Elegantly Wasted
folder
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,438
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
BtVS AU/AR › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,438
Reviews:
3
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.
Elegantly Wasted
(Completely re-vamped "The Games We Play")
Chapter One: The Envelope
It had been 2 hours, 17 minutes and 23 seconds since The Envelope had arrived, and Buffy Summers’s spring break plans had been skewered.
Her mother, Joyce, dressed impeccably in pearls and a black dress, stood in the kitchen on the phone with Hank Summers, her semi-absent/shitty father. Buffy watched in part-confusion part-amusement at the wild gestures and frowns.
“And just how do you expect her to get from here to New York?” Her voice ended on a shrill note, making Buffy wince and slowly back up the stairs.
In the safety of her room, Buffy caved into the curious temptation and picked the phone, gently, pressing it against her ear.
She heard her father’s voice, exasperated with his ex-wife. “I don’t know. Can’t you book her a flight?”
“With only a week of notice?” The shrill voice was back.
“God, Joyce, I apologized already. The letter was returned to the sender! I can’t help it if the mailman fucked up!”
Rolling her eyes, Buffy resisted the urge to yell ‘fuck you!’ Instead of listening to the bickering that would inevitably ensue, she slowly hung up the phone. In her hands she held The Envelope.
Staring down at the creamy paper and elegant lettering, Buffy read it. Then again. Then a third time for good measure.
Yep, it was all there. Her dad was getting married in 8 days to Ms. Harmony Kendall AKA Secretary Slut #3.
Tossing the thick paper on the floor, Buffy reached for her cell phone, dialing the number she knew by heart. Cordelia Chase.
“Hey,” she said by way of greeting. No introduction was needed. “Where’re we going tonight?”
******************
“Hey bitch!” Anya screamed over the blasting music, running over to hug her friend. Her pink shiny halter top was loose, hanging precariously low around her neck and her jean zipper was half undone. An empty beer bottle was in her right hand.
Buffy hugged her back. Her nose wrinkled a little at the pungent smell of smoke, and pulled back. “I love your shirt!” Buffy squealed, eyeing the material.
Cordelia turned and grabbed a couple of beers from her boyfriend-of-the-week, handing one to Buffy. “God, Ahn, slut much?”
Anya rolled her eyes. “Uptight much?” She snapped back, swaying a little.
Buffy immediately tensed. Cordelia still being a virgin was a high-priority unspoken secret between the three of them, and the moment the word’s fell out of her mouth, Anya blinked.
“Sorry,” she muttered, uncharacteristically quiet.
“Okay,” Buffy announced to ease the tension. “Screw the beer. I need my good friend Jose.”
Cordelia’s well manicured eyebrow rose. “Something wrong, Buffy?”
“Just my fucked up parents,” she grumbled, searching the sweaty masses for a nice bottle of tequila.
“Your mom’s pregnant?” Anya suggested using her own life’s example with a slight giggle.
“Thank god a world of no,” Buffy said in relief. “Just my dad’s getting married to this slut, and I have to go.”
Anya grimaced. “Well, at least she isn’t pregnant.”
Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Parents suck. Let’s go find Jose and Bacardi.”
“I’m there,” Buffy respond with a nod of her head, following the brunette through a maze of people.
A half-hour later and at least three shots, Buffy dizzily made her way on to the dance floor, grinding with several people. She had lost her pants somehow and was standing in just a tank top and black thong, though most people didn’t seem to have a problem with it.
“Hey babe,” an eerily familiar, sleazy voice said over her shoulder. Buffy clumsily looked over shoulder to see her ex-boyfriend and asshole of the year: Parker Abrams. “Get the fuck away from me,” she slurred, pushing him away.
Parker just clung on to her bare hips tighter. “Come on, baby, don’t be like that.” He leaned down to kiss her neck. “I miss you.”
“Then you shouldn’t have cheated on me,” she retorted, elbowing him in the gut. Unfortunately, in her drunken state, her elbow missed its target and she fell into him.
Parker brushed a strand of hair off her flushed face. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere.”
“Like hell,” she grunted, struggling to stand upright.
Suddenly, Parker’s football friend slapped him on the back. “Hey Abrams, doesn’t look like Buffy here likes you very much,” he teased.
Despite the degrading feeling of having some anonymous meathead defending her, Buffy gave him a grateful look and pushed Parker off for good. “Go find someone a little more plastic to fuck, you idiot.”
Parker backed up with a disgusted look. “Your pussy isn’t worth it, Summers. In fact, you weren’t even worth a first go.”
If Buffy had been more sober, the comment would of have stung; instead she just stumbled towards Anya’s bedroom, looking for quiet.
As usual, the door was closed during a party, and it was common knowledge that no one but Anya was allowed to have sex in there. But since Buffy could vaguely remember seeing Anya and some dark-haired guy pressed up against the refrigerator, she pushed open the door, light streaming into the dark room.
It was very neat, as always, and pristine pink with a big frilly canopy. Buffy crawled into the bed, feeling icky and nauseous. Within moments, Buffy’s eyes drifted shut, and she slept there, curled in a ball.
****************
“Buffy,” A voice sing-songed, nudging her with cold hands.
“Nngh,” she mumbled through a stuffed head.
“Buffy.” This time the voice was less pleasant. “BUFFY!”
Shocked, Buffy jerked fully awake, squinting at the harsh sunlight streaming through the window. “What…” She blinked, rubbing her eyes.
Anya stood over her dressed in jeans and a pretty shirt. Her hair was still damp. “Get up. I’m leaving in fifteen minutes.”
“No,” Buffy moaned, pulling the cover over her head. Immediately, Anya yanked it back.
“Seriously, get up. My step-mom is fucking psycho and won’t let me or anyone else sleep in. That means you.”
“Why not?” Buffy whimpered. “Jeanie likes me.”
“Not today,” Anya replied. “Your pants were in their bedroom.”
A slow groan escaped. “Oh god, I was wondering where I left them.”
“Yeah, you stupid idiot,” Anya said in a ‘duh’ tone of voice. “Now, come on. I wanna finish drying my hair.”
Buffy, grumbling the whole way, roused herself out of Anya’s bed and stumbled into the bathroom to pee and wash her hands and face. With a look of horror, Buffy touched her puffy, blotchy face. “God no. I look awful.”
“Shower,” Anya said and added, “fast.”
Buffy complied, taking the world’s fastest shower, and viciously dried off. Her face looked marginally less puffy and a little more alive. Quickly, she shoved her jeans back on and borrowed a bra and pink shirt from Anya. There was no way she could wear her smoky, sweaty tank top and bra again.
“Want a granola bar?” Anya offered as they walked through the kitchen to the garage.
Buffy nodded, taking one from the pantry along with a water bottle. They hopped into Anya’s red convertible and, in typical Anya fashion, sped to school with five minutes to spare.
Sliding into her seat, Buffy reached into her messenger bag and pulled out her English notebook. As the bell rang, she finally found her favorite pen.
The teacher, a slim brunette wearing a dull black dress, clapped her hands together. “Okay, now if everyone could please pass their research papers forward…”
Buffy’s eyes closed, and internally groaned. Fuck.
Chapter One: The Envelope
It had been 2 hours, 17 minutes and 23 seconds since The Envelope had arrived, and Buffy Summers’s spring break plans had been skewered.
Her mother, Joyce, dressed impeccably in pearls and a black dress, stood in the kitchen on the phone with Hank Summers, her semi-absent/shitty father. Buffy watched in part-confusion part-amusement at the wild gestures and frowns.
“And just how do you expect her to get from here to New York?” Her voice ended on a shrill note, making Buffy wince and slowly back up the stairs.
In the safety of her room, Buffy caved into the curious temptation and picked the phone, gently, pressing it against her ear.
She heard her father’s voice, exasperated with his ex-wife. “I don’t know. Can’t you book her a flight?”
“With only a week of notice?” The shrill voice was back.
“God, Joyce, I apologized already. The letter was returned to the sender! I can’t help it if the mailman fucked up!”
Rolling her eyes, Buffy resisted the urge to yell ‘fuck you!’ Instead of listening to the bickering that would inevitably ensue, she slowly hung up the phone. In her hands she held The Envelope.
Staring down at the creamy paper and elegant lettering, Buffy read it. Then again. Then a third time for good measure.
Yep, it was all there. Her dad was getting married in 8 days to Ms. Harmony Kendall AKA Secretary Slut #3.
Tossing the thick paper on the floor, Buffy reached for her cell phone, dialing the number she knew by heart. Cordelia Chase.
“Hey,” she said by way of greeting. No introduction was needed. “Where’re we going tonight?”
******************
“Hey bitch!” Anya screamed over the blasting music, running over to hug her friend. Her pink shiny halter top was loose, hanging precariously low around her neck and her jean zipper was half undone. An empty beer bottle was in her right hand.
Buffy hugged her back. Her nose wrinkled a little at the pungent smell of smoke, and pulled back. “I love your shirt!” Buffy squealed, eyeing the material.
Cordelia turned and grabbed a couple of beers from her boyfriend-of-the-week, handing one to Buffy. “God, Ahn, slut much?”
Anya rolled her eyes. “Uptight much?” She snapped back, swaying a little.
Buffy immediately tensed. Cordelia still being a virgin was a high-priority unspoken secret between the three of them, and the moment the word’s fell out of her mouth, Anya blinked.
“Sorry,” she muttered, uncharacteristically quiet.
“Okay,” Buffy announced to ease the tension. “Screw the beer. I need my good friend Jose.”
Cordelia’s well manicured eyebrow rose. “Something wrong, Buffy?”
“Just my fucked up parents,” she grumbled, searching the sweaty masses for a nice bottle of tequila.
“Your mom’s pregnant?” Anya suggested using her own life’s example with a slight giggle.
“Thank god a world of no,” Buffy said in relief. “Just my dad’s getting married to this slut, and I have to go.”
Anya grimaced. “Well, at least she isn’t pregnant.”
Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Parents suck. Let’s go find Jose and Bacardi.”
“I’m there,” Buffy respond with a nod of her head, following the brunette through a maze of people.
A half-hour later and at least three shots, Buffy dizzily made her way on to the dance floor, grinding with several people. She had lost her pants somehow and was standing in just a tank top and black thong, though most people didn’t seem to have a problem with it.
“Hey babe,” an eerily familiar, sleazy voice said over her shoulder. Buffy clumsily looked over shoulder to see her ex-boyfriend and asshole of the year: Parker Abrams. “Get the fuck away from me,” she slurred, pushing him away.
Parker just clung on to her bare hips tighter. “Come on, baby, don’t be like that.” He leaned down to kiss her neck. “I miss you.”
“Then you shouldn’t have cheated on me,” she retorted, elbowing him in the gut. Unfortunately, in her drunken state, her elbow missed its target and she fell into him.
Parker brushed a strand of hair off her flushed face. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere.”
“Like hell,” she grunted, struggling to stand upright.
Suddenly, Parker’s football friend slapped him on the back. “Hey Abrams, doesn’t look like Buffy here likes you very much,” he teased.
Despite the degrading feeling of having some anonymous meathead defending her, Buffy gave him a grateful look and pushed Parker off for good. “Go find someone a little more plastic to fuck, you idiot.”
Parker backed up with a disgusted look. “Your pussy isn’t worth it, Summers. In fact, you weren’t even worth a first go.”
If Buffy had been more sober, the comment would of have stung; instead she just stumbled towards Anya’s bedroom, looking for quiet.
As usual, the door was closed during a party, and it was common knowledge that no one but Anya was allowed to have sex in there. But since Buffy could vaguely remember seeing Anya and some dark-haired guy pressed up against the refrigerator, she pushed open the door, light streaming into the dark room.
It was very neat, as always, and pristine pink with a big frilly canopy. Buffy crawled into the bed, feeling icky and nauseous. Within moments, Buffy’s eyes drifted shut, and she slept there, curled in a ball.
****************
“Buffy,” A voice sing-songed, nudging her with cold hands.
“Nngh,” she mumbled through a stuffed head.
“Buffy.” This time the voice was less pleasant. “BUFFY!”
Shocked, Buffy jerked fully awake, squinting at the harsh sunlight streaming through the window. “What…” She blinked, rubbing her eyes.
Anya stood over her dressed in jeans and a pretty shirt. Her hair was still damp. “Get up. I’m leaving in fifteen minutes.”
“No,” Buffy moaned, pulling the cover over her head. Immediately, Anya yanked it back.
“Seriously, get up. My step-mom is fucking psycho and won’t let me or anyone else sleep in. That means you.”
“Why not?” Buffy whimpered. “Jeanie likes me.”
“Not today,” Anya replied. “Your pants were in their bedroom.”
A slow groan escaped. “Oh god, I was wondering where I left them.”
“Yeah, you stupid idiot,” Anya said in a ‘duh’ tone of voice. “Now, come on. I wanna finish drying my hair.”
Buffy, grumbling the whole way, roused herself out of Anya’s bed and stumbled into the bathroom to pee and wash her hands and face. With a look of horror, Buffy touched her puffy, blotchy face. “God no. I look awful.”
“Shower,” Anya said and added, “fast.”
Buffy complied, taking the world’s fastest shower, and viciously dried off. Her face looked marginally less puffy and a little more alive. Quickly, she shoved her jeans back on and borrowed a bra and pink shirt from Anya. There was no way she could wear her smoky, sweaty tank top and bra again.
“Want a granola bar?” Anya offered as they walked through the kitchen to the garage.
Buffy nodded, taking one from the pantry along with a water bottle. They hopped into Anya’s red convertible and, in typical Anya fashion, sped to school with five minutes to spare.
Sliding into her seat, Buffy reached into her messenger bag and pulled out her English notebook. As the bell rang, she finally found her favorite pen.
The teacher, a slim brunette wearing a dull black dress, clapped her hands together. “Okay, now if everyone could please pass their research papers forward…”
Buffy’s eyes closed, and internally groaned. Fuck.