(Now with intended italics.)
Summary: Post-Helpless, season 3. Not yet back to fighting form, Buffy relaxes at home after a sexually frustrating night at Angel's... and Spike slips in undetected.
A/N: This is pure, unrepentant PWP.
Song: "Post-Modern Sleaze" - Sneaker Pimps
"Get hot already!" Buffy whined, slicing her hand through the icy spray. "Why is nothing working in my life? What does a girl have to do to--" On further inspection of the shower knob, she diagnosed the problem: she hadn't spun it hard enough. "Duh."
She gave it a good turn. Scalding water boiled her skin. "Stupid... gah!"
This whole no-power deal was really messing with her daily routine. As a slayer, she'd learned to handle knobs, levers and switches with a modicum of pressure so as not to bust them out of their housing. Now that she was just a girl again, she had to remember to use force. Quelle ironique.
"Not too hot, not too cold, and there it is," she said, stepping into the warm, soothing stream. "Just right for Buffylocks."
She couldn't wait to have her strength back, if only to put an end to these annoying little hassles. And to stop calling herself Buffylocks.
Lathering jasmine bodysoap on a scrub glove, she squeezed it over her chest, closed her eyes and let her mind return to its favorite subject: Angel.
Tonight had been an exercise in torture, literally, with the sweaty Tai Chi, his strong hands on her waist, his lips near her neck... All she could think about was their one night together, and all of those amazing feelings she could never experience again. Sex so good it started an apocalypse! It was like developing a taste for the finest delicacy in all the land, only to find out that delicacy is on the endangered species list.
Or, some other metaphor that didn't liken Angel's penis to Bonobo meat.
The point was, it wasn't fair. She was young! She should be footloose and fancy free, whatever that meant!
Normally, she'd vent these frustrations on random vamps. Slaying was her only outlet, and it was a good one. But noooo, the geniuses over at the Watcher's Council had to go and rob that from her, too -- right when she needed it most.
She coasted the glove over her skin, felt the soap slide and drip between her legs. Rinsing it off, she felt an all too familiar throb. An intense sexual ache that begged for relief.
She could. Relieve it. Now, if she wanted to. She had the house to herself until tomorrow afternoon. She could make a night of it: bubble bath, scented candles, music...
This had been her second worst birthday ever. Why not show herself a little love?
With her toe, she pushed the stopper into the drain.
* * *
Cradled by fizzing bubbles, Buffy lolled her head against the cool lip of the tub, her knees above water, two fingers curved inside, left hand teasing a nipple.
"Unh..." She kept it quiet, her volume well below the strains of the boombox.
she craves a tortured soul
all doom and gloom / she plays an open wound
Eyes shut, she let her jaw fall open, picturing his face poised above her, making slow, consequence-free love to her. Whispering her name, kissing her neck...
"Angel," she whimpered, feeling her body tighten, so close... so close... so-- "yeah..."
With a startled gasp, she opened her eyes. Did she just hear a man's voice?
Wiping the bubbles out of her ears, she sat upright and slung the shower curtain open.
At the sight of him, Buffy lost her equilibrium and slipped deeper into the tub, choking on a mouthful of Mr. Bubble, because
Was in the room.
Smirking at her.
It looked like he'd been there a while, sitting languidly on the closed toilet seat, boombox in his lap. He turned the music down, cocked a brow. "Don't stop now, princess. How'm I gonna shoot my soul juice into your hot, nubile tunnel of love?"
His tight lips curled into a complacent smile that slowly bared a row of deceptively human teeth, and the Slayer's first instinct was to jump out of the tub and punch them down his throat. The only problem was, she couldn't. Nor did it help that she was naked, and as icing on her humiliation cake, her worst enemy had just caught her masturbating.
"How...?" She was breathless and lightheaded, probably due to the hot bath and the masturbation and the unbearable shame. "Wh--What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighborhood," he said with an indifferent sniff, black-polished fingernails flopping over the boombox. "Thought I'd drop by, get in a spot of killing you 'fore I dodged off."
While he talked, she did the math. Zero weapons, zero armor, zero leverage minus gimped to the nth degree divided by Spike with a plugged-in boombox times Buffy in a tubful of conductive water plus fangs just in case she got out of that pretty much equals DEAD.
"As for how, I never got un-invited after that tea party with your mum. Real handy, you forgetting all about that. Unless," he winked, "you secretly wished I'd come back for more."
Repulsed, Buffy said, "Try the first one. You're easy to forget."
"Then I'd better make this a night to remember."
Oh, how she hated him and his innuendo-brows. "Last chance, Spike." Her jaw clenched. "Get out of here. Now."
"But you're so compromised and weak."
So he knew about the test. Duh, of course he knew. Typical Spike, capitalizing on her power outage for the ultimate sucker punch...
"Don't know why I didn't think of this before," he said, setting the boombox on the floor. "Of slipping in when you're so pink with the picture of Angel's face between your thighs, your vamp detector's on the fritz."
How dare he picture anyone's face between her-- Wait, that meant he didn't know! He thought she was weakened by horniness! What a jackass! And yet, as offensive as that assumption was, it was better than being outed as a not so super superhero. Now she just had to intimidate him until he backed off. Somehow.
"You are really pushing your luck, William."
"Yeah," he conceded, brushing broken glass off of his leather jacket. "But I find that so much more fun than playing it safe. Don't you?"
"You've crossed a line. A major line. You're not coming back from this."
"I'm a vampire, love. There's no line I can't cross." He cast a boyish glance at her body, hidden under bubbles, then said, "So. You gonna come out? Or should I come in?"
"Angel's on his way over."
"Is that right?" He leaned forward, a man again -- of the dirty old variety. "Funny, this smells a bit more like Dinner for One... if you get my drift."
"I'm not the one caught with my hand in the cookie jar." Tickled, he added, "Gently massaging my cookies."
"You--!" She threw the nearest lit candle at him.
Reflexes in perfect form, he caught it. "Mm. Lilac-y." He opened his palm and tipped the wick toward it. "Come out and play, petal." Dripping candlewax into his hand, eyelids barely reacting to each drip, he told her with veiled menace, "Or I'll get the hedge clippers."
"I'll take my chances," she said.
"Right then," he said, snuffing the candle, tossing it aside and standing. "I wish..." he closed his eyes, "to make this my third and most spectacular slayer kill. From my mouth to God's ears; forever and ever amen."
As he blew out all the candles in the room, leaving only a nightlight on, Buffy worked on exit strategies. She had a lot of her coordination back, but none of the strength or speed, and though she knew it would behoove her to flee the Psycho remake scene ASAP, the question was how to hoove.
Arms crossed over her front, she peered at her clothes piled on the hamper. "I don't suppose you'll let me have my dignity?"
He followed her gaze to the clothes, picked up her jeans and searched them until he withdrew the item she hoped he'd miss. "Dignity." He twirled the weapon between his fingers. "Funny name for a stake."
"No way am I fighting you naked!"
"Tell you what," he bargained, tossing Dignity the Stake in the air and catching it. "Favor to you, I'll treat you like I would any slayer. Dressed or un. Now stand up before I'm forced to fry you with a common household appliance."
"What, electrocution not gory enough for you?"
"You know me so well." He opened a window and dispensed of the stake while saying, "Warms the cockles of my un-beating heart, it does. Not gory enough, not slow enough," he shut the window to face her again, "and you know how much I love to fight you."
"And I'd love to stake you," Buffy said as if she were her usual confident self, wrapping the shower curtain around her while standing up and fighting a woozy head-rush, then she noticed that he'd actually turned around as if he were a gentleman, "really I would, like violently, but I don't want you ogling my--"
He attacked with a surprise backward jab, but she blocked with the shower curtain, then covered his head in it.
"Oi! What the--?" It must have been confusing for him to have a soggy, naked slayer clinging to his back and hooding him in plastic rather than punching him. It did the trick though: he stumbled, cracked his head on a ceramic towel ring, and shook her off just as he flopped backward into the tub with a gargantuan splash. "Bloody!... Hell!"
By the time he'd whipped off his makeshift hood, she was out of there.
In the temporary safety of her room, behind its locked door, she threw on a t-shirt, underwear--
The door blasted off its hinges.
So much for pants. And escaping out the window.
"Well," Spike said, soaked from hair to boots. "That was bracing."
Furtively, she sidled toward her weapons chest, stalling with, "Thought I'd even the playing field. It's not fair if I'm the only one who's..."
He peeled off his shirt.
She gulped, momentarily stunned by the gesture. "...wet."
He cast the sodden shirt down and eyed her drenched t-shirt before saying, "I'll let that prime space for innuendo go, you being a minor and all."
"I just turned eighteen," she found herself saying for no productive reason other than to prove him stupid.
"Oh. Then, happy birthday. And nice tits."
He ducked as she threw the closest heavy object at him. Her Snoopy paperweight crashed ineffectually into the wall. Spike laughed at the absurdity, so she threw another object. And another. And another. He swatted them all away with ease.
"Wow," he chuckled, catching the last item, a snowglobe of New York, in his hand. "You are truly off your game." Moonlight glinting on the churning glitter inside the globe, he shook it. "I think I'll bash your head in with this, keep it as a souvenir."
"I thought so." He stalked her like prey. "We gonna do this or what?"
"What," she said, backing away from him.
"Look, much as I appreciate the ego-stroke of a cat and mouse routine, we both know you're a Tom in Jerry's clothing. It's what makes you so much fun to play with. Two cats, one good scrabble..."
"Go scrabble yourself."
"What's wrong, kitten? Grumpy 'cause I didn't let you finish off? I tried to wait, honest I did, but you were taking forev--"
She slapped him.
He smiled. "There she is." His adam's apple bobbed and he lowered his voice to tease, "Do it again. Harder."
"You want a fight," she said, matching his flirty tone, "so I'm not gonna give you one."
"Oh, come on. You're just like me and you know it. Fighting's what you live for." Eyes on hers, he stepped closer, pinning her against the bureau. "What you'll die for."
And she was going to die tonight if she didn't do something...
"Better push me off you, Slayer," he taunted her, getting way too close with his slick bare chest. "Before I notice how very responsive your nipples are."
She shoved him with all of her might. He didn't budge.
"What...?" He stopped to laugh. "You're kidding me, right? That was pathet--"
She spit in his face.
"And that was just childish." He wiped it off. "Seriously, what's wrong with--"
She lashed out at him with her fists, and after giving her a funny look, he grasped one of her wrists. As if piecing a puzzle together, he muttered to himself, "Eighteen..."
That was the moment she knew that he knew about the Watcher's Council's stupid, archaic test.
It was also the moment that she smashed her lips to his and kissed him.
She didn't know what compelled her. She was just as shocked as he was. It was an impulse move; she didn't think about it, she just did it. With tongue. And hands. And hot, heavy breath.
He tore away, gobsmacked. As he searched her face, she was sure he was about to hurt her, until he took her hair in his hands and growled into her mouth.
And oh, he was a good kisser. More passionate than Angel, if that was even possible, and she couldn't believe she was comparing them. Or kissing him.
What was wrong with her?
To be continued...