An Englishman in New York
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,081
Reviews:
76
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
34
Views:
6,081
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.
With a Little Help from My Friends
Author's Notes: The Hannibal Lecter question comes straight from one of my own psychology classes. I had the best professor in the world. ^_^ Also, there is a reason for Buffy's slight nervous breakdown when Spike tries to carry her bag. It will be explained later.
With a Little Help from My Friends
As he took his seat in the back of the lecture hall, Spike silently thanked the God he hated that his roommate was a bubble-head. She would never take a psychology class, or anything that required an IQ higher than something in the double digits, so he would be free of her irritating presence for several hours at a time.
After returning from his impromptu ‘concert’ under the tree, which had attracted a small audience – mostly women – he had had a strange encounter with one of Buffy’s friends. A young woman with honey-blonde hair and friendly gray eyes had bumped into him on her way from the room and said the strangest thing: Happy orgasms.
Now, he had no problem with sex, none at all – aside from the fact that he hadn’t had any in quite awhile. Happy orgasms? Was that some sort of bleedin’ joke? No, she couldn’t have known what he’d just been through, the reason he’d left England. No way.
He was jolted from his thoughts by the instructor’s voice, and he suddenly found himself surrounded by other students. Somehow, he’d become so lost in his thoughts that the lecture hall had filled without his knowledge.
The woman – Dr. Maggie Walsh – droned on for long moments, but Spike was focused on one thing: the familiar blonde hair of Buffy Summers. Seated beside her was her friend Willow. He groaned inwardly and was tempted to drop the class then and there, but Walsh said something that literally changed the course of his life.
“Hannibal Lecter is one of the most popular fictional icons of our time. This being your first day, I don’t expect you to know much, and certainly not about complex psychological disorders, but what do you think of his reasons for cannibalism? And no, ‘He’s a psychotic killer,’ is not the answer I’m looking for. Miss Summers?”
Obviously nervous, Buffy straightened in her seat. “Umm, well, there’s anger, which is the most obvious thing, but it’s also… It’s about seeing himself as being… above his victims. He eats them so they become his waste.”
Walsh looked startled. She had expected the blonde to fulfill the cliché of dumb blondes and be… well, dumb. “Very good observation, Miss Summers. Mister Giles?”
“It's Calendar-Giles, and she’s right, I reckon,” he began, inclining his head to Buffy when she turned to look at him. “But it’s also primal, it’s about possession. In consuming his victims, he possesses their entire being, their essence. It’s all about instinct, see. Not to mention, biting and screaming is the first way we can express displeasure when we’re in nappies.”
Again, Walsh was startled. Perhaps there was hope for this group, after all. “Very clever, Mister Giles. Class is dismissed. I want you to read chapters one through three and…”
The rest of her words were lost on Spike. As the class started to file out of the lecture hall in cacophony, Buffy approached him, and for a reason unknown to him, his stomach clenched and his palms felt sweaty.
“That was… What you said about biting being one of the first ways we can express ourselves, that was really cool,” she said quietly. It was an apology as much as a compliment, and they both knew it.
“You didn’t do too bad, yourself,” he said nonchalantly, a small smile gracing his lips without his permission or knowledge. Good, I still sound casual.
“So… You want to come with Will and me to get lunch, or…”
“Sounds good.”
Willow, detecting much sparkage between the pair, declined. “I have to meet Tara. It’s about the meeting tonight,” she lied convincingly for the first time in... forever. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie; they were going to attend the meeting later that night. “She was going to show me the Wicca group meeting place we talked about and-and I know you’re not interested in witchy things.”
“Okay,” said Buffy. “That’s cool; I’ll just see you in History later on.”
“Sure,” the redhead answered, already on her way out the door. She had to admit that Spike was cute, and Buffy needed to at least be able to get along with him. Leaving them alone to talk was a good idea. Yeah. A very good idea and she wasn’t doing any match-making at all. No, Siree.
“Red’s an all right chit,” said Spike as he watched the neo-pagan leave.
“Chit? Is that a good thing?” Buffy frowned, but her tone was light, almost playful.
“Maybe,” he teased. My God, are we… flirting? Shaking his head, he shoved his books in a scuffed black backpack. As an afterthought, he held out his hand to take Buffy’s backpack, and the move earned him a heated glare.
“I may be short,” she spat, “but I can carry my own damn bag.”
“Christ on crutches, Summers! I was tryin’ to be helpful is all!” Women. If you didn’t offer help, they thought you were an arse; if you tried to carry their shit, they went all wonky.
“Sorry. It’s… it doesn’t matter,” the blonde said cryptically. “Come on or we’ll never beat the lunch crowd.”
Something was going on, Spike knew, but he had no idea what. What had happened that would make her so angry about an offer to carry her bag? Hell, for all he knew, she was just one of those die-hard feminists. Following her out of the lecture hall, he wondered what came next. He shouldn’t have to do anything, damn it all! He’d brought muffins and coffee and she’d acted like a bint. He’d tried to carry her bag and she’d snapped at him. Why did he even care?
With a Little Help from My Friends
As he took his seat in the back of the lecture hall, Spike silently thanked the God he hated that his roommate was a bubble-head. She would never take a psychology class, or anything that required an IQ higher than something in the double digits, so he would be free of her irritating presence for several hours at a time.
After returning from his impromptu ‘concert’ under the tree, which had attracted a small audience – mostly women – he had had a strange encounter with one of Buffy’s friends. A young woman with honey-blonde hair and friendly gray eyes had bumped into him on her way from the room and said the strangest thing: Happy orgasms.
Now, he had no problem with sex, none at all – aside from the fact that he hadn’t had any in quite awhile. Happy orgasms? Was that some sort of bleedin’ joke? No, she couldn’t have known what he’d just been through, the reason he’d left England. No way.
He was jolted from his thoughts by the instructor’s voice, and he suddenly found himself surrounded by other students. Somehow, he’d become so lost in his thoughts that the lecture hall had filled without his knowledge.
The woman – Dr. Maggie Walsh – droned on for long moments, but Spike was focused on one thing: the familiar blonde hair of Buffy Summers. Seated beside her was her friend Willow. He groaned inwardly and was tempted to drop the class then and there, but Walsh said something that literally changed the course of his life.
“Hannibal Lecter is one of the most popular fictional icons of our time. This being your first day, I don’t expect you to know much, and certainly not about complex psychological disorders, but what do you think of his reasons for cannibalism? And no, ‘He’s a psychotic killer,’ is not the answer I’m looking for. Miss Summers?”
Obviously nervous, Buffy straightened in her seat. “Umm, well, there’s anger, which is the most obvious thing, but it’s also… It’s about seeing himself as being… above his victims. He eats them so they become his waste.”
Walsh looked startled. She had expected the blonde to fulfill the cliché of dumb blondes and be… well, dumb. “Very good observation, Miss Summers. Mister Giles?”
“It's Calendar-Giles, and she’s right, I reckon,” he began, inclining his head to Buffy when she turned to look at him. “But it’s also primal, it’s about possession. In consuming his victims, he possesses their entire being, their essence. It’s all about instinct, see. Not to mention, biting and screaming is the first way we can express displeasure when we’re in nappies.”
Again, Walsh was startled. Perhaps there was hope for this group, after all. “Very clever, Mister Giles. Class is dismissed. I want you to read chapters one through three and…”
The rest of her words were lost on Spike. As the class started to file out of the lecture hall in cacophony, Buffy approached him, and for a reason unknown to him, his stomach clenched and his palms felt sweaty.
“That was… What you said about biting being one of the first ways we can express ourselves, that was really cool,” she said quietly. It was an apology as much as a compliment, and they both knew it.
“You didn’t do too bad, yourself,” he said nonchalantly, a small smile gracing his lips without his permission or knowledge. Good, I still sound casual.
“So… You want to come with Will and me to get lunch, or…”
“Sounds good.”
Willow, detecting much sparkage between the pair, declined. “I have to meet Tara. It’s about the meeting tonight,” she lied convincingly for the first time in... forever. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie; they were going to attend the meeting later that night. “She was going to show me the Wicca group meeting place we talked about and-and I know you’re not interested in witchy things.”
“Okay,” said Buffy. “That’s cool; I’ll just see you in History later on.”
“Sure,” the redhead answered, already on her way out the door. She had to admit that Spike was cute, and Buffy needed to at least be able to get along with him. Leaving them alone to talk was a good idea. Yeah. A very good idea and she wasn’t doing any match-making at all. No, Siree.
“Red’s an all right chit,” said Spike as he watched the neo-pagan leave.
“Chit? Is that a good thing?” Buffy frowned, but her tone was light, almost playful.
“Maybe,” he teased. My God, are we… flirting? Shaking his head, he shoved his books in a scuffed black backpack. As an afterthought, he held out his hand to take Buffy’s backpack, and the move earned him a heated glare.
“I may be short,” she spat, “but I can carry my own damn bag.”
“Christ on crutches, Summers! I was tryin’ to be helpful is all!” Women. If you didn’t offer help, they thought you were an arse; if you tried to carry their shit, they went all wonky.
“Sorry. It’s… it doesn’t matter,” the blonde said cryptically. “Come on or we’ll never beat the lunch crowd.”
Something was going on, Spike knew, but he had no idea what. What had happened that would make her so angry about an offer to carry her bag? Hell, for all he knew, she was just one of those die-hard feminists. Following her out of the lecture hall, he wondered what came next. He shouldn’t have to do anything, damn it all! He’d brought muffins and coffee and she’d acted like a bint. He’d tried to carry her bag and she’d snapped at him. Why did he even care?