Season 2, set during 'Lie to me'. PG-13. Written for Debxena's birthday and fondly dedicated to her.
Lie to Them
From the top of the roof, Buffy could see a lot. She could see too
much. See a man and a woman on the playground below, two vampires her
senses were telling her, talking like old friends – or was it more than
friends? When the vampiress leaned up to Angel’s mouth, Buffy averted
her gaze. And noticed something else. A shock of white blond hair
gleaming under the moon made it instantly clear who the other person
watching the couple was.
For a few seconds, Buffy debated with herself. Spike was down there,
he’d probably be long gone before she reached him, and to tell the
truth she didn’t really feel like fighting with him tonight. A flash of
Giles in her mind reminded her that feeling like slaying or not wasn’t
part of the equation, and, sighing, she made her way back to ground
level.
By the time she reached the playground, all three vampires had
disappeared and Buffy decided to call it a night and go home. Glass
shattering in a nearby street changed her mind. She followed the sound,
and arrived in front of a now windowless liquor store just in time to
see Spike walk out of it, a bottle in each hand. He stilled when he saw
her, his face strangely grim.
“Saw it too, didn’t you?”
She took a step back as if he had slapped her. She had not expected him to remind her of what she had just seen.
“Saw what?” she shot back, angry with herself for her reaction, with
him for making her react like this. “Saw you turning to dust? Every
night since we met, yeah, and it’ll be a pleasure to finally do it.”
She brandished her stake menacingly, and was taken aback when all he did was laugh.
“You dream of me every night, pet? I’m flattered, really.”
With that, he walked past her, ignoring the danger she represented for
him. She watched his retreating back as he slid a bottle in his coat’s
pocket and opened the other one, belatedly realizing that he was
getting away.
“Hey!” she shouted as she darted after him. “You can’t leave like that!”
He stopped and half turned to her, the bottle still at his lips. He
took a few mouthfuls, drinking about a third of the bottle, before
finally saying:
“You’re not in the mood any more than I am. Let’s take a rain check on this, and I promise to kill you another night.”
Once more, he turned his back on her, but not before he had given her a
perfectly infuriating smirk. Despite being outraged by his words and
attitude, she had to admit that he was right. If she had felt like
slaying, he would have been dust when he had first come out of the
store. But again she reminded herself that feeling like it had nothing
to do with the job, and followed him.
He went back to the playground, sat down on a bench, and quirked an eyebrow at her.
“Still there? Don’t you have someone else to pester?”
“I can’t just let you get away until next time,” she stated, as much
for herself as for him. “As soon as I’m gone, you’ll have yourself a
snack and…”
“Does it look to you like I’m going anywhere?” he interrupted, waving
the now half empty bottle toward her. “I’m going to get pissed, then
I’ll get home and be a nice vamp until tomorrow. Happy?”
She only realized what she was doing once the stake was tucked in her jacket’s pocket.
“Not happy, but I accept your truce. For tonight.”
He choked a little on a mouthful of booze, and looked at her incredulously.
“Truce? Who said anything about…”
She started to pull the stake out again, and he shook his head. “Truce. Of course. Great idea. Want a drink to seal that?”
He offered the bottle to her and she wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“Hello? Underage here. And drinking after you, can we say eww?”
He shook his head, looking all too amused for his own good, and Buffy’s
fingers itched to take hold of her stake again. She had agreed on a
truce though, so she didn’t. If the good guys didn’t stand by their
word, what would the world come to? She watched him finish the bottle
in one long swig
“Kitten, you’re the Slayer,” he pointed out when he was done. “Sorry to
be the one to break your bubble, but there are good chances that you’ll
die before being old enough to do all the fun things in life. And if I
have my say, I’ll be the one doing you in.”
He reached for the second bottle, and she snagged it from him.
“Which would be why you’re sitting here instead of going for my
throat,” she pointed out acidly before uncapping the bottle – vodka,
was it? – and taking a healthy swig.
And immediately started choking. Healthy was definitely not the word.
The bottle was gently pried from her grip, and she was startled by the
contact of cold fingers on her. The words however were anything but
gentle.
“What would your white knight say if he saw you now, Slayer? Drinking with the enemy instead of staking him? Shame, really.”
Still choking on the burn in her throat, she could only glare at him
while he swallowed a few mouthfuls as if the bottle contained water.
“Of course,” he continued bitterly, “the big poof was making out with the enemy, so he’s got one up on you there.”
The tone of his voice suddenly made everything clear.
“She’s your… girlfriend?” she asked, wincing at the hint of sympathy that colored her words.
Spike laughed, throwing his head back. The sound didn’t match the behavior though; he sounded like he was forcing the laughter.
“Girlfriend?” he repeated. “That’s one way to say it. The other way is to say she’s mine.”
“Didn’t look that way from what I saw.”
A flash of gold in his gaze as his eyes narrowed, and it was all Buffy could do not to step back.
“Yeah, well, it was your boyfriend on the other side, wasn’t it?” he spat out. “’T must say something about your… abilities if you can’t keep him in line.”
She didn’t like the way he was leering at her as he said that. Didn’t
like either the flush she felt creeping in her cheeks at the
insinuation. Didn’t like that it felt like he was hitting too close to
home.
“Like you’re one to talk about keeping anyone in line,” she shot back.
“And what do you do about it? Get drunk. You’re pathetic.”
She expected him to jump for her throat at that. She was surprised when
he shrugged and continued his task of getting intoxicated.
“It’s not like it’s a surprise,” he said after a few seconds, much
quieter now. “I’ve had a century to get used to it. Still hurts like a
bitch that she runs back to him without a look back though.”
The pang went straight to Buffy’s heart.
“A century?” she murmured.
How could she compete with that? How could she even begin to comprehend…
“Not so much since the soul, but yeah. Long story between them. Fucking long story.”
He started to bring the bottle to his lips again, but their gazes met
and instead he offered it to her. This time, she accepted it, and
managed not to choke on a small gulp. And if her eyes filled with
tears, it was because of the sting of the vodka, and nothing else.
“Want to get back at them?” he asked, way too serious now, and she could see immediately what he meant. She shook her head.
“It wouldn’t help anything.”
He shrugged. “Probably not. But it would make me feel better.”
“And it’s all about you, isn’t it?”
God, why was she even talking to him still? She should have left long ago. Or staked his sorry ass, truce or not.
“Not just about me,” he said as he carefully capped the bottle and set it aside. “About you, too. Wanna see?”
His fingers closed on both sides of her jacket and pulled, forcing her
forward and down toward him. The move wasn’t fast or very strong, and
she could have jerked back and freed herself at any moment. She didn’t.
She told herself, afterwards, that it was the alcohol. She had
definitely drunk too much, and it had slowed down her reflexes,
hampered her judgment. It had nothing to do with Spike’s lips, still
wet with vodka, suddenly looking so enticing.
Her arms shot out as she was losing her balance, grabbing the back of
the bench on each side of him. The position was awkward, but she didn’t
mind it in the slightest anymore when he leaned forward to close the
mere inches that still separated them.
His lips were cool, and she was used to that. But they were also
demanding, almost forceful, and that was new. He slid the tip of his
tongue along her lips before demanding entrance to her mouth. She could
taste the alcohol on him, and liked it much better than she had when
taking it from the bottle. She tentatively stroked his tongue, trying
to gather more of the flavor, and he seemed to take this as a
challenge. He deepened the kiss, bruising her lips, battling with her
tongue with as much determination as he had during their first fight.
She was the one to break away, panting, her cheeks burning, her eyes
wide, her lips swollen. His grip on her jacket relented, and she took a
couple of steps back, less to assure that he wouldn’t start again that
to prevent herself from asking for more. Why didn’t Angel kiss her like
this? Why had she never been kissed like this? How was she supposed to
be happy with tamer kisses, now? And why was Spike so calm? He should
have been as breathless as she was. It was simply unfair that he didn’t
need breath.
She watched him stand and slide the bottle in his pocket.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said with a wide grin, “I am impatient to see
how Dru reacts when she tastes you on me. I’d tell you to find your big
poof and give him your lips to taste, but I doubt you’d enjoy his
reaction.”
She frowned, not too sure of what he meant exactly, but he was
oblivious and simply walked away. He stopped after a few yards, turning
back to look at her with his head cocked to the side.
“It will be a great night, the night we fight to the death. Can’t wait to be there.”
For some reason, she wasn’t so eager herself. She couldn’t let him see that, though.
“Tomorrow, the truce is over, Spike. No more games.”
He nodded and smiled before walking away again, calling over his shoulder:
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.
