with apologies and promises until she’d relented and in her hunger, gobbled the entire breakfast up in five minutes flat. Though she still didn’t have much of an explanation for his frigid behavior, she couldn’t be angry at him when he was looking at her with sad-eyes!



They’d spent the rest of the day lounging around the house. Angel had even taken the time to introduce her to the expansive book collection housed by his step-father. Though Buffy found most books eternally boring, she found the crackling fire and leather couches of the library especially romantic. After a delicious dinner prepared by Marguerite, Angel had suggested they go out that evening to meet his high school buddies. Buffy had gladly agreed, eager to puzzle out the constant mystery that was Angel. She had to admit that while his mysterious nature was intriguing, his inability to talk about his feelings was aggravating to the max.



“Well---let’s go.” Angel grabbed Buffy by the crook of the arm and tugged her out of the room as she slung her purse over the other shoulder.



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



“You should totally take this car back to California,” Buffy mused after they had climbed comfortably into Angel’s sleek black Lexus SC.



“If I did---could I get you to drive it?” Angel raised his eyebrows at her.



“No. No. Buffy and cars just don’t mix. But I’ll gladly ride in it.”



“I know you will. I guess I’ll just have to take you for a spin every time you visit.” Buffy blushed beat red.



Every time I visit? This must be going better than I thought…



“Where are we going?” She asked as Angel started the car and pulled out of the driveway.



“Just to a little party.”



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“A little party?” Buffy squeaked as Angel pulled the car into the driveway of a home that was bursting with drunken college students. Several students were braving the east coast chill to sit in the front yard in lawn chairs, tipping back cans of Keystone and Pabst.



“Sorry---I didn’t think it’d be so wild.” Theypair walked up to the front door and let themselves in, treading carefully over a blonde girl who was passed out on the welcome mat.



“Angel! Is that you?” The deep voice of a handsome dark-skinned man came from the back kitchen.



“Gunn! Hey buddy.” Angel slung his arm around the shoulders of his friend. “This is Buffy.”



“Hey.” Gunn stuck out his hand and Buffy shook it, wincing at his intensely firm grip. Suddenly a pack of more males filtered into the kitchen, all slapping Angel on the shoulder.



“Buffy---this is Wes, Lorne, and Doyle.”



“Nice to meet you.” Buffy smiled at the three guys.



“Yeah, you want a drink?” Doyle offered, holding out a red plastic cup.



“Oh, I don’t know. Buffy and beer don’t mix too well…Oh, hell. Why not?” She grabbed the cup thankfully. Angel reached out to grab another from Wes.



“Hey there. Ladies drink free. It’s three bucks a cup for everyone else.”



“Come on, Doyle. I’m the one that implemented that policy back in high school.” Angel swatted the cup from Doyle’s hands, laughing. “Want me to fill your cup?” Angel offered. Buffy nodded and watched as he disappeared out the sliding glass door in search of the keg.



“So, Beth--” Gunn started.



“Buffy.” She corrected.



“Buffy,” he said apologetically, managing to take a shot of Jack Daniel’s between words, “How’re you liking town?”



Just as she was about to answer, a load groan came from the back of the crowd.



“What the hell is he doing here?” Wes said, pointing into the attached living room. Buffy glanced over. A looming figure in a dark trench coat had his back to her. Spike? Buffy stepped a few paces forward and sure enough, Spike had his hands on the wall, trapping a female figure in a corner. Buffy took a few steps to the left and craned her head to get another look. Spike was zealously sucking on the neck of a petite girl with short black hair, knee-high leather boots, and a tacky mini skirt. Buffy rolled her eyes---the girl was everything she’d pin Spike to find attractive.



“One beer for the lady.” Angel’s hand snaked around her shoulders, holding the red cup, now filled to the brim with cheap beer.



“Thanks.” Buffy tipped the cup to her lips and swallowed. She hated beer. Especially the way it started to taste so. Freaking. Good after two or three…



“Hey! Darla!” Angel suddenly shouted as he recognized a friend across the room. He started to walk over to her, beckoning Buffy to follow.



“Oh, that’s ok. I’m going to go look for a bathroom.”



She wandered down the hallway, opening several doors to be confronted with the flailing, naked bodies of college students. She leaned against the wall, tipping her cup back and swallowing the last of the liquid.



“Hey beautiful.” A mildly attractive guy suddenly sidled up to her and grabbed the empty cup, replacing her waiting hand with a full one. “Looks like you need a new beer.”



“Uh, thanks.” She smiled politely and took a sip.



“So, what’s your name?”



“Buffy.”



“Let me tell you--” the guy staggered a bit and placed a hand on the wall next to her head to brace himself, “Becky--”



“Buffy.”



“Sorry, Kathy.”



At least he had the right first letter on the first try. Buffy rolled her eyes.



“Anyway. What was I saying? Oh right---you’re a fine piece of ass, madam.”



Buffy nodded, unable to think of the words that would send this loser packing. As he continued to drone on in a drunken discussion of his own egotistical belief that they would be sleeping together that night, she indulged herself in alcohol. Magically, it seemed as if Chris--Nate--No, Tom---or was it Jack?---managed to replace her beer within five seconds of her finishing the one before it. Before she knew it, the face of the boy whose name she couldn’t quite place was starting to blur (which also made him marginally more attractive).



“Hey, Hunter. It’s been real nice talkin’ to ya…wait, who I am kidding? No it hasn’t. I’m gonna go…”



“The name is Kyle, blondie.” He spun around, stumbling off to find a slightly-more drunken girl to hit on.



Buffy slid along the wall, attempting to keep her body upright, when she slammed into the rock hard body of a male was propping himself up against the wall about ten feet down.



“Wha? Watch where yer goin!” Spike said in a slurred voice. He opened his half-lidded eyes, looking at the very drunk Buffy in front of him. He didn’t seem to register who he was looking at when he smiled sleepily. “Never mind, pet. Bump into me allll you want.” He touched a loose tendril of her blonde hair gently and licked his lower lip. “Yer like goldilocks, ya know?”



“Um, Spike.” Buffy stepped back, draining her fifth (or was it sixth?) cup of beer. “It’s Buffy. BBBBuuuffffyyy.”



Spike concentrated on her form, completely confused. Then his eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, bugger. It’s you.” He attempted to walk off, stumbling into the other end of the wall and bouncing backwards like some sort of human ping pong ball. Suddenly he pressed a hand to his stomach. “I feel like shit.” He slurred.



“Oh, God. I’m going to have to do this, aren’t I?” Buffy gripped his arm and tugged him upwards, his head almost colliding with the wall. “Let’s get you to a bathroom, Mister.”



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



“You’re pathetic, you know that?” Buffy was perched on the edge of the tub, watching Spike bend over the toilet and heave.



“God, do you ever shut up?” Spike looked up from the toilet and Buffy cracked up. “What’s so funny?”



“L--look in the mirror!” She sputtered, giggling drunkenly.



“Can’t really stand at the moment, pet.”



“You’ve got barf all over your chin.” Spike frowned and attempted to wipe his face with the sleeve of his jacket. He only managed to make it worse.



“Uh, let me.” Buffy grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped off his face, tossing the crumpled mess into the trashcan. “Now look at me.” She tugged his face towards hers and looked him deeply in the eyes. “BEER BAD!” She said, as if scolding a small child. Spike couldn’t contain himself. He started to laugh, collapsing backwards from his crouching position and landing on his butt.



“Did you really just say that?” He asked, leaning until he was flat on his back.



“I did.” She scooted down into the bathtub, her lower back aching from the position she’d been in for almost an hour.



“You’re one crazy broad.” Spike fished around in his pocket, retrieving the package of cigarettes.



“Fag?” He held one out in her direction.



“A world of no.”



“Suit yourself.” Spike pulled out his Zippo and lit the cigarette, taking a drag of it and coughing roughly.



“That’s disgusting. Put that out!”



“Add bossy to that laundry list.” Spike exhaled a cloud of smoke and propped his combat boots up on the edge of the toilet. Buffy lifted herself onto the edge of the tub and kicked him in the side. Spike sputtered. “Bloody hell! What is your problem?”



“That.” She pointed to the cigarette in his hand.



“Fine!” Spike unsuccessfully patted the cigarette against the linoleum floor and tossed it at her. The still-hot paper landed on her exposed wrist.



“Ouch!” She flicked the cigarette away and grabbed for her wrist.



“Fuck. I’m s-sorry.” Spike sat up, the look in his eyes genuinely remorseful for burning her.



“Whatever. I’m fine.” She lifted her wrist to her mouth and sucked the burn, the wetness of her mouth soothing the sting. Spike watched her, silent for a moment.



“Stop that.” She kept her lips pressed to her wrist, but her gaze drifted up to meet his own. She continued to suckle on the sensitive flesh.



Spike couldn’t take his eyes away.



Bad thoughts bad thoughts bad thoughts…



How the hell was he supposed to concentrate when she was sucking on her skin like a damn lollipop? The drunken buzz in his brain became a dull hum as he attempted not to think about how desirable she looked in this very moment. She dropped her wrist and looked up at him.



“Why are you looking at me like that?”



“Well---you can’t just suck like that and not expect any self-respecting bloke to let his mind wander, pet.”



“What? Ew!” Buffy frowned in disgust and kicked him in the side again.



“Can you not do that?”



“Well, don’t look at me like that!”



“Well don’t suck like that!”



“You’re disgusting!” Buffy braced the edge of the tub. “I’m going to find Angel.” She attempted to stand, wobbled, and slid down to the floor next to Spike. “Guess I’m drunker than I thought.”



“Guess you’re stuck with me.” Spike lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow in her direction.



“Glorious.”



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Spike’s head was pounding. In fact, it felt like a truck had run over it. He opened his eyes slowly, the fluorescent light making them burn. He sat up and looked around. He was in a bathroom. How did he get in a bathroom? A empty bottle of Skol was lying near the door.



Oh. That’s how.



It was then that he noticed the slumbering figure of his step-brother’s girlfriend. She was in the tub, her suede boots kicked off and her legs slung over the edge. Her hair was mussed up around her face and her eyeliner was smudged down her cheeks. Bloody hell. He stood up and bent over the sink, splashing some cold water onto his face. He opened the door and wandered out into the hallway. The house was filled with passed out college students, from the floors to the couches. He opened the front door, wincing at the sunlight, and carried on his way.



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Buffy awoke to a faint buzzing on her thigh.



Huh? What the…Oh God, her phone! She fished into the pocket of her sweater dress and yanked out her buzzing cell phone. The flashing screen read 12 Missed Calls. They were all from Angel. She quickly pressed 1 on her speed dial and held the phone to her ear. The phone didn’t even finish a full ring before Angel’s frantic voice picked up.



“Buffy?”



“Hey.”



“Where are you? I’ve been calling all night!”



“I know, I know. I just…I drank too much. I just woke up.”



“I’ve been driving all across town for the last four hours, Buffy.”



“I’m so sorry. I’m still at the house.”



“I’ll be there in five.”



The line went dead.







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It was almost seven o’clock at night and Spike was just waking up. He looked around the pitch-black room, grateful for the thick black curtains that covered his window and blocked out the intrusive sun.



Bloody hell…



He’d slept all day, trying to fend off the hangover that made his whole body feel like it had barely survived a natural disaster. It was then that he heard soft noises coming from outside his room---giggling, deep breathing, kissing.



Buffy. It was then he remembered the night before---the way she’d stayed with him, the sight of her passed out in the tub.



“Angel…” he heard her voice, the faintest of breathy moans and he couldn’t help but imagine the scene that was likely taking place in the room across the hall. She was probably sprawled against the bed, blonde hair spread out all over the pillow, body slick with sweat, all toned and taut but soft in the right places. Spike felt himself harden, his arousal growing at the mental image of a naked Buffy, writing around on the sheets, nipples stiff, lips parting just enough to let out her moans. He slid his hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and gripped his erection, pumping his hand ever so slightly. He tried desperately to think of anything else---Carmen Electra, Drusilla, that girl (what was her name?) from the night before---but every time he did, images of the petite blonde invaded his imagination, fueling the fire more than he would have liked.



“Buffy…” the name escaped his lips before he knew what he was doing. He continued to stroke his shaft, his whole body beginning to tense up at the pleasure running through his system.



“Spike?” A hard knocking came at his bedroom door and his hand shot up, out of his boxers, almost smacking him in the chin. It was Buffy.



“Uh…yeah?”



“Angel wanted me to tell you we’re going to dinner,” she giggled and made that breathy little moan again, “Stop tickling me, Angel! Anyway…” he voice trailed off and he heard the two lumber down the hallway.



A tickle fight? They were having a tickle fight? Who were these two---the long lost descendents of the bloody freakin’ Care Bears?



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



“Um…I’ll have the lasagna.” Buffy shut the leather-bound menu and handed it to the waiter. The waiter nodded and carried the stack of menus out of the room. Buffy, Angel, Spike, Giles, and Jenny were all seated at a circular oak table in a fancy Italian restaurant. Spike took a sip of his water and stared across the table at the girl seated next to his step-brother. Her long blonde hair was falling around her face in a way that reminded him of a little blonde girl he’d had a crush on in the sixth grade. Being with his ex, Drusilla, had almost made him forget his early penchant for toe-heads, but being around Buffy had certainly jogged his memory. He was frustrated beyond belief---ever since he’d allowed those images of her to invade his brain, she’d been branded there like a tattoo. He could barely watched her glossy little lips move over her straw without imagining something noticeably larger replacing it. Her tongue flicked out over her lower lip and he groaned inwardly----why did everything she did have to be so erotic? Watching her, he knew exactly what he needed to do. One good shag and she’d be out of his system. Just one quickie and he’d be able to stop thinking about her and move on to better prospects---ones who weren’t aggravating little know-it-alls. Of course, the fact that she was in love with his ponce of a step-brother didn’t help, but Spike wasn’t worried. He always got what he wanted.



“Excuse me for a minute, I’ve got to find the bathroom.” Buffy stood up, smoothing her short black skirt, and walked away from the table. Spike watched her backside approvingly as it swung in a hypnotizing fashion from side to side.



“Uh, yeah. I’ve got to go too.” Spike stood up and followed the blonde down out of the room and down a back hallway.



Buffy spun around when she heard forceful footsteps behind her. Spike was just a few paces behind, his signature black coat billowing behind him as he picked up speed. She grimaced and turned back around, continuing down the long, dark hallway that led to the restrooms.



“Jesus, woman. Slow down.” Spike called after her and she stopped, turning her head just slightly to cock an eyebrow at him.



“Need help finding the little boy’s room, Spikey?” He closed the gap between him and she scooted backwards, her back finding the wood-paneled wall. She spread her palms out against it as if to brace herself.



“Not exactly.” He was standing so close to her that it made her uncomfortable. She pursed her lips together, attempting to keep her cool.



“What are you doing?” Spike pressed closer, his lips only a few inches from her own and smirked.



“I know you feel it, too.” He angled his head to the side and breathed out against her earlobe. He felt her body tremble ever so slightly just before her hand came in contact with his chest and pressed him away.



“What the hell are you talking about?” Buffy swallowed hard. She was completely thrown---her heart was pumping, her mind was racing, and her fingertips were tingling the way they did just before she was about to have a mind-shattering (and self-induced) orgasm.



“You. Me. Getting to know one another in the Biblical sense.” He closed the space between them once again and pressed his body flush against hers. She blushed furiously when she released the hard thing poking her in the thigh probably wasn’t his wallet.



“You’re repulsive.”



“You want it. Little prim Buffy, all caged up and dying to break free. You know you want to fly.” He ground against her hips, breathing in the scent of her shampoo-fresh hair.



“Say it’s true. Say I do want to…it wouldn’t be you, Spike. It would never be you. You’re beneath me.”



Spike took a few steps backward, surprised by her cutting comment. “You think you’re so high and mighty, Summers. Just you wait in see. You’ll be writhing in my bed before you know it.” Spike hissed at her, his eyes filled with rage. With that, he spun around on his heels and stalked out the back door of the restaurant.