Buffy grinned as her fist made contact with Dye Job’s face with a crack, sending the vampire reeling. She kicked the next closest one in the stomach, pulling out her stake. Spike moved past her, going after Mark, grinning savagely as the vampire’s face turned uncertain.
They were a flurry of movement, spinning and throwing punches and kicks with deadly precision. For the second time Buffy was reminded of the idea of dancing together as Spike’s back pressed against hers as they turned simultaneously and switched opponents, both of them kicking out at the same time.
“Having fun yet, pet?” Spike asked, backhanding a short, brunette vamp.
“Oh, yeah,” Buffy grinned, her stake sinking into another vampire’s chest. “That’s four.”
“Not over yet, Slayer. I still got a chance.” He shot back, staking Mark with a smirk.
Buffy scoffed, rabbit-punching Dye Job as she came at her again. She was dimly aware of Spike’s back still pressed up against hers as he fought two of the other vamps, the two leather jackets rubbing against each other. “What do you say I give you a fighting chance? Whoever kills that little goblin gets ten points?”
She ducked a swing from Dye Job that would have met her face, her arm shooting out sideways to stake the vampire coming at her from her left. Dye Job used the distraction to send a kick into Buffy’s side, and the Slayer stumbled away from Spike as he agreed with her. He spun kicked a vampire hard enough to send it stumbling backwards to Buffy’s new position, her ready stake finding home in its back.
Buffy pouted as the vamp dusted in front of her. “Does that count as your point or mine?”
Spike’s answering shrug was cut off by a fist to his jaw and a knee to the thigh as two other vampires attack him simultaneously. He responded quickly as his game face fell into place with a feint and a punch of his own, hitting one hard enough to knock it back a few paces before staking the other as it rushed forward.
Buffy threw a right hook at one of her remaining attackers, keeping him between her and Dye Job. The vamp’s fighting skills were sloppy, a fledgling compared to some of the others- although none of them were exactly master vampires. She staked him easily before facing the leader. Dye Job was fixing her with an expression somewhere between hatred and hunger, and Buffy quirked an eyebrow at her tauntingly.
The vampire rushed her, trying to throw her off with a flash of movement. Spike slid out of the way of a blow that would have met his shoulder, glancing over it as Buffy grunted, a fist connecting brutally with her cheek. His opponent- a short but stocky vampire of about thirty- took advantage of Spike’s distraction, and grabbed his head, slamming it down against the granite top of a sarcophagus. Spike crumpled to the floor.
Buffy shoved Dye Job hard, sending the girl crashing into the wall. She threw herself at Spike’s attacker, punching him hard in the jaw. He reeled backwards, and Buffy sent her foot crashing brutally into his stomach before spinning and shoving a stake into his heart.
Buffy instinctively turned to check on the fallen vampire, but arms grabbed her around the middle like steel traps, and she was lifted, a face moving towards her neck. Buffy immediately sent her head violently backwards, slamming it into the face of Dye Job. She felt a sharp pain as her fangs scraped over her neck, and Buffy spun and kicked her before the vampire could regain her balance.
Touching a finger to her neck, she frowned. It hadn’t broken skin, but the vamp had still been way too close for comfort. “Man, I gotta start wearing turtle necks or something.”
Dye Job returned to attack with, rage and hunger fueling her movements. The two women were a rush of movement, trading blows and blocking them almost equally. It made Buffy guess the girl had been a vampire for a few years... five or six judging by the out of date hairstyle… but it seemed like she had had some sort of training before she was turned. She seemed to know how to respond to a fight.
Still, she was no Slayer.
Buffy threw herself into the fight, parrying one of her punches and dealing back a few hard hits. She forced Dye Job backwards towards the wall, hoping to trap her. She raised her stake, and used it to block a sloppy hit to her face, only to be kicked hard in the stomach. The heavy combat boot sent her, winded, to the floor. The vampire growled triumphantly, eyes on Buffy’s neck.
Buffy struggled to stand again as she rushed her, her ankle twisted underneath her. She held up her hands, prepared to throw the vampire off once she reached her, her stake lying a few feet away. But then Spike was standing between them, a feral snarl ripping from his throat. His fist flew into Dye Job’s face, connecting with her nose. He didn’t hesitate as she let out a strangled yell of pain, driving his fists into her again and again, hitting her face, her chest.
Growls rumbled angrily from both vampires, and Buffy was reminded of dogs fighting… or wolves. Dye Job tried to fight back, but Spike wouldn’t let up, his fists endlessly contacting with her body. And then suddenly, she was dust.
Buffy stared wide-eyed, and for a moment she thought Spike had hit her so hard she had spontaneously dusted. Then she noticed the stake clutched tightly in his left hand. He must have pulled it out of his pocket between the pummeling, so quickly that even the Slayer hadn’t picked it up. He stood there, his back heaving with unnecessary breath as he stared down at the pile of dust left behind by the other vamp.
Then he turned, and held out a hand.
Buffy hesitated for a moment, her hand rising before she pulled back, pushing herself to her feet. She tested her ankle, wincing as she gingerly rested her weight on it. Nothing serious, but it’d probably hurt for an hour or two. Inhaling, she tried again, stumbling slightly as a result. Spike caught her by the arm, holding her steady, “You alright, Slayer?”
Buffy’s head jerked up at the question, her eyes finding Spike. He was standing a couple of feet away from her, his hand steadying on her arm the only contact between them. His eyes danced between her face and her ankle, concern evident on his face.
“Am I alright?” She asked, “Are you?”
Buffy’s fingertips flew to Spike’s temple, where a large, bloody gash was dripping blood down the side of his face. It looked deep, and she could already see the shadow of a bruise starting to blossom near his eye. She touched her fingers gently to the area, testing for any deeper trauma.
Spike ducked his head with an almost embarrassed smile, his eyes flickering to her face for a moment at the gentle touch of her hand. He shrugged. “I’ve survived worse.”
Buffy frowned, remembering how his head had hit that sarcophagus. “If you were human, you wouldn’t have survived.” She pointed out.
Spike tried for another nonchalant shrug, letting his human visage fall back into place. He noticed warmly that Buffy’s hand hadn’t moved during that transformation- and that she’d touched him while his demon was at the forefront.
“Undead prerogative, I guess, love.” He winced as his expression pulled at the cut. Buffy immediately went for the purse still hanging over her torso, digging through it. “What are you doing?”
“I know I have them here somewhere… Giles always makes me carry them in case of emergencies.” Buffy mumbled erratically. Digging deeper into her bag, she pulled her hand out with a triumphant smile. She had a packet of bandage strips clutched in her hand- the kind used to hold cuts closed. She held them up proudly, “Ah-ha!”
“What about the demon?”
“He’s long gone by now.” Buffy figured, shrugging. “Guess we’ll have to finish our bet later.”
Spike opened his mouth to assure her he was fine, but she just cocked a brow and indicated that he get comfy on top of the sarcophagus. He made a show of sighing and rolling his eyes, smiling slightly as he turned his back on her at her smirk-y reaction. Sitting, he planted his hands on the granite, waiting for her to approach.
Buffy hesitated for long moment before stepping towards him to stand between his parted knees. This was too close, she realized as his scent surrounded her, but she swallowed hard and set to work with the bandage strips.
His eyes wanted to drift close at her gentle touch, to let him revel in the feeling of her fingers dancing softly against his skin. Instead, he kept them open and watched every movement she made, every twitch and miniscule alteration to her expression- the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way her eyes showed her concern.
The way she cared.
She wiped the blood from his face with a few tissues, glad for the fact that none of it had dried yet, cleaning his skin easily. She then carefully closed the cut with three bandage strips, pressing them gently into place. She bit her lip every time he winced or hissed an intake of breath, before nodding in satisfaction and stepping back before her treacherous eyes could find his mouth.
Busying herself by tucking away her first aid kit, Buffy didn’t see Spike’s private smile as he touched his temple gingerly. Only when he stood, picked up her stake from where it lay forgotten on the floor and handed it to her did she look up again.
“You hungry, pet?”
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