Life Serial Revisited

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Chapter 6: Loud
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I’m wondering how far Buffy wants to go. On the bike, that is. As far as other issues, I’m not even going to venture there. Her warm little hands have taken up permanent residence under my shirt, lightly brushing over my skin sometimes, but mostly just resting there. It’s almost too bloody much to bear. She never touches me. Unless she’s punching me. And this feels quite a bit nicer than that. We’ve been on the bike for about fifteen minutes now and she hasn’t spoken in the last ten. I want to know what she’s thinking all pressed up against me like this, but asking her questions could end this…this whatever. Don’t want that, so I’m keeping my gob shut. I’m not doing anything to ruin this.

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I don’t think I’ve ever seen Spike this quiet before. Sure, he often just listens to me when I visit or just lets us sit in silence when I’m down, but this. This is different. He is QUIET. Nothing, no eye contact, no smirks, no offhand comments. Just staring straight ahead, hands curled around the handlebars, back tense. It’s like he’s not even here. Even when I moved my hands on his abs, he kept driving. It did seem his muscles went tight – well, tighter, ‘cause hello, pretty tight already – when I touched him, but that was it. Crap. I must be sobering up a little. I’m trying to think too much. And what do I want, anyway? Do I want Spike to do something? To react to my flirtations? Why would I want that when I hate him?

Okay, little secret. The fact is, I don’t hate him. Luckily, I’m talking to myself, so this won’t get out. I…like him, actually. It turns out he’s a really decent guy…for a vampire. Aside from that period where he was trying to kill me and my friends, he’s really been there for me. And for Dawnie.

And did I mention the whole ‘easy on the eyes’ thing? ‘Cause, um, YEAH. Tasty bod, all tight and sleek. Wicked cheekbones, like you could cut glass on them. Blue eyes made for drowning in. Even that damn scar in his eyebrow. So hot. Dangerous.

Argh. Thought I was over the dangerous thing? But that’s just it…he’s not. Not really. Sure, he can kick ass in a fight and is most fatal to the demon population, but he’s gentle as a kitten with me now. Well, still a smartass, but a…well-intentioned one? Wow. Never thought well-intentioned and Spike could fit inside the same thought, but there ya have it. One painfully hot, demon-killing, well-meaning, smart alecky, not so dangerous anymore vamp right between my legs.

Oops.

That came out wrong. He’s, you know, in front of me and my legs are kind of around him, so he is technically, yes, between my legs, but it’s not like…like I’m also draped all over him, now is it? Oh. So it is. Who am I talking to?

Guess I’m not sobering up, after all. I’ve got to get off this bike before I crawl over him and get him between my legs in a different way. So not good, Buffy. Even thinking that was not good.

“Spike!” My voice is nearly lost in the rushing wind, but I see him jump just a little so he must hear me. The slight turn of his head towards me confirms it. I lean forward slightly to get my mouth closer to his ear. “Maybe we should hit that Ge Get some info?”

He nods, answering by slowing the bike enough to turn it in the middle of the road back towards town. With a quick flick of the wrist, he goes full throttle. Nearly thrown back and off the bike, I grab onto him tighter. Cool skin beneath my hands in a death grip and I have to wonder if he did that on purpose.

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Worked like a charm. Slayer was starting to drift back there, though if the heat coming off her was any indication, I think I might want to know what she was thinking on. Every bloke with a motorbike knows a sudden acceleration will get the girl to hold on for dear life. And she does. Even the little pinch from her fingernails digging into me is worth it. Makes me know it’s real. The real Slayer is really behind me, really holding onto my bare skin with her really warm legs pressed against mine. And I really don’t know if staying on this bike much longer is safe fitheither of us. If she does something she regrets later, I’ll be the one to wake up dusty.

Might as well get a few hands of poker in while the Slayer is game. See if I can helr wir with this problem. Anything to keep her close for a few more hours.

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I don’t loosen my grip until we slowly ride into the alley by the biggest dive in Sunnydale. And considering the demon population of Sunnydale, that’s saying something. I lean back a little, wondering if I have little creases on my cheek where I had it flattened against Spike’s duster. I think a seam may have become a permanent part of my face. And I care how I look because a bunch of demons are gonna see me? As we draw to a stop, I realize there is only one demon – of sorts – that I’m worried about seeing me. Spike drops the kickstand and the bike leans slightly to the side. I clutch him very tightly before I realize we are not tipping over. As the bike motor cuts off, I hear – no, feel, really – a low chuckle rumble through him.

“Wha’s so funny?” Great. Still slurring.

“Nothing, luv. Just think I’m gonna need to check my ribs when we get off. Good thing I don’t breathe, eh?”

“Ha Ha.” I let go of him, though a bit slower than is altogether proper. It’s just his skin is so smooth and…okay, letting go now. I withdraw my hands, but then I’m not sure what to do with them. What’s motorcycle etiquette I g I get off first or…?

“Slayer?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re here.”

“Yeah.”

“So…” He cranes his neck around to look at me quizzically. What? “…this would be the part when we get off the bike.”

I laugh, too loud and way too goofy. “Right! And so here I go.” I rm arm a little, figuring out how to do this. A small sound escapes Spike. A moan? No, he did not moan. That would mean my squirming was making him feel all…getting off now! The bike!tingting off the bike! Not getting off anything else…or anyone else.

Crap. Better get a little distance between us. With less grace than I’ve displayed in some time, I manage a scramble off the bike and find myself on my ass on the ground. How did that happen? “Oof.”

Spike faces forward on the bike, head down. Shaking slightly. Laughing! He’s laughing at me! When he turns back to face me, his expression is purposely neutral, but I see those damn blue eyes dancing in amusement. Swinging off the bike all devil may care, black coat swooshing in a fairly sexy manner, he stands in front of me, hands on tight little hips. I fight the urge to slump down to the ground in frustration. My mind is totally betraying me with these comments. Good thing Spikey here is no mind-reader. He extends a hand to me. Two beats pass while I look at it.

“Uh, Buffy? You okay?” Touching him again. I have got to stop touching him, but his hand is just out there, waiting. So, I slide my hand into it and the tinglies run straight up my arm like I stung my finger in a light socket. Only good. How can even his hands be all sexy? Strong, slightly rough from years and years of fighting. I tighten my grip and feel him zip me to my feet with little effort.

I stand there in front of him, not letting his hand go. Lifting my eyes to look at him, I feel my breath catch in my throat. I admit, I am under the dire influence of alcohol, but he makes me feel actually dizzy. Face half-shadowed by the glare of a streetlight. Cheekbone etched across his face. Eyes locked on mine, dark and intense. Lips twisted into a cute little smirk. Damn it, I like his smirk. I’m not supposed to. Supposed to make me want to punch him. Which just so happens to be the last thing on the long list of things I want to do to him at the mo’.

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The look on the Slayer’s face is making me feel positively warm. Didn’t know I could feel that way, but there you have it. Eyes big and green, somehow unfogged by her drinking. Considering her graceful dismount from the bike, I would have expected her to be out of it in the eyes, but no. She’s right there, present, focused. Making me a sight nervous, I have to say. Cheeks are pink, hair is surprisingly neat considering our bike ride. Of course, she had her herself tucked awfully close to me, her own vampire windbreak. I can feel the pulse in her wrist pounding against my fingers and I am starting to answer it with a throb of my own. Not good, Spike old boy. Buffy may be tipsy, but I bet she can still find the heart with a pointy piece of wood if called on. Don’t press your luck. Probably should let go, but I don’t want…

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I snap my hand out of his grip, breaking the moment in half. I strain to return to business. This is a mission, not a date. I think. At least, that’s how it started. I look away from his slightly confused and wounded look. Anywayyyy…

“This the place?” Spike nods and turns toward the door, now full on grinning. He reaches the door, pulling it open with a creak. “Did I miss something?”

Spike turns back to me with the door open, hand still on the handle. He puts his index finger up to his lips. Huh? “Buffy. Pet. You’re waking the dead.”

I cock my head at him. What the hell does he mean? “What the hell do you mean?”

“Loud, sweet Slayer. You are loud.”

Oh. I’m talking loud. Oops. He turns back to the door and goes through without another word. I follow, wondering just how loud I was. As I watch his back in front of me, I also realize I am so much in need of additional booze. Anything to take my mind off him. Off the way the leather stretches tight across his back when he moves.

“Well, your motorcycle is loud.” There’s a snappy comeback for ya. I’m loud? Well, so’s your bike. Why don’t I just tell him to shut up? That’s very high on the clever scale. What did he say? Back room? I am not going to a back room with…oh right, I am. Lead on, vamp boy!

Ooh, booze. I snatch the bottle set on the bar by the rather lizard-y demon bartender and pop off the pourer. Sweet nectar of forgetting…

ACK. This tastes as bad as the other stuff!

“It’s where the real action is.” What’s that? Spike’s talkin’ again. He talks a lot. The hot liquid is burning my throat and that is somehow interfering with my hearing. Action?

“What kind of action?” I ask him, eyebrows darting up.

Spike screeches to a halt, causing me to slam straight into his back. That back I like so well. The thick scent of leather teases me for just a second. Yum.

“What’s that, pet?” He half-turns to get a look at me. What did I say? Just being too close to him seems to be shorting out some important synap – snyap – snapsies – uh, brain connection thingies.

“Uh, nothing.” Oh right, action. I asked about the action. Maybe I’ll just wait and see. That conversation looked like it was going the naughty way. Better to nip it in the bud. Or is that butt. Nip it in the butt? Sigh. He does have a nice butt.

We enter a rather dingy room, looks to be for storage. Thankful for the distraction, I look around, see a table full of rather sketchy characters. They even look sketchy for demons.

Spike leans closer to me and his breath tickles my skin lightly. “These lowlifes know everything that happens in this town.”

I try not to shudder. His voice is not making me tingle. His voice is not making me tingle. No tingle. “Oh good. These are the lowlifes.” I cringe inwardly. Too loud. Again.

Spike tenses, looks at me disapprovingly. “Fine. A little louder.”

Sor-ry. Don’t have to get all snippy. Ooh goody. Mr. Snippy is going over to knock some heads. I fight the urge to clap my hands in anticipation. ‘Sides, I’ve got the bottle in my hand and that would probably just result in spillage.

Wait, what’s this? He’s chucking a demon my way? No, he’s kicking him out! Wait! “Ooh, ask him if he’s heard - ”

Spike cuts me off. “Later.” Later? What the heck does he mean, later? Now, not later! And what’s with the sitting down and – oh, no you’re not!

“You’re gonna play cards?” Oh, come on!

I can see Spike tense and then stand up. “I need a moment with my lady.”

His lady!? Oh no, you don’t. Don’t try sweet talkin’ me. I came here for some forget-my-crappy-life violence and I aim to get it. None of this sitting quietly while ‘my man’ plays poker. Nuh-uh. Hey! Hands off the merchandise! I snap out of Spike’s tight grip.

“You wanna play, that's fine. Okay? I am sticking to the original plan. Which one do I kill for information?” I glance over, thinking I could take that wrinkly one. Looks soft.

Spike’s voice is low, tense. “Listen. These guys talk while they play. We'll get more information out of their mouths than out of gaping holes in their corpses.”

I hesitate, look over at the waiting demons and back at Spike. Dammit. That makes sense. When did Spike get to be the sensible one? I think of the bottle in my hand and figure it out. Oh yeah, back when I got ahold of this stuff. Fine. Fine. FINE. I’ll just sit over here and wait. Me, the Slayer, waiting for the undead pain in my butt to play…what the heck??

“You play for kittens?!?”