Days in the Sun
May 14th, 2003 - Roots
“Your roots are showing, Big Bad.”
Spike’s hand instinctively shot to his hair and he pulled on a strand, trying to distinguish by the dim light of the moon if Buffy was teasing or being serious. It was too dark for him to decide, and he just shot her a suspicious glare.
“Are not.”
“Are too.”
“Whatever.”
Playing with the stake in his hand, he tried to only concentrate on finding vamps to dust. Buffy was by his side, wearing his duster as usual, seemingly not paying attention to their surroundings. But he knew her well enough to know she was as focused on her senses as he was.
“Don’t ‘whatever’ me. I know what you’re thinking. You’re gonna rush to the bathroom closet as soon as we finish patrolling.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Whatever.”
He was getting annoyed. They had a job too do, supposedly, so why did she talk about his hair? He wasn’t commenting on her roots, was he? Not that hers were showing, of course, but then she had the slight advantage of having a reflection.
“You’re impossible, you know. Just trying to help and that’s what I get in return. ‘Whatever’ and pouts. It’s not my fault if you can’t check it in a mirror yourself.”
His frown deepened as he realized that she was following his train of thoughts all too well. Sometimes it was almost frightening how she seemed to read his mind, without even knowing how close she was.
“I’m not pouting.”
“Are too.”
He had a quiet giggle at her insistence.
“And you say I am impossible! You’re a kid, Slayer.”
“I’m not the one all chagrined because my roots are showing.”
And there she was again. Back to the all-essential topic of his hair. He could have sworn she was just doing it to tease him. He stopped abruptly, stuffing the stake into his jeans back pocket.
“Oh bugger this. There are no uglies out tonight, you scared them all off with your babbling. Let’s go home.”
She stopped and turned back to him, tilting her head in that charming way of hers.
“Ok. Go home. I’ll patrol some more and join you later.”
She flashed him a too innocent smile and started walking again. After a couple of seconds, he caught up with her.
“As if I was going to let you patrol alone. Come with me, luv.”
She answered his pleading with a big grin on her face, and he repressed a sigh. She was going to play it hard.
“Nope. Sacred duty and all that stuff. Plus I’m still upset that you pouted at me for just telling the truth.”
“I wasn’t…” he started, but realized that wouldn’t help.
He gently grabbed her elbow to stop her and pulled her into his arms.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he trailed his lips on her earlobe. “Thank you for letting me know my hair needs some tending. Happy now?”
He felt her shiver as he slipped his arms inside the duster, his hands tugging her t-shirt out of her jeans to slide under it.
“Uhh uhh,” she said as she pulled away from him, her eyes slightly glazed. “You’ll need to do better than that.”
“And what did you have in mind?”
He closed the distance between them again, unable to resist his craving for her body heat. Not wanting her to pull away again, he encircled her waist with his arms, holding her tight. He could feel her heart beating faster than usual, and it brought a small smile to his lips. They hadn’t played games in the cemetery in a while, but there was a nice little crypt not very far from where they stood. Yet, she took him by surprise when she voiced her demand.
“How about you don’t dye it at all? I’d like to see…”
“No.”
This time, he was the one who broke the contact and started walking again. She followed immediately, her arm looping into his.
“Come on Spike! I kinda liked the look when we were in London. A little more time and I would have seen your hair the way it’s supposed to be.”
Now she said she had liked it, but for months she had teased him when they were in their cell. It had been one of the first things he had done once they escaped, and if he remembered correctly she had made a couple of appreciative comments afterwards.
“Bleached is what it’s supposed to be,” he muttered.
“But honey…”
“Buffy I said no.”
Sweet names? Didn’t she know by now that it didn’t work on him? Ok, maybe it had worked a couple of times, but not for this. The girl had taken his duster already, and now she wanted his hair too? He still had an image and a reputation to maintain!
She stopped him gently and leaned against him until she was close enough for him to feel her breath on his neck, and whispered in that husky voice that always sent shivers through him:
“Even if I was very, very grateful for all the time you won’t bleach it?”
As she was talking, she demonstrated by rubbing against his body, sending tingles down to his toes and making some parts of him stand to attention.
“You little vixen…” he growled into her hair, pressing her closer to his hard body.
“Please?” she insisted with a nip at his throat. “Just until it’s all natural so I can see and then you can bleach it again. Please pretty please? With whipped cream and chocolate syrup?”
Her last words and the memories they brought forward made his jeans much too uncomfortable to walk very far. And by the enticing scent that was coming from her, she was as aroused as he was. Thankfully, he spied just a few yards away that so convenient little crypt they had visited before.
“Hmm… Exactly how grateful would you be, pet? Care to give me an idea before I decide?”
The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.