Shot in the Dark
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
46
Views:
2,175
Reviews:
62
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
46
Views:
2,175
Reviews:
62
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.
Chapter 3: No Substitute for the Real Thing
* * * * *
Chapter 3: No Substitute for the Real Thing
* * * * *
Spike’s Crypt, early afternoon
Spike continues to pace, periodically taking swigs from a quickly emptying bottle of whiskey. He mutters under his breath, “Tiny little neck, should be easy to snap, but no. Little girl, big power. Totally bleedin’ unfair, it is.” He has spent half the day in this state, barely able to sleep without waking up in a cold sweat, visions of Buffy dancing in his head. Slowly, the effects of exhaustion and too much whiskey are helping him towards unconsciousness. He slumps into his beat-up armchair, the bottle dangling from his fingers. Spike’s platinum curls rest against the chair, his head pounding from the thoughts that torture him. Buffy. The Slayer. His mortal enemy. Yesterday, it was easy. He wanted her dead. Now, he just wants her. He closes his eyes and rather than sleep, he finds unconsciousness. The bottle drops from his limp hand as he finally finds peace. For now.
* * * * *
U C Sunnydale, History class
For the third time in an hour, Buffy drops her pencil. Willow glances sharply at her friend, wondering at her distractedness. As Buffy leans down to pick it up, she hopes her hair hides how flushed she is. Dammit. She looks down at her notebook not noticing it has happened again. In the margins of her notes, doodles. But not just any doodles. The last one that made her drop her pencil...a heart with the name Spike drawn in it. Buffy takes her pencil and scribbles at the heart, pressing so hard she rips the page in half. Willow turns to Buffy again, eyes wide. Finally, mercifully, the bell rings. Buffy scrambles to grab her belongings and get out of the suddenly too-hot room. She gets halfway to the door before she feels a hand on her arm.
“Buffy?” Buffy stops, eyes closed. She can’t face Willow like this and she sure as hell can’t tell her why she is acting so odd. With a small sigh, she turns to her dear friend. “Are you okay? You were acting a bit wiggy in class.”
Striving for nonchalance, Buffy smiles. “I’m fine, Will. Just, that class is so boring. And uh, I was up late slaying. Plus, isn’t it extra hot in here?” She stops rambling. “Also, it may be that I have a fever. With the flushed cheeks and all.”
Willow’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “Well, you are kind of red in the face, Buffy. Maybe you should head back to the room and lie down.”
“NO!” Willow jumps at Buffy’s vehemence. “Can’t lie down. It makes me feel, uh, funny. And not funny ha-ha, funny weird.”
“Right, well. Can I do something for you?”
“Sure, let’s get some lunch, that should be distracting... I mean, delicious.” Buffy strains to grin and take Willow by the arm, dragging her to the cafeteria. She mutters under her breath, “I will stake him for this. Right after I take him...ARGH!”
“Buffy?!” Willow jumps at Buffy’s sudden exclamation of frustration.
“Fine, fine, Willow. Thought I, uh, saw a mouse. Big fuzzy one. Yech. Let’s go.”
Willow trails Buffy, shaking her head. Girl is acting seriously weird.
* * * * *
That night...
Spike groans, rubbing his hand over his face as he struggles to consciousness. The alcohol is wearing off. He feels that the air in the crypt has grown colder and the light even dimmer. Finally, it’s nighttime. He needs to get out of the close air in here, shake the memories of the day, fight his craving for Buffy. Only, now he might actually see the object of his anger/affection in living flesh. He sighs, body shuddering as he pictures her in the moonlight. Spike slams his hand on the arm of the chair. “No. I’ll just avoid the bleedin’ cemetery tonight. If I don’t see her, maybe I can get these ridiculous thoughts out of my head. I can find other things to do, not that pathetic.” The blond vampire snatches up his duster and makes for the door. He is torn. Most of him wants to tear the town apart ‘til he finds the petite Slayer and acts out every fantasy he’s had in these dozen hours. Of course, he would be a pile of dust formerly known as Spike before he got through fantasy number one. “Rather not get staked just yet. For my own sake, I’ve got to avoid the bloody bint.” He slams the crypt door open and stalks off into the night, hoping he is heading in the opposite direction of Buffy.
* * * * *
“Patrolling tonight?”
“What? No!” Buffy jerks up from her reading at Willow’s suggestion. “I mean, no. I don’t feel like it.” She looks down at her psych book and the page she has been reading for the past twenty minutes. “In fact, I don’t feel like studying, either. Wanna Bronze it?”
Willow looks at her book, then at her roommate with the hopeful smile. “Well, alright. Not too late, though. I’ve got a paper to finish up.”
“Sure, sure. Let’s go!” Buffy hops up, grabs her jacket and pulls Willow out the door.
* * *
The Bronze, 11 p.m.
“Another Coke, Willow?” Buffy plops down on the stool next to Willow, slightly out of breath. Willow, head on her chin and poking her straw absently into a glass of ice, gives her friend a look of slight exasperation.
“No thanks, Buff. I think I better hit the road. Homework? Remember that? And besides, aren’t you tired? You’ve been dancing all night...” Willow continues under her breath, “...with every guy within a five mile radius, too...”
Buffy, distracted by the wide selection of men around her, turns back to Willow. “What was that? Yes? I’ll get you one.” y sty starts to bounce back up, but Willow grabs her arm, guiding her back onto the stool.
“Buffy! Look at me.” With great effort, Buffy turns her eyes on her redheaded friend. “I’m going home.” Willow makes little walking fingers with one hand, demonstrating her intentions for her fickle-minded friend. “Are you staying?”
Buffy nods, trying very hard to listen. All she can think about is a certain blond vampire and everything else is a bit blurry. “See you at home?” There, that was a reasonable response.
“Buff, are you okay? Should I take you with me?” Will looks around, but Buffy hasn’t actually been drinking. She’s just one tiny, but potent ball of energy tonight. Probably extra oomph from not slaying.
Waving her hand in dismissal, Buffy laughs, “Heck no, Will. I’m having fun. You go, get some sleep. I’ll be home later on.”
Still unsure, Will gathers her things and stands up. “Have fun. Okay, but not too much fun. Or be careful having it. You know what I mean.” A crooked smile and a wave and Willow is gone into the crowd. Buffy turns back to the press of bodies, scanning for her next victim...dance partner. Next dance partner. She spots a blond head in the crowd and her heart flies into her throat. He turns and she realizes it is not Spike, just a regular guy. She cocks her head a bit and mumbles, “Looks a teeny tiny bit like him, that’ll do for now.” Unable to understand her insatiable appetite for Spike, Buffy is trying substitutes on for size. Anything to keep her mind off him. Evil, bloodsucking, delectable Spike. Crap.
She pops off the stool and sashays toward the blond undergrad in question. Tapping him on his arm, she turns on megawatt charm. “Care to dance, cutie?” Her pearly whites flash at him and he immediately follows her onto the dance floor to a throbbing rock number.
* * * * *
Meanwhile.
“Bollocks. Every soddin’ thing I do makes me think of her. Need a drink.” Spike pushes the metal door open and steps into the crowded bar, full of warmth and bodies pressed against each other. Stepping up to the bar, Spike slaps down a few bills. “Whiskey. Shot. Keep it comin’.” The bartender nods, pours out a shot and slides it over. Spike slams it and pushes the glass back to the bartender. After repeating this routine a half dozen times, he feels the artificial warmth of the whiskey permeating his body, even giving his skin a bit of heat. He holds up his hand, stopping the bartender from refilling his glass. “Enough for now, mate. Thanks.” Nodding, the burly bartender wanders down to another customer. Spike turns, leaning back and resting his elbows on the bar, surveying the crowd on the dance floor. After a few seconds, his throat goes suddenly and completely dry.
Buffy.
On the dance floor. Moving like he’s never seen her move before. He swallows. She’s wearing a barely there black dress, skinny straps and tight. Her hair pulled back so her delicate neck is completely exposed. Spike swallows again and clumsily reaches back for his glass. Reaching it, he taps it gently and then louder on the bar. The bartender, hearing his cue, walks back over and fills it again. Spike takes the shot and drops the glass again. Buffy doesn’t see him, so he takes a chance to keep watching her. She smiles up at the wanker she’s dancing with, some dumb college boy with no clue who he has hanging all over him. Her hands trail down his arms, and as the music slows, she moves closer. Her hips swivel against the guy and Spike has to clutch the bar with one hand while demanding a shot with the other. Full of whiskey and a blinding lust, Spike feels himself moving towards her. Her bronze skin, luring him ever closer with every gyration. He stops on the edge of the dance floor, fists clutching. Abruptly, he makes for the edge of the floor and a table. Facing away from the floor, he sits and shakes, half in anger and half with raging desire for the petite blonde a few yards away. His shoulders tighten, stretching his leather duster across his back as he tries to fight down his urges. Just as he feels his artificial breathing slow down, a warm hand touches his shoulder, runs down his arm. A hot breath whispers into his ear.
“Care to dance, handsome?”
Chapter 3: No Substitute for the Real Thing
* * * * *
Spike’s Crypt, early afternoon
Spike continues to pace, periodically taking swigs from a quickly emptying bottle of whiskey. He mutters under his breath, “Tiny little neck, should be easy to snap, but no. Little girl, big power. Totally bleedin’ unfair, it is.” He has spent half the day in this state, barely able to sleep without waking up in a cold sweat, visions of Buffy dancing in his head. Slowly, the effects of exhaustion and too much whiskey are helping him towards unconsciousness. He slumps into his beat-up armchair, the bottle dangling from his fingers. Spike’s platinum curls rest against the chair, his head pounding from the thoughts that torture him. Buffy. The Slayer. His mortal enemy. Yesterday, it was easy. He wanted her dead. Now, he just wants her. He closes his eyes and rather than sleep, he finds unconsciousness. The bottle drops from his limp hand as he finally finds peace. For now.
* * * * *
U C Sunnydale, History class
For the third time in an hour, Buffy drops her pencil. Willow glances sharply at her friend, wondering at her distractedness. As Buffy leans down to pick it up, she hopes her hair hides how flushed she is. Dammit. She looks down at her notebook not noticing it has happened again. In the margins of her notes, doodles. But not just any doodles. The last one that made her drop her pencil...a heart with the name Spike drawn in it. Buffy takes her pencil and scribbles at the heart, pressing so hard she rips the page in half. Willow turns to Buffy again, eyes wide. Finally, mercifully, the bell rings. Buffy scrambles to grab her belongings and get out of the suddenly too-hot room. She gets halfway to the door before she feels a hand on her arm.
“Buffy?” Buffy stops, eyes closed. She can’t face Willow like this and she sure as hell can’t tell her why she is acting so odd. With a small sigh, she turns to her dear friend. “Are you okay? You were acting a bit wiggy in class.”
Striving for nonchalance, Buffy smiles. “I’m fine, Will. Just, that class is so boring. And uh, I was up late slaying. Plus, isn’t it extra hot in here?” She stops rambling. “Also, it may be that I have a fever. With the flushed cheeks and all.”
Willow’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “Well, you are kind of red in the face, Buffy. Maybe you should head back to the room and lie down.”
“NO!” Willow jumps at Buffy’s vehemence. “Can’t lie down. It makes me feel, uh, funny. And not funny ha-ha, funny weird.”
“Right, well. Can I do something for you?”
“Sure, let’s get some lunch, that should be distracting... I mean, delicious.” Buffy strains to grin and take Willow by the arm, dragging her to the cafeteria. She mutters under her breath, “I will stake him for this. Right after I take him...ARGH!”
“Buffy?!” Willow jumps at Buffy’s sudden exclamation of frustration.
“Fine, fine, Willow. Thought I, uh, saw a mouse. Big fuzzy one. Yech. Let’s go.”
Willow trails Buffy, shaking her head. Girl is acting seriously weird.
* * * * *
That night...
Spike groans, rubbing his hand over his face as he struggles to consciousness. The alcohol is wearing off. He feels that the air in the crypt has grown colder and the light even dimmer. Finally, it’s nighttime. He needs to get out of the close air in here, shake the memories of the day, fight his craving for Buffy. Only, now he might actually see the object of his anger/affection in living flesh. He sighs, body shuddering as he pictures her in the moonlight. Spike slams his hand on the arm of the chair. “No. I’ll just avoid the bleedin’ cemetery tonight. If I don’t see her, maybe I can get these ridiculous thoughts out of my head. I can find other things to do, not that pathetic.” The blond vampire snatches up his duster and makes for the door. He is torn. Most of him wants to tear the town apart ‘til he finds the petite Slayer and acts out every fantasy he’s had in these dozen hours. Of course, he would be a pile of dust formerly known as Spike before he got through fantasy number one. “Rather not get staked just yet. For my own sake, I’ve got to avoid the bloody bint.” He slams the crypt door open and stalks off into the night, hoping he is heading in the opposite direction of Buffy.
* * * * *
“Patrolling tonight?”
“What? No!” Buffy jerks up from her reading at Willow’s suggestion. “I mean, no. I don’t feel like it.” She looks down at her psych book and the page she has been reading for the past twenty minutes. “In fact, I don’t feel like studying, either. Wanna Bronze it?”
Willow looks at her book, then at her roommate with the hopeful smile. “Well, alright. Not too late, though. I’ve got a paper to finish up.”
“Sure, sure. Let’s go!” Buffy hops up, grabs her jacket and pulls Willow out the door.
* * *
The Bronze, 11 p.m.
“Another Coke, Willow?” Buffy plops down on the stool next to Willow, slightly out of breath. Willow, head on her chin and poking her straw absently into a glass of ice, gives her friend a look of slight exasperation.
“No thanks, Buff. I think I better hit the road. Homework? Remember that? And besides, aren’t you tired? You’ve been dancing all night...” Willow continues under her breath, “...with every guy within a five mile radius, too...”
Buffy, distracted by the wide selection of men around her, turns back to Willow. “What was that? Yes? I’ll get you one.” y sty starts to bounce back up, but Willow grabs her arm, guiding her back onto the stool.
“Buffy! Look at me.” With great effort, Buffy turns her eyes on her redheaded friend. “I’m going home.” Willow makes little walking fingers with one hand, demonstrating her intentions for her fickle-minded friend. “Are you staying?”
Buffy nods, trying very hard to listen. All she can think about is a certain blond vampire and everything else is a bit blurry. “See you at home?” There, that was a reasonable response.
“Buff, are you okay? Should I take you with me?” Will looks around, but Buffy hasn’t actually been drinking. She’s just one tiny, but potent ball of energy tonight. Probably extra oomph from not slaying.
Waving her hand in dismissal, Buffy laughs, “Heck no, Will. I’m having fun. You go, get some sleep. I’ll be home later on.”
Still unsure, Will gathers her things and stands up. “Have fun. Okay, but not too much fun. Or be careful having it. You know what I mean.” A crooked smile and a wave and Willow is gone into the crowd. Buffy turns back to the press of bodies, scanning for her next victim...dance partner. Next dance partner. She spots a blond head in the crowd and her heart flies into her throat. He turns and she realizes it is not Spike, just a regular guy. She cocks her head a bit and mumbles, “Looks a teeny tiny bit like him, that’ll do for now.” Unable to understand her insatiable appetite for Spike, Buffy is trying substitutes on for size. Anything to keep her mind off him. Evil, bloodsucking, delectable Spike. Crap.
She pops off the stool and sashays toward the blond undergrad in question. Tapping him on his arm, she turns on megawatt charm. “Care to dance, cutie?” Her pearly whites flash at him and he immediately follows her onto the dance floor to a throbbing rock number.
* * * * *
Meanwhile.
“Bollocks. Every soddin’ thing I do makes me think of her. Need a drink.” Spike pushes the metal door open and steps into the crowded bar, full of warmth and bodies pressed against each other. Stepping up to the bar, Spike slaps down a few bills. “Whiskey. Shot. Keep it comin’.” The bartender nods, pours out a shot and slides it over. Spike slams it and pushes the glass back to the bartender. After repeating this routine a half dozen times, he feels the artificial warmth of the whiskey permeating his body, even giving his skin a bit of heat. He holds up his hand, stopping the bartender from refilling his glass. “Enough for now, mate. Thanks.” Nodding, the burly bartender wanders down to another customer. Spike turns, leaning back and resting his elbows on the bar, surveying the crowd on the dance floor. After a few seconds, his throat goes suddenly and completely dry.
Buffy.
On the dance floor. Moving like he’s never seen her move before. He swallows. She’s wearing a barely there black dress, skinny straps and tight. Her hair pulled back so her delicate neck is completely exposed. Spike swallows again and clumsily reaches back for his glass. Reaching it, he taps it gently and then louder on the bar. The bartender, hearing his cue, walks back over and fills it again. Spike takes the shot and drops the glass again. Buffy doesn’t see him, so he takes a chance to keep watching her. She smiles up at the wanker she’s dancing with, some dumb college boy with no clue who he has hanging all over him. Her hands trail down his arms, and as the music slows, she moves closer. Her hips swivel against the guy and Spike has to clutch the bar with one hand while demanding a shot with the other. Full of whiskey and a blinding lust, Spike feels himself moving towards her. Her bronze skin, luring him ever closer with every gyration. He stops on the edge of the dance floor, fists clutching. Abruptly, he makes for the edge of the floor and a table. Facing away from the floor, he sits and shakes, half in anger and half with raging desire for the petite blonde a few yards away. His shoulders tighten, stretching his leather duster across his back as he tries to fight down his urges. Just as he feels his artificial breathing slow down, a warm hand touches his shoulder, runs down his arm. A hot breath whispers into his ear.
“Care to dance, handsome?”