Author's Note:

Well, hello everyone.  I just wanted to take a minute to give you the scoop.  Plain and simple, I wasn’t ready to let this story go.  I feel there is still more story to tell, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do.  In saying this, it’s been almost a week (in this world) since this whole thing started.  So this brings us to the following Tuesday and the next episode, Out of my Mind.  FYI: I will not be exploring this episode at length.  Mainly, I will be referencing to it.  The only time I will be spending any time on it, will be when my story differs from the original episode.  *whew* Big thanks to my awesome betas Sanityfair and Diebirchen--love you ladies!  Also, a shout out to ginar369, Spikez_tart, and Joyce for taking the time to let me know their thoughts on the last chapter.  Thank you so much!  Now, with that being said, on to the next!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike exhaled another steady stream of smoke.  The bluish haze encircled his head in a mock halo before thinning out and disappearing into the cool air.  He’d been sitting in his chair for what seemed like hours, replaying the evening’s events.  Even after all this time, he still wasn’t any closer to understanding them.
 
With all these thoughts running rampant through his mind, it felt as if his head was ready to explode into gory bits of brain and bone.  Only the chip’s electric shocks zipping through his noggin rivaled this in intensity.
 
Buffy.  No matter the route, all roads began and ended with her.  He was really having a bitch of a time shaking her.  Even though she’d left hours ago, she lingered and was still burrowed deep inside him.
 
Her unforgettable scent of vanilla, power, and light had made itself at home in every tattered and torn fiber of his chair. With each unnecessary breath, smoked filled or not, she still flooded his nose and lungs.  He swore he could almost taste her.
 
His ears still rang with her tinkling, infectious laughter.  While she happily munched away on his snacks, her heartwarming laughter filled the room every time poor ol’ Charlie-boy got a rock in his goody-bag.  Spike was utterly baffled when he heard himself laugh with her. Now, he never laughed; he scoffed, maybe even snickered, but never a genuinely jovial burst of sound. Yet there he was, joining in on her amusement.
 
His skin still tingled from the few times they had accidentally touched, the few times their hands brushed one another’s as they reached into the snack bowl or when they swapped places after he had a chivalrous moment and gave up his cushy seat for the cold stone floor.  
 
Get a grip, mate.
 
There was no bleedin’ way he could think of her this way.  He could handle it being anyone but her. Even being an evil, soulless vampire who never gave a rat’s arse ‘bout morality and what not, he understood with perfect clarity how wrong this was.  He wasn’t a complete idiot.
 
For him to have any type of thoughts or feeling for a Slayer that didn’t involve her bloody and painful death was perverse, sick, and just plain wrong.
 
No way in hell could he have any feelings for the same tiny bint who had chased away his dark princess and bollocksed up every one of his plans, all the while having a holier-than-thou attitude, spouting stupid puns and kicking his lily-white arse six ways to Sunday.
 
No, no feelings for the same girl that butchered the English language, had stupid shampoo-commercial hair, and an odd little nose that crinkled up just so and—

Get a grip, mate.  Wait!  This is all her fault!
 
It all started earlier tonight when he put all of his parts on the line by entering her personal space.  His plan was to rattle her.  Get her off balance so she would tip her hand and show what she really wanted from him.  He knew first hand the Slayer liked to talk while kicking his arse, so he wagered this would’ve done the trick.
 
What he didn’t expect was her actual reaction.  She was off-balance that was for damn sure, but not with anger as he’d expected.  Tonight, she seemed almost nervous.  It rolled off her in waves, and what struck him was that he knew this feeling intimately.  It felt like the same nervousness he remembered from when he made his feelings known and pledged his devotion to Cecily.  The same nervousness William felt around Miss Buffy.
 
So even after he moved to the other side of the room, he couldn’t help but be drawn in by the steady thumping of her pulse and the rising blush tinting her cheeks.  But what captured his attention the most and made his cock ramrod straight, was the sweet musk of desire wafting up from between her thighs.   
 
Make no mistake.  He’d smelled this tantalizing scent before, dozens of times in fact.  Every Slayer, despite whether they took their calling seriously, like the tiny treat during the Boxing Rebellion or, more like Nikki, who had a flare for kickin’ arse, they all shared one thing, they got off on the fight.
 
This Slayer was no different from the rest.  No matter how high and mighty she acted.
 
Hell, with her patrolling in those barely legal skirts and using all those high kicks, no wonder he was being constantly hit with a wall of tantalizing womanly musk.  He didn’t know if she was totally clueless ‘bout his permanent cockstand when they fought or whether she knew it and loved the fact she wasn’t the only one hiding a concealed weapon.  All he did know for sure was that he damn near dusted a few times just from the smell alone.
 
Hell, there was this one time when she smelled like a bitch in heat, and it wasn’t even during a fight.  She was decked out in an all-black, leather number with shiny, blood red lips.  She slithered off the dance floor at the Bronze, and with pursed lips and a hip shimmy, she’d set his mind awhirl.  In an instant, she’d pinned him against a post in the middle of the place like a moth on a collector’s board with promises of her ridin’ him until he popped like ‘warm champagne.’  Still to this day, that night spurred his hand during a many good, hard wanks, despite her shutting him down in the end with three words, “…Because it’s wrong.”
 
I’ll show her wrong!
 
This little girl was playing with fire, and she was going to get burned right quick.  You’d think she would’ve learned a thing or two from Angelus.  Yet here she was again playing with matches.  But this time, it was his flames she was stoking.
 
Without a doubt, he knew he was love’s bitch.  Even when he was human, he always wore his heart on his sleeve and threw himself into love blindly.  But this wasn’t love.  Now that would be perverse—a Master vampire in love with a Slayer.
 
With this whole soddin’ mess, the only thing he was willing to admit was that she’d give him one hell of a ride.  Now, taking her up on this was extremely tempting, but in the end the fare was way too steep.
 
Well, it was no matter what his little head thought; his big head called the shots here.  First things first, he needed to get the upper hand back.
 
Yeah, he’d admit it, since the chip, he’d been vulnerable.  Even more so in the past few days courtesy of Toth’s wonky spell.  Now he had his rocks back, and nobody was going to fuck with him, especially the Slayer.
 
For the past year or so, he’d played nice to keep his arse from getting staked.  And in turn, now the bleedin’ bunch thought he’d gone soft.  That he was housebroken.  Things had gotten way off balance, and it was time to tip the scales back in his favor.
 
After this little split, he knew the Slayer and the Scoobies truly believed they had him all figured out.  A few days with ol’ William, the few run-ins with the chip-strapped demon, and they knew who he was.  But they forgot one big piece of the proverbial puzzle.  They forgot about who he really was.
 
Yeah, William and the demon were part of him that was true, but Spike was the whole package. Their little gang seemed to forgotten about Spike’s one hundred plus years of being one-fourth of the Scourge of Europe and his being a direct descendant of the Master, the same bat-faced bastard that killed this Slayer the first go around, if only temporarily.
 
And an even bigger mistake on their part, they overlooked his own claim to fame; he’d taken the life of two Slayers and loved every minute of it.
 
First things first, he needed to clear all this shite from his mind.  It used to be so easy, a violent kill, or a long, hard shag usually did the trick.  On those nights when he had both at the same time, hell, he’d be lucky to remember his name.
 
But since the Initiative tinkered around in his melon, he just had to make do.  His ol’ pal Jack usually worked, but alcohol was a piss poor substitute for the ruby red.  And for the shaggin’, well, Rosy Palm and her five sisters were nothing like the gripping glove of a woman’s quim.    
 
With a derisive snort, and settling for Jack and his hand, Spike headed over to his liquor stash and snagged a bottle.  Dropping onto the chair’s worn cushion, he unscrewed the cap and raised the amber liquid to his lips, while his fingers deftly found his zipper.
 
The loud banging on his crypt door stilled the one hand on his lap, and he lowered his beloved Jack with the other.  The noise increased until the door flew open, and in rushed a disheveled and clearly nervous Harmony.  She slammed the stone barrier closed and pressed her back to it.
 
Spike’s gaze moved from the blond vamp, to his hand wrapped around his cock, and then back at Harmony.  He took a hearty slug of liquor, savoring the burning as it scorched his throat before hitting and spreading its fiery tendrils throughout his gut.  He lowered the bottle and unenthusiastically shrugged his shoulders.
 
“You’ll do.”
 

 

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday.  Keep with the spirit of giving, I hope you take the time to leave a little review!