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Banner by the sublimely talented Vampkiss

Chapter Eight

by Megan

“Spike!” Buffy screamed. She so did not just see him practically fly out the front of the windscreen, ass bare-naked to a busload of shocked tourists while crash-tackling Mr. Wrinkly Over-achiever and leaving Buffy to tear frantically at her clothing. She paused at the zip of her pants, her jaw hanging as she watched Spike carve it up with something that looked like a Shar-Pei on steroids, his flaccid cock flapping for all who had the courage to look and his ass shining white in the moonlight and the Desoto’s high beam.

Buffy was thoroughly, totally, stunningly horrified. The second she tore her attention from the unnecessary display of what she’d sampled with total satisfaction—no way was she giving her money back—then she was completely tuned into the swift grace of Spike’s attack.

Buffy had just finished tying her top back together and snapped her jeans closed to scramble over the car’s hood when the demon picked her up, dangled her in the air above his monstrously canine-looking head, and slammed her hard back down on the metal. All she could do was groan. Didn’t matter that this injury wasn’t her fault—Spike was going to kill her. Somehow she didn’t think that dent was coming out without a lot of body work.

She couldn’t help the jump—which so wasn’t a bounce—when she heard Spike’s roar. After the way he badly took the ditch incident, she was justified in feeling more than a little bit of fear at his fury. The guy had serious issues regarding this hunk of junk, and Buffy really wanted him to just get over them. Still, he had her gratitude as a meaty fist was cut off before it connected with her skull, the monster being flipped backwards as Spike went all feral and fangy, ripping saggy Cujo’s head off with a snarl of triumph.

The car park was stunned silent as Spike stood panting, his obviously forgotten cock swelling from the rowdiness of the fight.

“Spike!” Buffy hissed, jerking her head at their audience as she tried to do the eye communicaty thing.

He looked startled, turning to give the crowd a little wave. “Evenin’ all. Cameras are hidden or you’d see this ugly bugger was taking part in a horror flick.” He nodded happily, feeling unsure why he’d bothered but glad he’d done his part in keeping US citizen’s oblivious to the truth of the dark.

“Good one, Spike. I think they got the non-verbal porno part of that explanation.” Buffy caught Spike in the roll of her eyes. He looked thoroughly lost until Buffy gave her lips a sexy little lick and stared boldly at his dangly bits…that were currently semi-hard but still dangling a little freer than they need be.

“Right,” he answered with no sign of embarrassment—though he seemed to swell even more. Buffy felt her face was red enough for the both of them. Well, until he ran a hand over his length, grasping it in a tight fist and pumped himself hard. Squeals of disgust were heard intermingled with some masculine laughter and overly interested lusty glances. Spike casually tucked himself back into his pants, whistling jovially while he ambled back to the car, sparing a flirtatious wink at the ladies who lingered behind.

And then his eyes slid over the dazed slayer still sprawled over the top of his car and his eyes narrowed with seething hatred.

“You know you’re gonna pay dearly for this, don’t you, Slayer?”

Buffy spluttered, kicking her way to sitting and grimacing as her heel smashed in a headlight. The sound of tinkling glass on the tarmac held her in thrall, nervous eyes seeking his reaction and just barely holding back a flinch as he was suddenly in her face.

“That so wasn’t my fault and you know it.” She did flinch as his eyes bugged and his fangs dropped. “Okay, so I’ll remember to not have footwear near the headlights, but how was I supposed to know?” She pouted, hoping against hope that it would have the same or a similar effect that it always had on Xander and Giles.

That tick in his jaw really didn’t look good. Well, it looked good—way good in fact. Just so not of the encouraging.

“Close your bleeding mouth while you’re ahead,” he gritted out past his locked jaw. Buffy’s lips parted, a much needed objection threatening to dig her hole a little deeper when Spike held up a menacing pointy finger in a ‘don’t you bloody dare’ gesture. “Shut it, Slayer, or I promise I’ll eat you good and proper.”

The spontaneous grin that brightened up her face hinted at a cheeky familiarity his baser urges had paved the way for. Could she help it if now she’d felt him inside her that she couldn’t take those words the same way as she always had? No freaking way. Now his mouth had purposes other than to shoot out insults and suck the blood of the innocent.

Buffy kept her boots together, sliding the rest of the way down the hood of the car until her feet hit the ground. She studied him all the way, noticing the tightening of his lips as he watched her descent, the appreciation in his eyes that she took effort to not do anything else profound to his car with her feet.

“I know I’m all fatigued from days of no eating and possibly a little confused, but have you noticed at all that these demons seem to be attacking us? Like, as in kind of specifically? What did you do?” She smiled up at him sweetly, the tone of her voice almost mesmerising despite the element of accusation not even slightly buried.

What she didn’t expect was the slump of Spike’s shoulders as he leaned defeated against his car. A second of contemplative silence and he hopped up to sit on the hood, Buffy eyeing him resentfully. She’d just wriggled her way free of the comfort, now she had to stand or risk being growled at again. That thought did jittery things inside her belly and she decided to hell with it, jumping up and landing butt first on the hood beside him, completely ignoring the creak of buckling metal under her backside.

“Yeah, might have some knowledge what that’s all about.” He seemed so down all of a sudden that Buffy couldn’t help putting an arm around him and thumping his back in a show of warped comfort.

“I’m sure it’s not so bad, Spike. We can sort it out. Demon’s right? Kinda my job to take them on.”

“It’s Dru,” he confided, and Buffy’s hand came to an abrupt stop and her heart shrivelled. And were those tears in his eyes? Oh that so wasn’t happening.

“Well, just so happens she falls under the demon category and is in my job description. Besides, payback’s a bitch.” Buffy’s lips were in a thin line, her imagination already running rampant with all the ways she could kill Spike’s insane…was she an ex? Drusilla seemed to think so. So why was she sending the demon equivalent of hitmen or the mob after Spike?

His abject horror at her plan felt like a blow to the temple, Buffy pushing herself away from him in sudden emotional revulsion. It was just so typical. Sleep with a guy and the first thing they did was to try and blow you off. Okay, so Spike hadn’t conjured that demon out of thin air, but he still wanted Dru back. Her Looniness had no loyalty to him so why was Spike hellbent on serving up a slayer-sized lunch to get her back?

“I offed one of her bedmates. Guess it riled her up a tad.” He sounded so miserable that Buffy laughed. And it so wasn’t in the humourous scale of laughter.

“You are so pathetic. She has been sending these things to kill you, moron. Do you really think that taking me back to her and letting her feast on my blood will get you back in the good books?” Buffy was back on her feet, seriously tempted to smash her foot through the one remaining headlight, but tapping it furiously instead. She was after an argument, depending on it in fact, so when he looked down at his feet, then reached into his car to snag up his coat and retrieve a cigarette, he completely diffused her fit of temper.

“Well, seems like the fight makes me a bit peckish,” he told her, peeved.

And he threw his half smoked cancer stick on the ground and stomped off toward the diner, leaving Buffy fuming helplessly behind him.