Author's note:I was bored, so I decided to post. :) And rib cracking hugs to all you incredibly awesome people who left me a review!


Chapter 3


Buffy sighed and flopped down on her dorm bed, ignoring the heaps of clothes strewn across the room. She had just come back from the airport, where she'd gone to say goodbye to Giles, Willow and Tara. Giles had very reluctantly given her the keys to his apartment, strictly prohibiting her from throwing wild parties where they would drink his entire stash of expensive scotch. Buffy had just snorted and told him not to worry. If she were to use his apartment, she’d have there wild orgies instead. Giles gave her a stern look and hugged her all stiff upper lippy before he promptly walked towards the terminal.


Willow and Tara had both hugged her warmly, promising to bring her new shoes and followed Giles.


Now, she needed to get all this stuff packed to take to her house with her. Her mom had already left for LA this morning, lamenting the fact that Buffy wasn't coming with her, and instead had to stay here slaying those dreadful creatures. And why was it that ‘Rupert couldn't let her baby have a nice holiday when he himself was leaving as well, and instead left Buffy here to take care of everything’?


Buffy didn't tell her-- of course-- that she took that as an excuse to stay here. Not that the prospect of a boring summer was anything but gloomy, but it had to be better than listening to her cousin brag about how perfect her life was. Besides, if she was bored, she could always go annoy Spike and see how much it would take before the veins on his neck started to bulge out. Buffy giggled and went to gather the clothes from the floor. She always made such a mess when packing.


Pausing, Buffy grabbed a skirt lying at the bottom of her dresser and ran her hand over the horrid fuzzy stuff around its bottom. She didn't think she wore it even once. It was just one of those moments of shopping frenzy when she saw something and thought it had to be the most awesome thing in the land of awesomeness, then came home and realized that there was no way she could ever wear that in public. Buffy still remembered Spike's remark about it during their faux engagement.


'Wear this to the rehearsal dinner and the whole thing's off.'


Well, what did he know about fashion anyway? The whole 'Oh, I'm an 80's reject, call me Billy Idol' look just proved her theory. Spike had stupid hair. He was stupid. She wished he was here so she could tell him to his stupid ugly face.


'Yeah, who am I kidding?'

The man was gorgeous. He had those blue eyes, the sharp cheekbones and a pouty lower lip that she just longed to nibble on. Even his hair was okay--it suited him. She’d raked her fingers through it when she’d sat on his lap, and it had been soft. And that was so not fair! How could he have such soft hair after decades of bleaching it? Asshole. Driving her insane with his jibes and knowing smirks, like he was in on all of her secrets, even the ones Buffy didn't even know she was hiding. And she wasn't--hiding anything. She was the very epitome of sincerity and straight forwardness, though not in the icky Anya way. Yup.


'Umm, and Spike's muscles... so hard... eh, nope not hard, definitely nothing hard at all! Firm! Yes, firm sounds good.'


Buffy's cheeks flushed at the memory of sitting in his lap, as she stuffed the last articles of clothes into her suitcase and headed out.


A strange feeling went through her—like an electrical current--but she shook it off and promptly forgot all about it.


******


Spike was lounging in his comfy chair, watching Passions, when his eyes started to droop.


His mind was somewhere between dreaming and consciousness with images flickering behind his eyelids. Soft lips parted in a moan, green eyes hooded and unfocused, his hands wandering all over the Slayer’s baby soft skin, his name a prayer on her lips as he kissed his way down her throat…


Spike shot awake, breathing heavily before he let out a string of curses. Rubbing his face to get rid of the last vestiges of the gruesome pictures, Spike wandered to his refrigerator and took out the jar with the pig blood in it.


What the hell was wrong with him, getting himself all hot and bothered over that stuck up bitch? And what kind of name was Buffy anyway? Joyce--nice lady that she was--must have lost her marbles at the time. Good thing Buffy didn't have a sibling or the poor kid would no doubt be called something equally ridiculous.


Gulping down half the content of the jar, he closed the lid and put it back in the refrigerator. Spike sat down into his comfy chair with a defeated sigh.


Ridiculous and self-righteous as she was, Spike had to admit, the slayer was really hot when she was pissed off, bantering with him and threatening to smack him around. And every time she argued with—whether she realized it or not—Spike could smell her desire for him. Well, that was neat, no questions asked. As long as his feelings were all about lust, he would be okay. Shagging the slayer wasn’t something he’d usually think of, but this particular one could be very well worth his effort. Just the memory of her blushing cheeks as she glared at him would fuel many fantasies to come. Knowing that a woman wanted to shag you into the ground did wonders to a bloke's ego.


Oh yeah, the Big Bad still had it. Not that the high and mighty slayer would ever admit that she craved some rough and tumble with him, what with the stake up her arse and all.


Maybe he could make her see how good they could be together. Vampire stamina had to count in his favor, right? It wasn't like she’d never had it on with a vampire before. God, how he wanted to feel her beneath him, writhing and needy, his slave. Her eyes sparkling, those full lips of hers that he could kiss all night and the sweet heady taste of her mouth.


He wasn't able to get rid of the memory of Buffy in his arms during the spell, wriggling on his lap provocatively. And he'd never admit how much it had hurt him to see that disgust on her face after the mojo had been broken. It wasn't as if he were a leper, for God's sake. Damn witch and her meddling, making them 'betrothed', forcing him to act all mushy and in love.


Not that there were any lovey-dovey feelings left towards her now. But the good roll in a hay with a pretty little hot thing like the slayer would make his day certainly more entertaining. Yeah, that was all he wanted- just a mindless fuck, and then he could taunt her about it. He wouldn't give up until she gave in. And the fact that old Rupes and the witches were off to the mother country just gave him more time to work with. He didn't even count Xander and his demon girl to hinder his plan. They would no doubt spend the summer shagging like bunnies in that rotten basement.


Spike grinned devilishly as he thought about the seduction of the Slayer.


'She'll be mine by the end of the summer.'


Spike frowned as a strange feeling passed through him, making him shudder, but he brushed it off.


'Must be all the spicy Buffalo wings I've polished off.'


******


Buffy was just about to push open the door on Giles' apartment when she noticed it was already open.


'Great. My first day of house-sitting and Giles has already been robbed.'


She closed the door behind her and crept inside, just in case the burglars were still there. Sure enough, there was a crash upstairs. Buffy grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be a vase, and followed the noise.


Someone was in Giles' bedroom. She pushed open the door and saw a male rear dressed in faded blue jeans sticking up behind the bed as he obviously searched under it for valuable content. There was a tear in the fabric on the back of his upper thigh, allowing her a tiny peek at the muscles beneath.


'The burglar sure has a nice butt, though.'


“Stay where you are or I'll smash your head in!” Buffy yelled and lifted the vase over head, ready to crack it on the thief's head.


Then he sat up.


“Spike? What the hell?” She put the lamp on the nearby chest of drawers, gaping at him.


'Spike in pale blue jeans? Spike owning more than one article of clothing?'


“Slayer? Aren't you supposed to be baking yourself crispy in a tiny bikini somewhere?” He dusted off his hands and stood up.


“What?”


Spike looked at her like she was mental. “You know... first day of the summer? You, being such a valley girl, should have been on the beach this time of the day, right? Having a giggle and flirt with the frat boys?”


“I am not a valley girl!” Buffy protested indignantly.


“Blonde, dumb and from California. Yeah, that about sums it up.” He smirked, enjoying the spluttering noises the slayer was emitting, along with the redness spreading across her cheeks. She was pissed as hell and he would be damned if it didn't make him hot. Except he already was damned.


'Ah, well.'


“I'm not dumb! You're the one that's dumb, you stupid jerk!”


“She doth protest too much, me thinks.” He grinned, watching her stand there and boil in rage was just too sweet to pass up.


“I'm not the one who dated a nutcase for over a century, then came crying to me when she hooked up with a fungus demon!” She smiled at him in triumph. Attacking Spike where it hurt the most always made her feel a whole lot better.


“Yeah? Well, at least I didn't date a self-absorbed wanker whose hair sticks up and has a Neanderthal brow! I didn't spread my knees to three men in the course of two years--”


“Are you calling me a slut?” Buffy seethed. If he didn't have that chip in his head, he'd be as good as dust.


“What else would you call yourself, Slayer? I bet you have more notches in your headboard than I do. Looks like you spread those dimpled knees for anyone who makes the puppy eyes at you.” Spike's eyes widened when he noticed the murderous expression on her face. Maybe he’d gone too far with that one.


That was it! Buffy marched towards him and punched him in the nose.


“Ow! Bloody hell, slayer! What is it with you and my nose?” He cupped his nose and glanced at his bloodied fingers. “No wonder the Whitebread left. Poor fella must have found himself on the worse side of the domestic violence,” Spike muttered under his breath.


“What did you say?”


Spike decided not to push his luck. “Nothing.”


He licked the blood off his fingers, making a good show of sucking them into his mouth and delighting in Buffy's disgusted face, even though her dilated pupils were fixed on his tongue.


“So help me God, Spike, if I catch you here again, you'll be fitting in an ashtray. Stay. Out. Of. My. Way.”


“What? No hug?” He waggled his eyebrows and threw up his hands in surrender when she stepped closer. Hugging him was obviously the last thing on her mind. But he knew all that was just a ruse. Fighting him--even verbally--got her as hot as it did him. He could smell it.


“Get out.” She demanded tiredly, and put her hands on her hips as she fixed him with her best scowl.


“And here I thought we were having fun.” Spike grinned when she rolled her eyes.


“Sheesh, I wonder what gave it away? The fact that we yelled at each other, or the fact that I punched you?” She stared at him in disbelief. It was fun to argue with him, but that was the last thing his overblown ego needed to hear. Spike made things more interesting, no doubt about it.


“What can I say? I like it rough, Slayer. I'd say you're just my kinda girl.” He curled his tongue behind his teeth and looked her over, making her feel as if she was naked. She folded her arms across her chest.


“Cut it out and get away from me before I stake you.”


Spike nodded his head and stepped to move around her, purposely brushing against her as he went. He got about six feet away from her when he suddenly stopped and couldn't move any further. It was as if a physical barrier had been set and Spike couldn't push through.


“What are you waiting for? An invitation?” Buffy arched an eyebrow, tapping her foot as she watched Spike stand there, his hands clenching. Her expression melted into a frown when Spike turned to face her, his eyes wide and panicked.


“I can't go further,” he said.


“What do you mean you can't go further? Stop playing games, Spike,” Buffy said, hoping it was just one of his retarded jokes.


“I swear, Slayer. Come here and try!” He pushed his hand against the invisible barrier.


Buffy stepped towards him, and tried with her hands, but she didn't find anything. “There's nothing here. Stop stalling and go home.”


“What? You think I love spending time with your precious self? Get over yourself.” Spike scoffed. “Why don't you leave?”


She flipped her hair, the scent wafting to his nostrils, and Spike watched her ass sway away from him.


She stopped and glanced at him over her shoulder with wide eyes.


“I can't. Okay, this is bad. Very bad!” Buffy ran her hand through her hair and said, “Spike, step backwards.”


He tried to do as she said, but couldn't take one step away from her. “I'd say a big no to that one.”


“Right. I have a really bad feeling about this. Spike, come here.” He did, and Buffy took him by the sleeve of his duster, dragging him through the doorway.


“Watch the manhandling, Slayer.” Buffy ignored Spike's protests and faced him, her face pale.


“Spike? I think... I think there's a... barrier, but it's not set in a specific place.” She gulped and stared at him. “It's around us.”


“Balls!”


“You can say that again.”


TBC


Author's note: Liked it? *puppy eyes*