Archive of Our Own ^beta

“We’re, uh, gonna go, uh…”

Graham stumbled over the lie, and, in the pregnant silence that lingered after it, Riley sighed.

It would be a lie. It was always going to be a lie. Graham had really earned that D in covert ops. Riley knew that whatever his best friend came up with for an excuse this time would be no more convincing than the last time he’d sworn that the banging of his headboard up against Riley’s wall was just the result of a really, really enthusiastic hunt for dust bunnies in their natural habitat.

At two in the morning.

With a lot of vocal help from his bunk mate…

“Spar,” said Forest, the aforementioned bunk mate, whose conviction, dedication, and straight up willingness to lie for the cause had made him Riley’s number two for so long. His face was rigid—cold and emotionless, just as it always was—and Riley wondered, not for the first time, what exactly Graham was getting from their…understanding. Whatever it was must have been worth it, but Riley couldn’t imagine a less welcoming partner to get naked and vulnerable with.

“Right,” Riley said. “Sparring. In a tiny room. With two single beds.”

“Well, we gotta keep up with your girl somehow,” Graham said with a crooked little smile, and Riley winced. It’d been quite some time since his girl had been around for anything like sparring. The last time he’d seen her, he’d barely gotten a peck on the cheek.

“New training protocol emphasizes practice in tight spaces,” Forest said, still just as straight-faced.

“Yeah,” Graham said, grinning widely now. “You wouldn’t believe how tight it gets.”

Forest rolled his eyes and grabbed Graham’s arm, all but frogmarching him up the stairs of Lowell House. Riley watched them go, annoyed to realize that most of the irritation he was feeling was just the fact that he’d been hoping to be in the hot and heavy stage with Buffy right about now, and instead here he was: freezing his balls off, metaphorically speaking, while his two closest friends did their best to give each other friction burns nearly every night.

“Wow,” Mason said with a snigger behind him. “Obvious much?”

Riley shook himself and turned to the new recruit behind him with an appropriately stern expression for a commanding officer.

“Eyes front, Mason,” he barked, and then: “We have a rule in this man’s army. What’s the rule, Mason?”

Mason snapped to attention and saluted. “Don’t ask, don’t tell, sir!”

“That’s right,” Riley said with a nod. “Remember that.”

And then he stalked off, carefully ignoring the way Mason muttered under his breath behind his back.

“Not like there’s any point in asking when they’re already telling it to each other all night long anyway, sir…”

***

Spike was late. Not that he had anywhere to be, strictly speaking. That was the problem actually. Nowhere to be, no one to be late for. Not Dru, not Harm, not even the bloody Slayer, although hell knew she wasn’t likely to be looking for him. Not her—not the butter-wouldn’t-melt Chosen One who’d threatened to make him pop like warm champagne not two weeks ago and then simply pouted up at him last week like a virginal Betty Boop. Spike hadn’t even thought that combination of sex and innocence was possible until he’d seen it, but now that wide-eyed, hungry look in her eyes was haunting him day and bloody night.

It was those eyes and that pout that’d held him captive all week, plus those words, and the all too real memories of her arse in his lap, her tongue in his ear, her lips on his, the strength of her hands on his hot, tight little body—

Anyway, Spike was late for his own date with anything but his own hand. It’d been a long week—a tortuous one. He’d barely left the crypt for blood and cigarettes. All he could think of was the way she’d described it—those muscles tightening—the pain that made the pleasure just that much better. The squeeze of his own supernaturally strong fingers was no match for what he assumed would be her glorious wet heat, but it was something, and it’d been addictive.

Now he could barely walk straight. Funny—he’d always been told this was how he’d go blind, but no one had ever mentioned that he might get too bruised and broken to walk first.

He needed a drink. Out in public—away from temptation. The Bronze would have to do. He’d get a Jack and maybe a bag of ice and sit off in some dark corner and let the beat of the music and the heartbeats around him bring him back to a reality where the Slayer didn’t haunt his every waking thought and his prick could get some well deserved rest.

Only when he got to the Bronze, it turned out he wasn’t late at all. He was right on time.

***

Buffy was late. She had a very good reason for it. Well, it’d seemed like a good reason, at the time. At the time, it’d seemed inspired. Alcohol usually did, right up until it made you stupid.

Buffy was drunk. She’d avoided the beer this time—this time she’d gone right for the flavored vodka, which was fruity and delicious and pretty. Now her head was all floaty, and her body was all relaxed, stretched out with her head and arms on the bar while the mood lighting of the Bronze swirled above her like drunk stars in the night sky.

This was better, she thought. So much better than beer with stupid boys. Boys were so stupid. They did stupid things with stupid girls who were not her, and then they got that stupid look on their face that said how would I know you don’t fuck like that? It's not like you ever let me fuck you, did you? And she would have to agree that she hadn’t, because sex and Buffy were non-mixy things, and the last two boys she’d let get anywhere near her had turned evil afterwards. She was even pretty sure Riley might have done her a favor by being terrible before she ever got naked, but that wasn’t much consolation when she was horny and her boyfriend wasn’t really an option anymore.

(Jonathan had tried to reconcile them, and Buffy had to admit that the little nerd’s spell had made his argument sound good at the time, but was she really going to let some stupid spell talk her back into trusting a guy who lied for a living and banged Faith and thought it was Buffy the whole damn time? As if…)

So, here she was, drunk and late for her boyfriend’s party, because he wouldn’t be her boyfriend for much longer, and Buffy was dreading telling him that. He’d look at her with those sad, all-American eyes and maybe even tell her she was stupid again, and she’d feel stupid for letting him go, this perfect all-American boy who was supposed to be the One to cure her of all her un-American lust for vampires and—

“Bloody hell,” Spike said, gingerly sliding onto the barstool next to her. “Slayer, you’re pissed.”

“I am,” Buffy said, too loudly for even her own ears. “I am pissed. He didn’t even know it wasn’t me! I mean, they had sex for hours, Spike. How do you not talk to your own girlfriend for hours?”

“Depends,” Spike said with a shrug that shifted his weight and made him wince. “Sometimes you just get carried away. Mouths might be busy—you know how it is.”

“Ugh,” Buffy said, and then she pouted, and Spike looked even more uncomfortable. “Actually, I don’t know. No one’s ever taken the time to show me. I thought I might let Riley, but then he had sex with Faith in my body two weeks ago—”

“Oh.” Spike blinked dumbly. “That wasn’t you then?”

Buffy sat up—big mistake, the whole room was swirling now—and then she fell again, this time into Spike.

“Hi,” she said. His eyes were really blue this close. Well, they were probably always this blue, but she only really thought about it when she was in his lap. Which meant she was in his lap. Again. Well, sort of. She was still on her stool, but now she was in his arms too, and that was actually kind of an improvement.

“Hello, luv,” Spike said. He was smirking a little. Drunk Buffy was distracted by that smirk. It made her feel funny. But that wasn’t important. What was important? Oh, right—Faith.

“You met Faith? When she was me, I mean. You saw her when she was me?”

“I saw you dancing with a load of young bucks right over there,” Spike said, nodding back towards the dance floor. “And then you walked right past me, and when I managed to get your attention, you said you could squeeze me so good I’d pop like warm champagne.”

“Wow,” Buffy said. She wasn’t even mad somehow. Faith might have a point—she really could do with some more exploration of all the perks that came with being the Slayer. She might as well squeeze some fun out of her supernatural gift. “And that sounded good to you?”

“Well, yeah,” Spike said, looking dumb and strangely kissable. “I’ve nearly ripped the sodding thing off trying to get even close to that feeling on my ownsome this week.”

“Huh,” Buffy said, and then alcohol and her own curiosity got the better of her, and she let the hand she had braced on his thigh slide up to the zipper of his jeans where he was thick and hard against her palm. She gave him a little squeeze, and Spike nearly let her fall off the stool when he jumped and bit back a scream.

“Mite tender in that department at the moment, pet,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” she said, and then she giggled. “But you said mouths could also get busy?”

Spike blinked at the tipsy Slayer in his arms—she was warm and willing and bloody gorgeous, and Spike realized he’d been waiting for her to find her way back to him since that sodding spell broke and she’d freaked out about lips of Spike.

Now she was asking for them—asking for a whole lot more even—and Spike felt pretty drunk himself as he leaned in to kiss her, ready to surrender his lips, heart, and long-damned soul to the Slayer if it meant she might be his for just a little while.

“Wait,” Buffy said against his lips. “I don’t do this. I don’t cheat. I gotta go dump a commando first. Wanna come?”

And since the answer was yes—Spike was beginning to think the answer might always be yes for him when it came to the Slayer—he went.

***

The fresh air was…sobering. She started their walk to Lowell House as touchy feely as she’d been in Spike’s arms at the Bronze, but by the time they got there, Buffy was beginning to question herself. Getting intimate with Spike had seemed like a great idea after four vodka crans, but as the booze wore off, Buffy felt her own inhibitions creeping back in.

This was why she’d never let Riley get too far. When she let men in, they hurt her. When she let vampires in, they hurt her friends. If she let Spike in—if she gave up on the all-American dream of a cute human boy with no dark secrets—then how long would it be before she was fighting him again? How long would it be before someone else got killed?

She paused on the doorstep of the house and turned to Spike, blushing under his dark, hungry look. He’d been walking carefully for the whole trip over, and with a little less alcohol in her system, Buffy was a little more embarrassed by the knowledge that he’d clearly done some damage to himself while thinking of her, but she was also still a little…turned on?

All week? He’d been thinking of her all week? So often and for so long that now he was having trouble walking? Was that normal?

She didn’t know, but it couldn’t be, right? You probably only got that kind of stamina and determination with a vampire, right? And the fact that she felt like a week wouldn’t even be enough to begin to scratch her own itch probably meant that Slayers were built like that too, and that just made her blush harder.

“Just spit it out, Slayer,” Spike said. He was almost growling—it wasn’t as nearly as effective at turning her off as she wanted it to be. “I can take it.”

Yes, she thought, yes, I know you can. That’s the problem.

“I was drunk,” she said. “I’m not thinking straight. We shouldn’t do this.”

Spike nodded, but his black tipped fingertips were brushing down the side of her face anyway, and Buffy could help the little moan that jolted out of her core at the electric spark his touch set off.

“It must be…hard,” he said. “All that Slayer power and no pleasure to exorcize it. Must get all tangled up inside you—all hot and bothered and—”

“Hard?” Buffy said, and then kicked herself for how breathless it sounded.

“Yeah.” Spike laughed. “Hard. All I’m saying is, it’s all gotta come out sometime, pet. And maybe that’s not tonight and maybe that’s not with me, but it strikes me that you could do a whole lot worse than a vampire strong enough to take everything you’ve got and currently incapable of causing you or your little mates any harm. Just a thought.”

“So you’re saying I should sleep with you because you’re the most convenient candidate? That’s your pitch?”

“Did it work?”

“No,” Buffy said. “I mean, yes, but really, no. I don’t want convenient. I don’t want just sex for sex’s sake. I mean, yeah, it’s hard. It’s been hard. I’m hard all the damn time—”

Spike grinned—Buffy glared.

“You know what I mean. But that’s not who I am. I want to be loved, Spike. I want the big romantic moment and the guy who can’t keep his eyes off me even when I’m just across the room. I want someone who wants to be with me tomorrow just as much as he wants to get into my pants tonight. I might be damn near desperate, but I’m not settling for hate sex with a vampire who’d just be wishing he was free to kill me in the morning. I might not be able to get better than that any time soon, but I deserve it, and I’ll wait as long as I have to, understand?”

Spike nodded—looking solemn now—and then nodded his head towards the front door and said, “I do, but you might want to explain it again to him.”

Dread in her queasy stomach, Buffy turned to look at the now open door. Of course Riley was standing there, staring at them both in the glaring light of the front step.

Buffy sighed and squared her shoulders.

“Hi, Riley,” she said. “We need to break up. Where’s the booze?”

***

Riley’s night was not going well. Graham and Forest had given up eye-fucking each other an hour ago and now were squirreled away in their room presumably fucking everything but each other’s eyes. The Scoobies had arrived minus one Slayer, and that meant he’d had to make nice with Xander, who’d just gotten dumped for missing a night of sex with Anya, and Willow, who was clearly so desperate to kiss Tara that it was all Riley could do to focus on the conversation rather than the rising sexual tension in the air.

Everything got worse after that.

There was the wall that was giving partygoers a happy, and then Tara freaked out when Willow finally mustered up the courage to make a move, and then Anya turned up to pick a new fight with Xander. After that the spin the bottle game got pretty freaky pretty fast, and then there was his own girlfriend on the front step, sounding like she’d seriously been considering sleeping with Spike, and all of that was before she broke up with him.

“I need a drink,” Buffy said and pushed her way past Riley to enter the house, and behind her Spike grinned—tongue pressed up behind his teeth in a way that made Riley even more concerned—and sauntered in after her.

“I better keep an eye on her,” Spike said. “Kitten likes to play when she gets a bit tipsy, and I just bet she bites.”

And then he was gone too, all before Riley could even contemplate being anything other than completely stunned.

“Sir, you’re needed downstairs,” Mason said at his side, and for a long moment Riley considered resigning his commission right there and then. But his second-in-command was occupied upstairs, and it looked like his girl was leaving him for a vampire, so maybe it was time to get back to the mission.

***

“How can a frat house be out of vodka?” Buffy asked. “Shouldn’t that be illegal or something?”

“Maybe it’s a sign,” Spike said. “Maybe the universe is cutting you off, luv.”

“The universe can go screw,” Buffy said, slamming open another door on the drinks cupboard. “Is gin good? Will I like gin?”

“Sure,” he said. “You add enough lime to anything and it’ll probably be potable.”

“Great,” Buffy said, unscrewing the cap of the gin bottle and taking a swig. “Ugh, gross, Spike!”

“Well room temp without the lime probably isn’t its best angle, Slayer. Give it here.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, but she handed over the bottle. Spike got work—there was ice, there was lime, there was some kind of sparkling water, and when he handed it back over in a tall, cool glass, the evil liquid from before tasted completely different. Zingy and tangy and refreshing.

She wanted more.

“What did you do? How is this so much better?”

“Most things are when you treat them right,” Spike said. “Speaking of which—what you said back there—”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Spike. I don’t want anything that you’re offering.”

“In point of fact, you haven’t even heard what I’m offering, luv,” Spike said sternly. He was closer now—very close—too close, and then her butt bumped into the counter as his nose brushed against hers, his eyes so very blue and so very captivating on hers.

“I know you’re a proper lady,” he said. “And despite a century trying to forget, I do know how to treat a lady, especially my lady. And maybe I did want you dead once—a long time ago—but the truth is I don’t really want to be anywhere that doesn’t have you in it, and I haven’t for an embarrassingly long time. I know a G&T doesn’t exactly count as a big romantic gesture, but I never have been able to keep my eyes off you when you’re across a room, so maybe this is worth trying anyway? What do you say, love? Want to see if maybe we could work from a different angle ourselves?”

Buffy stared at him—at his serious eyes and his tempting lips. He was right—a drink wasn’t exactly the big romantic moment she’d always dreamed of, but the words were. They were strange coming from Spike, but they were also familiar. She’d spent a night engaged to him once, and the Spike in front of her tonight bore a striking resemblance to the one who’d loved her then. Maybe it was worth trying this again.

But before she could tell him that, before she could go up on her tippy toes and catch his plush lips in a searing kiss, the house began to shake, and Spike spun her and pushed her towards the hall and the door at the other end.

“Sweet nothings will have to wait,” he said. “Time to go, pet.”

***

Outside, Xander and Anya were having A Moment. Buffy felt bad for always thinking of it in capital letters like that, but then Anya was just one big walking Moment most of the time, although this time it was Xander making a scene.

“Buffy’s in there somewhere with Spike! You leave if you want to, but I’m going in there, and I’m not coming out again without my friend!”

“Thanks, Xan,” Buffy said, “but I’m already here, and so is Spike.”

She shivered a little in the cold. She’d left her coat in the house, but then she felt soft leather settle around her shoulders and looked up at a coatless Spike, who just shrugged and tried to avoid her eyes.

“Oh my God,” Xander said, staring at them both in horror. “What the hell happened in there? Buffy, did you get possessed?”

“No,” Buffy said with a scowl. “I got drunk, and I hit on Spike, and then I dragged him over here and sobered up and broke up with Riley, and right now I’m trying to remember what would be so bad about having a boyfriend who makes a great G&T and gives me his super special vintage coat when I’m cold and could go down on me for, like, a week, all right? Do not fuck with me right now, Xan. I’m a woman on the goddamn edge.”

Xander shut up. Anya looked thrilled. Willow looked at Tara and mouthed A week? Tara looked suitably impressed.

“So what do we got?” Buffy asked. “Tell me this is just an earthquake.”

“It’s never just an earthquake,” Willow said. “This house is super duper haunted. I think it’s Giles time?”

“Oh, goody,” Buffy said with a sigh. “Giles time.”

***

“Okay, take me back to the haunted house,” Xander said. “Cause this is just creepy.”

“I think it’s hot,” Anya said.

“Yeah, I’m remembering why I had such a crush on him when we were in high school,” Willow said.

“No,” Buffy said. “Absolutely not. That man is my father-ish figure. There will be no lusting here of any kind.”

“Poor Rupes,” Spike said. “Mind you, I bet the bloke can pull.”

Buffy glared at him, and Spike smirked at her, but then he leaned forward and whispered low in her ear: “Like father, like daughter, pet,” and she didn’t quite forgive him, but she certainly forgot for a second why she’d been so annoyed.

There was a twang from the performance space, and Buffy looked up sharply to see Giles staring at her and Spike with his mouth open, a broken string on his guitar still vibrating in the aftermath of snapping.

“Oh dear,” Spike said. “If looks could stake…”

***

The rest of the night passed in a blur of action—there was research to do and spirits to summon and a house to break into and figure out what was stirring up all the pent up sexual frustration of a generation of orphans who used to live in the house. She and Spike had to fight their way through vines, one step at a time, moving towards the epicenter of sexual energy that seemed to be throbbing even with the spirits out of the house. She ended up having to hack into the room with a sword, but when she did all the vines disappeared and there was just Graham, looking pretty sweaty, and Forest looking happier and more relaxed than Buffy had ever seen him.

“Um, hi,” Graham said, blinking into the light of the landing outside their room.

“Hi,” Forest said, languidly stretching his arms above his head. “I don’t suppose either of you’ve got any more lube, do you? We just ran out.”

“No, mate,” Spike said. “Saw some olive oil in the kitchen earlier though, if you’d both care to venture out.”

Forest looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head.

“Nah,” he said. “I think we should get going, don’t you, babe? I’m done with this Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell bullshit—let’s quit and go do drag or something in LA.”

“Oh,” Buffy said, stunned, and then she smiled, because maybe letting go of the rules that were holding you back really could be that easy. “I heard about this great club. Demon owned, but he’s one of the good ones. Very accepting. I could give you a rec?”

“Sure,” Forest said, laughing. “Why not?”

And then he and Graham were gone, leaving a note for Riley on their way out, and Buffy found herself on the curb with the Scoobies, all trading silent, wary looks amongst themselves.

“I’m going to try dating Spike,” Buffy said finally, reaching out and taking his hand. She looked up into his sparkling eyes and grinned.

“No one said I couldn’t be the one to make the big romantic gesture,” she said.

“No one at all,” Spike agreed happily and squeezed her hand back.

“I’m dating Tara,” Willow blurted, and the whole group turned to stare at her.

“I’m gay,” she said. “Or bi or queer or whatever. But mostly, I’m just really, really happy, and I hope you will be for us too.”

“Of course, Wil,” Xander said, and Buffy nodded only a second later.

“That’s amazing,” she said. “I’m so proud of you, Wil.”

“Good lord,” Giles said, but then he smiled at his charges. “You are all grown up now, aren’t you?”

“As grown as we’re going to get,” Xander said, then: “Anya, I love you, will you please just let me love you?”

“All right,” she said, pouting a little in a way that told Buffy it was mostly just for fun, “but only because I love you too.”

“Well, would you look at that?” Spike said. “A happy ending. Amazing what a little less repression can get you, eh, Slayer?”

And Buffy grinned and kissed him, right there in front of all her friends. She couldn’t wait to see what kind of happy ending she’d be getting later that night.