full 3/4 1/2   skin light dark       
 
Running from the Inevitable by The Enemy of Reality
 
Chapter nine
 
<<     >>
 
A/N: All4Spike and BloodyHell= awesome betas!

People who have left a review= made of win! Also, one day I might massage your feet in graditude. Unless your feet are stinky, then we have to think of another way to express my thanks.


Chapter 9


Spike was cursing loudly as he struggled with a very slimy demon that actually looked quite human. Also, it dressed like one and strongly resembled a slimy Cary Grant. That made Buffy stop, puzzled. That was so not what she’d been expecting and the fact she even knew who Cary Grant was? Really worrying. She really had to stop watching movies with Mom.


The two rolled around on the floor, Spike in game face as he tried to get a hold of the slippery man-demon.


“Little help here, Slayer?” Spike wheezed out from where the demon squeezed its fingers around Spike’s neck.


Dressed only in a skimpy towel, Buffy dashed to the chair and picked it up just to smash it against the floor. The wood splintered and she bent down to retrieve a makeshift stake, courtesy of the chair’s leg. Someone from the next room pounded on the wall, demanding for them to ‘shut the fuck up’.


Spike punched the demon in the face repeatedly and pushed him off. He then jumped to his feet fluidly and wriggled his fingers at the demon in invitation.


“Come on then, you slimy wanker.” Spike grinned around his fangs. “Give it to me.”


Buffy was prepared to strike but it seemed Spike was having way too much fun as he pounced on the weaker demon and smashed its head against his knee. Spike then fisted the demon’s shirt and slugged it hard in the face. The fake Cary Grant was trying to fend off Spike’s hits, but it stood no chance as Spike shoved it onto her bed, straddled it and tore into its neck with his fangs.


Crimson blood sprayed the sheets and Spike’s face as he fed noisily, making Buffy pretty nauseous.


Eww.


Spike climbed off the demon and turned to her. “Well, that was disgusting. Tastes a bit like fish. Better than nothing though.” He yanked a sheet from under the demon to wipe his face and chest clean, which made the slimy Cary Grant roll over the mattress and fall to the floor. “Toss me the stake, would you? Better make sure the bugger’s dead.”


She did so and watched as he snatched it from the air before dropping to his knees to ram it home. The demon melted. Thank God for small favours. If a favour could be considered having bloody walls, demon slime on the carpet -- which would be a bitch to get out – ruined bed sheets, possibly the mattress too and a smashed chair. Somehow, Buffy thought Spike wouldn’t be getting his deposit back.


“What the hell was that?” she asked.


Spike rose to his feet and then licked the stray droplets of blood from his bottom lip. “A demon. Looked kinda familiar actually.”


“Well, duh. I knew it was a demon. And is it just me or did it look like Cary Grant?”


Spike’s frown melted away into sudden enlightenment and he uttered a non-committal sound of agreement. It was kind of freaky to see the expression while he still wore his game face.


“What I meant was… what was it doing here, in our room?”


Spike shrugged and shook off his demon, his eyes turning blue once again. “Must have been the scent of your blood from the injury or from the shirt you were wearing. It’s a half-breed, and it likes tasty flesh. Or maybe he fancied giving out autographs.” He pointed his forefinger at her. “You owe me a new shirt, by the way.”


“Oh yeah? Well… I’m not buying you a new one.”


Spike cocked his head to the side and ran his eyes from head to toe in a way that instinctively made her cross her arms over her chest.


“You know, love, you keep losing clothes. Is it because of my charm? All you had to do was tell me ‘Ah, Spike, you handsome beast, shag me senseless.’ You don’t look half bad. I might just go for it.”


Her jaw dropped and she sputtered. It was only one fantasy! And they just kissed. Okay, more like had sex with their mouths, but still! He didn’t know that. And could he be any more insulting? What did he mean, ‘half bad’? He wished he could ‘shag’ a girl like her, the arrogant bastard!


“Cat got your tongue?” He bit his lip and leveled her with a hooded gaze that made her tremble against her iron will. “Or do you wish I would?”


“Maybe it’s you who wishes it.” Oh yes, she’d turn the tables on him. Let him see how he liked being in the spotlight. “And my tongue will in no way, shape or form go anywhere near you.” Probably.


“Pity that. Could have had a spot of fun. Bet you could be all kinds of nimble.”


“I can’t believe you’re even talking about my… nimbleness.” Buffy tucked the towel closer around herself and raised her chin defiantly. “Here I thought you were pining after Drusilla. Aren’t you her little lap dog?”


“Watch it,” he said with narrowed eyes. “I’m nobody’s lap dog. And I wasn’t professing undying love to you, just talking a one night stand.”


Like she was a one night stand type of girl? The nerve of him! “I’m not a floozy.”


“No, that you’re not,” he said like he wished the opposite. “You’re way too uptight. And obviously have a bloody tragic taste in men.”


“If that was true, then I would hook up with you,” she retorted with a fake saccharine smile.


“No, that would mean your taste has vastly improved.” He stepped closer and gazed at her from beneath the fringe of his dark lashes, making her breath quicken. “Unlike Angel, I might actually give you a second go.”


Whatever attraction or misguided sympathy she felt towards him had just fizzled out with that insensitive comment. It did! At least it was supposed to…


“You know, Spike, sometimes I really hate you.”


He straightened up, his nostrils flaring as he glared at her. “The feeling’s more than mutual.”


She threw her arms in the air and stomped over to sit on the non-slimy bed. “Fine.”


“Fine!” he said and kicked at the floor sullenly.


They both pouted and avoided each other’s eyes.


*******


The Slayer was only wearing a towel. A tiny one that barely covered her ass and rode really high on her thighs as she sat on his bed. And he didn’t see what she got all upset about. Well, maybe that Angel comment went a bit too far. Should he apologize? No, that would be just stupid.


“Slayer?”


“What,” she said tersely and shot him a look that would scare any lesser man half to death.


“Uh… listen, that thing I said… about the Big Pooft-”


“If you want to keep all your parts, you’ll stop talking. Now.”


He ignored her and trudged over to sit on the bed next to her with a heavy sigh.


“I didn’t mean it.”


Silence.


He should probably wait for her reply. Well, either that or a solid punch to the nose. She was probably leaning towards the latter.


When she still refused to say anything, he got impatient and resisted the urge to shake her. “Slayer.”


“Leave it.”


He dropped his head forward, shoulders slumping. “But-”


“No. No buts. This is a but free zone where you just shut your mouth and leave me the hell alone.”


So she really was angry. Somehow, that didn’t sit well with him and the feeling of something eerily reminiscent of remorse expanded inside his chest.


“I’m sorry,” he said, edge of desperation riding on the last syllable. “Look, I’m sure Angel would have-”


She jumped to her feet and rushed into the bathroom without sparing him a second glance. The door slammed closed. Not before he caught a glimpse of her pointy little chin quivering. Now he felt like the residual grime soaking into the cheap motel carpet. And the worse thing was he couldn’t even fix it. No matter what he’d attempt to do, it would no doubt result in a catastrophe and he’d possibly end up saying something like ‘I’m sure Angel would have shagged your luscious peach of an arse if it weren’t for his soul buggering off.’ Probably a good thing she fled before he could finish the sentence.


Me and my bloody mouth.


Spike heaved himself to his feet and rummaged in the pockets of his duster for cigarettes. Two of them left. He pulled one out and tucked the crumpled package back into his pocket before opening the window to at least not pollute the room. That had to count for something, right?


The sun was still up though the deadly rays beat on the front door rather than the currently open window opposite it. He’d be fine if he didn’t jump through it. Not that the Slayer would mind if he did. She’d probably whoop with joy then piss on his ashes.


With a click, Spike opened his Zippo and lit the cigarette. The first drag flooded his lungs and he held it in for a second before exhaling it in a stream of smoke. The drugged up Buffy was so much easier to deal with than this version. She’d wanted him to stay, for whatever reason. But maybe it really was just the effect of medicine talking.


Did he want her to want him to stay? Just the thought alone made his head throb with an impending migraine. He closed his lips around the filter and inhaled with his eyes closed then slowly let it out. What about Drusilla? They’d been together his whole existence. How could he manage without her?


His whole universe revolved around Dru.


Then why was it so hard to recall the colour of her eyes ever since he had been around Buffy?


Why did he want the Slayer so badly? Was it just lust or was it something more that would render him to ashes after it ran its course?


Spike watched the smoke curl into the air before it dissolved completely. He took one last drag and flicked the stub through the open window.


*******


Buffy wrung out the soaked shirt and panties with quick jerky twists, water dripping everywhere. Not that she would have cared even if she had noticed. She didn’t even know why she was being emotional all of a sudden. Spike running off his mouth wasn’t anything new nor did it warrant any hurt feelings on her part. And while that comment about Angel had truly stung, there was no reason for her to get so upset.


She slapped the damp clothes on the bathroom counter and gripped the edge with both hands, leaning into it. Angel loved her. If it wasn’t for his curse… they would what? Live happily ever after? Have a house with picket fence? Listen to him read Proust and pretend to be interested? Had she ever been that naïve? To actually believe her and Angel were forever?


With all that had happened between them, the way she’d been intrigued by the older mysterious guy all of sudden popping up and knowing things. The fact that maybe she’d met someone with whom she could be herself and not hide her sacred duty… it had been liberating. Liberating, intense and full of first time discoveries. But she’d never stopped to think whether she really knew Angel. Who was he, in the deepest darkest corners of his psyche?


Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the counter, the wood straining under her strength. She’d been so convinced Angel was the love of her life and that some day they would beat the odds separating them and be together. Was it really what she wanted? Or was it something she felt she had to crave because if it weren’t… then all the people that had gotten hurt, all the people Angelus had murdered… it was all on her shoulders. And for what? Because she got swept off in the current of first love? How could she ever forgive herself?


Buffy lifted her eyes to look at the reflection staring back at her from the mirror. Was she the same girl that drew little hearts all over her notebooks and marked every page with Buffy&Angel4ever signs? All of a sudden the incredible childishness of the gesture hit her hard like a slap to the face.


She loved Angel.


But maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t in love with him anymore.


Unable to help herself, she started chortling. Once she did, she couldn’t stop and kept laughing though there was no humour in the epiphany. Holding onto the counter, she bent over at the waist and laughed so hard her stomach hurt. So hard she had trouble staying upright.


It felt so good to finally release all the pent up emotions. Good and horrible at the same time for she feared once she stopped… once she stopped laughing, there would be nothing else to do but cry. For her lost innocence, the weight of her actions that cost Giles someone he loved.


All of it.


And apparently, she’d forgotten to lock the door because Spike was standing in the doorway with a worried expression on his face.


“You haven’t gone off your rocker, have you? Just thought I’d ask if I should make a run for it before you went all Texas chainsaw massacre on me.”


She snorted through her laughter and straightened up. “I don’t have a chainsaw.”


He let out a relieved sigh. “Good.” He bit his smiling lip as he pointedly looked over her towel clad body. “Not sure where you’d hide it anyway.”


“I was washing the clothes,” she said in defense of her current skimpiness and glanced towards the damp heap next to the sink.


He stepped inside the bathroom and tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans then tilted his head. “Are you alright?”


The sincerity in his voice had more impact than a punch to the stomach would and she ran a hand through her tangled hair. She contemplated lying, but one look at his concerned expectant eyes had her resolve crumbling.


She shook her head, already feeling the salt of oncoming tears in the back of her throat as she took a shuddering breath.


Before she knew it, she was crossing the small distance and burrowing in Spike’s arms. His arms tentatively encircled her, patting her back as though he had no idea what he was doing. But it was enough.


It was just what she needed.


TBC


 
<<     >>