Chapter 2

“Well, i-it could definitely be one of your prophetic dreams,” Giles told Buffy over the phone, “or it could just be the eternal mystery that is your brain.”

That was so not what Buffy wanted to hear. Considering the Spike-kissing nature of the dream – which she was definitely not about to tell Giles – she was really hoping for a mystical explanation, and not just an indication of some sort of Spike-related neurosis.

Buffy hesitated for a moment, debating whether to give him the final bit of information. Deciding there was nothing wrong with the G-rated version, she took a deep breath and said, “Maybe you should ask Spike about it. He – he was in the dream. Oh, and you know the weird part? Professor Walsh called him Hostile Seventeen, you know, like the commandos did. Isn’t that strange?” She held her breath, hoping that would throw Giles off the scent of anything else that might have happened with Spike in the dream.

Agreeing that it was strange and reassuring her that he would look into it, Giles hung up. He began to question Spike about the Gentlemen, but he was quickly derailed by a revolting discussion about Spike’s eating habits.

“Sometimes I like to crumble up the Weetabix in the blood,” the vampire said, oblivious to Giles’ disgusted expression. “Give it a little texture.”

“Since the picture you just painted means I will never touch food of any kind again you'll just have to pick it up yourself.”

“Sissy.”

Ignoring him, Giles turned back to his notes, but when Xander and Anya burst in talking about orgasms, the weary Watcher gave up on the idea of research altogether. Instead, he took the opportunity to foist his unwanted houseguest upon his… other unwanted houseguests.

“Mom said you wanted me to swing by,” Xander said, explaining his presence in the Watcher’s home.

“Oh,” Giles replied. “Oh… yes, well, I meant, uh, after sunset.” He stood up and leaned against his desk. “I need you to take Spike for a few days,” he said, eliciting a triple “What?!” from Xander, Spike, and Anya, in succession.

“I’m not staying with him!” Spike insisted.

“I have a friend who’s coming to town and I’d like us to be alone,” Giles explained tactfully.

“Oh, you mean an orgasm friend?” Anya asked.

“Yes, that’s exactly the most appalling thing you could have said,” Giles muttered.

Anya gave him a “just stating the facts” look, while Xander resumed his protest, saying, “He’s not roaming around – he stays with me, he’s gonna get tied up again.” Spike just rolled his eyes at the way they talked about him like he was Giles’ pet dog.

“What about us, our romantic evening?” Anya whined.

“I’m not having these two shag while I’m tied to a chair three feet away!” Spike said. His eyes lit up with an idea. “I should stay with the Slayer. You know, Big Bad here, need to be watched.”

“I second that plan,” Xander said, raising his hand.

“Buffy lives in a dorm room,” Giles said, giving them both condescending looks. “It’s not exactly conducive to demon-sitting.”

“Yeah, plus, think of the sexual tension,” Anya pointed out. “Two girls, Spike… one room.”

A glazed look came over Spike’s face at the thought, and suddenly he was imagining himself tied to the Slayer’s bed – for the girls’ safety, of course, but the kink wasn’t lost on him – watching hungrily as Buffy slipped her clothes off, facing away from him but fully aware that he was watching her. Taunting him with her smooth, bare back as her arms stretched up above her head…

“Okay, first of all, eww!” Xander exclaimed, breaking Spike out of his fantasy. Bringing him back to his senses, more like, because “eww” was exactly the reaction he ought to be having toward the Slayer. “And second…” Xander paused, but couldn’t think of anything else. “Eww!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Giles admonished them all. “Spike will stay with Xander. End of discussion.”

Maybe, Spike thought, as his lingering erection pressed against the seam of his tight jeans, that’s really for the best.

*****

“…bunch of wanna-blessed-bes,” Willow grumbled as she and Buffy headed back to their dorm room later that day. “You know, nowadays, every girl with a henna tattoo and a spice rack thinks she’s a sister to the dark ones.”

“I’m sorry it was a bust,” Buffy said sympathetically, as Willow followed her into the room. “I know you were looking to go farther in that department.”

“I’d just like to float something bigger than a pencil someday,” Willow said, dropping her bag and plopping down on her bed. “So, how was your day?”

Buffy groaned. “You mean after the disaster class and the train wreck conversation with Riley?” She threw herself onto her own bed with a disgusted sigh. It shouldn’t matter to her whether Riley liked her or not. She shouldn’t care what he thought of her. He was just a guy, and she’d had plenty of practice in high school not caring what other people thought.

But it did matter, and she did care. Riley was Normal Guy. Riley was her chance to prove that she wasn’t screwed up, that she could have a relationship with someone who didn’t have a sun allergy and a history of mass murder. Her chance to prove that she could love someone without pain and death, that she wasn’t attracted to the darkness and the violence. Parker had been a total failure, but she could write him off as a rebound guy. Riley… Riley was the real thing. And she’d blown it.

“Did he say anything else after I left?” she asked, sitting up on the bed to look at Willow. “He thinks I’m crazy, doesn’t he?”

“Well… yes,” Willow admitted. “But mostly he thinks you’re just irresponsible. And hey – on the bright side, now he thinks you were drunk when you told him you were engaged to Spike.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “That’s the bright side? Maybe I’m just destined to screw this up. I mean, I almost told him I was out patrolling last night!”

Willow gave her a helpless shrug. “At least your secret identity remains hidden. Oh, and I did the research on that forgetting spell. I just need a few supplies from the magic shop.”

“Thanks, Will,” Buffy replied, with a sigh of relief. She cast a rueful glance at her pillow. “Really not looking forward to sleeping tonight. I talked to Giles, but he couldn’t figure out what the dream meant.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “The Spike part?”

“No, the Gentlemen part.” Buffy shot her a look. “I’m so not telling Giles that I dreamed about kissing Spike.”

“Well, what if it’s important? What if Spike knows something?”

Buffy hesitated, uncertain. “You – you think I should talk to Spike about it?”

Willow nodded apologetically. “I think talking might be of the good.”

*****

“Buff, it’s late,” Xander protested, gesturing to his undershirt and boxers. “I’m about to go to sleep. Look, Spike’s all tied up and everything. Can’t this wait until morning?”

“Sorry, Xand. This is important. Slayer stuff,” Buffy replied, shooing him out of his own basement so that she could talk to Spike alone.

“Who are the Gentlemen?” she asked, as soon as Xander had gone upstairs and shut the door.

“Do you people even talk to each other? Your Watcher already asked me that. Now would you please untie me?” Spike grumbled, wriggling in his seat, trying to loosen the ropes that bound him to the lurid orange recliner. When he’d had his bondage fantasies earlier, they certainly hadn’t included this grotesque piece of furniture.

“No,” Buffy replied flatly, her arms folded across her chest, her body language stern. “Who are the Gentlemen?”

“How should I know?”

“You were in the dream!”

“I was – what?” Spike blinked, caught off-guard by her admission. He quickly recovered and leered at her. “You were dreamin’ about me, pet?”

“Ugh.” Buffy rolled her eyes. “I had a slayer dream,” she replied, emphasizing the “official” nature of her subconscious thoughts. “About these demony guys. It – it was a rhyme. ‘Can’t even shout, can’t even cry, the Gentlemen are coming by.’ And you were there… I thought maybe you knew something.”

Spike shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Are you sure?” Buffy pressed, pacing around the cramped space. “Maybe it has something to do with those commando guys.”

“What makes you say that?”

“My psych professor called you Hostile Seventeen.” He looked at her, eyebrows arched. “Don’t… don’t ask. But that’s what they called you, right?”

She paused in front of his chair, peering down at him so plaintively that he couldn’t suppress the desire that rose up in him to help her, even if it meant reliving an experience he’d been trying all too hard to forget. “Yeah, pet. That’s what they called me.”

Buffy pushed his legs aside and perched on the recliner’s protruding footrest. “Maybe there was something you heard, something you saw when you were down there?”

Spike sighed. “These demony guys. What did they look like?”

Buffy described to him the creepy figure she had seen, as well as the little girl, and repeated everything she could remember of the rhyme. When she was finished, Spike shook his head again.

“Sorry, love. None of that sounds familiar. Would help if I could, but…”

“Why?” Buffy asked sharply, suddenly suspicious.

“Why what?”

“Why would you help us? You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass ever since you showed up.”

“That’s not true!” he shot back, indignant. “Why, I – I helped…” He paused, trying to think of an example. “Helped Giles try to find a reversal spell, didn’t I? When he was blind. Oh, and helped you fight those demons, soon as I realized I could.”

“Spike, that was a spell!” Buffy replied. “You only did those things because you thought you were in love with me.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Spike stopped himself, biting his tongue against any admission of feelings for her that might be damning. He didn’t really want to think about why he was so eager to help her now. All she did was look at him with those wide eyes, and he just… melted.

Not the way a Big Bad should behave, even a chipped one.

“No, yeah, you’re right, Slayer,” he said, as though he’d reconsidered. “I don’t wanna help you lot.”

“Fine, then I’ll just stake you right here,” Buffy said, pulling a stake out of the messenger bag she’d dropped on the floor next to the chair. “No need to keep you around if you’re useless to us, right?”

“You’re not gonna do it, love. We sang this tune already.”

“Fine,” Buffy snapped, jumping to her feet. “But the only reason you get to live is because you’re… you’re impotent, like Giles said.”

“Am I?” Spike smirked, a dark expression in his narrowed eyes. “Come on over here, pet. I’ll show you exactly how impotent I’m not.” His tongue flicked out between his teeth, his lips curling into a saucy grin.

Buffy steeled herself against the wave of arousal that accompanied his proposition. She could see the outline of his erection through his jeans, and though she tried to be disgusted by it, she kept thinking of how it had felt pressed against her thigh when she was curled up on his lap.

“Ugh!” she cried, turning the dial way up on the disgust. “Forget it, Spike. Just forget it,” she said, snatching up her bag and stomping up the steps.

“Would if I could, love,” Spike muttered. Well, he thought. Didn’t need her dorm room after all. He strained against the ropes, trying to reach his crotch to ease some of the tension she’d worked up, but the restraints held fast, and he slouched down in his chair with a sigh.