Shot in the Dark

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Chapter 4: Come Here Often?
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Spike grimaces and mutters, “Sorry, luv, no can....” As he turns to glance at the girl in question, his words die in his throat. Her hand withdraws quickly as if she was burned.

“Spike!” Buffy’s cheeks flush crimson red as she takes a few stumbling steps backwards. “Uh...uh...didn’t know it was you, um, gotta go.” She spins on her heel and makes a break for the ladies’ room. Spike stares at her, mouth slightly agape. Buffy wanted to dance with him? But wait, she didn't know it was him, just thought it was...another platinum blond with a leather duster? Weird. Without pausing to think too much more, Spike leaps from the stool, following the Slayer as she flees.

He catches up to her in the dark hallway leading to the restrooms. Spike reaches out, putting one hand on her shoulder, trying to slow her flight. Buffy shrieks, jumps away from his contact. “Spike! What the hell are you doing!?” She slowly backs away from him, finally reaching the wall and stopping.

Spike notices her cheeks are still red and her heartbeat is racing. He cocks his head, realizing she is even more intoxicating in person than in his dreams. A low growl in his throat silences his inner voice for the moment.

“Funny you should ask that, Slayer. I was wondering the same of you. Bit late for a school night, isn’t it?” His eyes are dark, intense despite his playful words and it is making her squirm. She sees his glance flick down her body, assessing her rather revealing outfit and the body within it. Buffy is torn between anger and arousal at his obvious appraisal. Strangely enough, arousal wins.

“I’m a big girl, Spike. Can take care of myself, don’t you think?” Buffy looks up at Spike through her eyelashes. Her mind is screaming at Buffy, telling her to stop flirting right this instant. Only she can’t. Or won’t.

Spike is slightly taken aback. He wasn’t even sure exactly what he planned to do when he followed her, he just knew he couldn’t let her escape. Logic is taking a backseat to his more basic instincts this close to her. The perfume of her body is making his head swim. Sunlight, youth and suddenly sexuality assaults his senses. And she is not running off, she is in fact, looking at him in a most interesting way.

“Yeah, sure, pet. Just don’t see you here too often. And dancing. Didn’t know you still danced.”

“Oh, but I do. I love to dance.” Buffy remains against the wall, but somehow Spike feels like she has moved closer to him. Her voice is almost a purr. Whatever has made him lust after Buffy the last 24 hours is kicking into overdrive, amplified by her proximity to him.

“That so?” Spike swallows, fighting his urge to grab ahold of her and pull her body against his. He is grateful she cannot read his body’s signals like he can read hers. She is aroused by his presence and it is doing a number on his self-control. Buffy’s eyes are glazed over, as if she is not quite there.

“Yes, that’s so.” Buffy feels her pulse racing as Spike looks at her with those deep blue eyes. She knows she should be running away from him, she hates him. Only she can’t quite make her legs work that direction. In fact, she realizes belatedly that she has, in fact, taken a step closer to Spike. Buffy wonders when the world begin to tilt off-kilter. And why is Spike looking at her that way? He hates her with the same white-hot passion that she does him. Only. Only, God, he’s so cute. So hot. Buffy takes another step, brain sending alarm signals as she comes within his arm’s reach.

Spike fights to keep his arms at his sides as she slowly moves towards him. She is close enough to him that he can feel the heat radiating off her petite body. He imagines what her skin would feel like, soft, warm, pliable under his hands. The steady pulse beating , pumping in time with his desire.

A new song begins, a slow, pounding number. Both Buffy and Spike pause, the only sound the music around them. They are alone in the dim hallway, but the music reaches them through the thin walls. Simultaneously, Buffy’s hand reaches out to Spike’s as his arm snakes around her waist. As their hands meet, and he finds her bare back, the skin on skin contacts elicit a shudder from both. Her fingers wrap around his hand as his arm pulls her roughly against his body. She molds her body to his, her head resting on his chest, face mere inches from his neck. Their clasped hands rest against his chest. Buffy’s other arm slides under Spike’s duster, grasping the fabric of his shirt. Her breathing is rapid, uneven.

Moving slowly in time to the music, Spike’s mind races. He has the Slayer in his arms, tender, gentle, completely vulnerable. Despite the chip, he could take a crack at her in this state. She is off-guard, clearly affected by something which has altered her judgment. What else could possibly explain her clutching her mortal enemy in this dark hall? Of course, he is not feeling quite himself either. Truth be told, he is as confused as she. He doesn’t want to drain her dry and leave her in this hallway. No, he wants to slam her body against the opposite wall, rip this black dress from her and have his way with her taut little body.

Buffy’s thoughts are in turmoil, as well. Why, oh why is she dancing with Spike? Spike!! Enemy, evil, thorn in her side. She can feel his muscular chest under her hand, pressed against her. He smells like danger, nighttime, sex and it makes her feel weak. And strong at the same time. As she presses even closer to Spike, she feels his arousal and smiles slowly. In her mind’s eye, she can see herself taking him down to the ground in this dank little hallway with one swift kick. Straddling him, ripping that shirt off and..

Buffy and Spike’s fantasies build to a fever pitch, and they suddenly push away from each other to opposite sides of the hall. Both panting, eyes wild, they stare across at each other, only a few feet apart. The fear and the lust is thick in the closed quarters and Buffy’s eyes dart around, like a trapped animal. Spike is frozen against the wall, unsure what to do next. Unsettled by the power of their desire, both make a break. Buffy takes off for the main floor of the Bronze, disappearing into the crowd. Spike watches her go and turns away himself, flinging himself out of the emergency exit and then flattening himself against it in the back alley.

“What the bloody hell was that?!” Spike puts both hands to his head, trying to calm himself and failing miserably. While she is still somewhat nearby, his body betrays him, straining, craving her. His mind fights for dominance as his hormones continue to shoot off the charts. He is horrified at how close he came to kissing her, caressing t sof soft shoulders, picking her up in his arms... Still, he had her writhing body right against his and there was no doubt what he picked up in the air. Arousal. She sometimes gave off the scent in a fight, but nothing like this. This was like getting hit with a brick. She wanted him, wanted him very badly.

Spike pushes off from the door and fumbles in his duster for his cigarettes and lighter. Finding one, he lights up, hands shaking. He wanted her too, there in the dark. And still does. He lifts his head sharply. The scent is still there, wafting toward his sensitive nose. Buffy. Like the predator he is, Spike stalks down the alley, following the scent. He reaches the corner and looks around it. Off in the distance, he sees her, lit by streetlight. Head down, arms wrapped around her chest, obviously distracted and upset. She stumbles a bit, and he watches her put out a hand to steady herself on a lamppost, leaning down to adjust the strap on her black strappy shoes. He groans to himself as he follows her movements. Was she aware how sexy she was? She didn’t act like it.

Spike comes around the corner and begins to follow her, keeping to the shadows. As she starts to walk again, he can tell she is lost in her thoughts. So lost she doesn’t see the vamp coming out of an alley near her. Surely, she’s just playing dumb. She knows he is there. Spike hesitates, unsure if he should call out. The vamp is moving quickly towards her and he is not alone. Two vamps coming up behind Buffy. Why the hell wasn’t she reacting? Increasing his pace, Spike moves toward the group, tossing his cigarette aside. Could just let them have her, save him a lot of trouble. Only somehow, he can‘t. Just as the long-haired vamp leaps into action, Spike yells, “Oy! Buffy! Heads up, luv!” She turns suddenly towards the vamp right as he lands on her. They roll together on the pavement, struggling for the upper hand. Surely, she is being hampered by her state of mind and the element of surprise. Not to mention the apparent lack of a stake. The second vamp looks to get in on the action, but Spike tackles him to the ground a few feet away from Buffy and her attacker. A few well-placed punches later and the vamp is a pile of dust, courtesy of the stake Spike keeps in his duster. He gets up to see that Buffy has rolled on top of the vamp in question.

He calls out, “Slayer!” as the stake flies through the air. She looks at him just long enough to catch the stake, plunging it into the vamp in the same motion.

Spike walks up to Buffy as she is sprawled on the cold pavement in her short dress, the vamp dusted. He takes a deep, unnecessary breath, trying not to see how much of her legs are exposed in this position. She looks up as his hand reaches out to help her to her feet. Her eyes are wide as she takes the help to stand. Dropping his hand, she straightens and pulls down her dress, standing awkwardly in front of Spike.

“Th-thanks, Spike. I didn’t see them. I was...uh...distracted.” Her eyes dart up to his for a second, but then resume their study of the pavement between them.

“Right, well, you’re welcome, Slayer. Guess I should go.” Spike turns to leave, body quivering in desire for her. Coming within a few feet of her causes his skin to vibrate in a most pleasant way, but he has to remember he hates her. Hates her and her stupid Scooby friends and their do-gooder ways. But bleedin’ hell, she is a goddess. He growls, hands into fists. Again, he feels her small, warm hand on his arm and he almost blacks out. Contact.

“Uh, Spike?” He turns to her, sees she is grimacing in pain. For the first time, he notices that she is bleeding from her side, her dress torn. Bloody vamp had a knife, it looks like. The smell of blood hits him, copper and heavenly. “I...I think I need help.”r eyr eyes roll back as she starts to collapse. Spike leaps forward, catching her before she hits the pavement. He gathers her up in his arms, her head lolling back. She moans, coming quickly out of her faint. Spike groans. Things have gone from bad to worse. He wanted to avoid Buffy, avoid temptation. Instead, he now had her in his arms, barely dressed, weak as a kitten, with fresh Slayer blood staining his hands.

Adjusting the warm body in his arms, Spike turns towards his crypt. Buffy snuggles in closer, making small sounds of contentment despite her injury. He turns his eyes to the heavens, to whoever is listening. “If this is a joke, it’s not soddin’ funny!”