Chapter 3 – Act Like You Mean It

“Ewww, Spike. What can Buffy possibly be thinking?” Cordelia made a face and wiped her finger through the dust on top of Spike’s television.

“What?”

“This place. It’s a crypt.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“That couch for one thing. That couch is gross. It looks like you hauled it out of the town dump.”

Grrrrrrghh. What was wrong with getting your couch from the town dump? Buffy never complained about it. She’d helped him test out his couch more than once.

Cordelia spotted the blanket he used when he went to Buffy’s house to filch her underwear. She lifted the blanket up between her thumb and forefinger and made a face. “Do you sleep on top of this stone coffin thing?”

“I’ve got a bed downstairs,” Spike lit a cigarette and waved his hand towards the ladder that went to the lower level. He didn’t mention that when the soldiers were looking for him, he’d slept inside the stone coffin, along with the bones of the permanent occupant.

“How romantic – a sewer-level hideaway. How does she stand it? Never mind. Let’s get down to business. I don’t want to spend all night in this hellhole.”

Spike sat down in his chair and ignored his visitor and daydreamed about Buffy. When she was in a good mood, being with Buffy was easy. The last time Buffy visited, she sat next to him, perched on the arm of his chair and ruffled his hair. Like a fool, he insisted she tell her friends about them and she got mad and scarpered out into the sun where he couldn’t follow her.

Being with Cordelia was not the least bit easy, in fact, Cordelia was driving him crazy. He regretted buying her that first drink, almost as much as he regretted letting her talk him into this bloody project to get Buffy to notice him.

Cordelia flopped down on Spike’s lap, causing intense pain in certain parts of his anatomy where he preferred not to feel pain. She hiked up her short skirt, grabbed Spike’s hand and placed it between her legs.

“What are you doing, bint?” Spike flipped away his cigarette to avoid setting her hair on fire.

“Brrrr, your hand is cold. Buffy must be out of her mind. Put your arm around me and kiss me.”

“I’m not kissing you!”

“She’ll be here any minute to find out what we’re doing. Kiss me and act like you mean it.”

“How do you know she’ll come?”

“I told her we were going to your crypt, didn’t I? Where else would she go?”

Cordelia barely had time to lock her lips on Spike’s mouth before Buffy kicked the crypt door open. She clutched Mr. Pointy in her right hand.

“Don’t you knock, Buffy?” Cordelia said. “Spike and I are busy.”

She kissed Spike again. Maybe Buffy wasn’t out of her mind after all.

“So I see,” Buffy gave Spike a glare that would freeze blood. She ran out of the crypt, banging the door so hard it broke off its hinges.

***

Who cares if Mr. Bleachhead Vampire is sleeping with Cordelia? Not me.

Buffy sat on a tombstone waiting for a newly-turned vampire to pop out of his grave, and kicked tiny chips of granite out of the stone with her heels. Waiting for newbies was boring, and this one gave her too much time to think about Cordelia sitting on Spike’s lap with Spike’s hand up her skirt.

The freshly-dead vampire burst out of its grave and morphed into vamp face. Buffy didn’t get up from her seat on the tombstone. She dusted the vamp with a lazy backhand stab. She didn’t have the heart to fight the vampire. Her lack of motivation for her work was all Spike’s fault.

Spike ubersucked like every other man, dead or undead, she’d gotten involved with in a romantic way. He said he loved her, but he ran off with the first female who came along and waggled her retracting thagomizer at him.

The Spike-Buffy sex-a-thon lasted thirty-two whole days before he found somebody new. She supposed thirty-two days was a record for her – Angel, one night - Parker, one night – Riley, ugh, too long - Spike, thirty-two days and nights of fantastic sex and, according to him, eternal love.

She slid off the cold stone to chase after a ryzark demon. She didn’t mind killing ryzarks. They were vicious, but never slimy, like so many demons. Why did demons have to be slimy? She cut the demon’s head off with a neat slice of her sword before the ryzark could grow a second head and become troublesome. She heaved the head over the cemetery wall into a ravine and dragged the carcass behind some bushes. The ryzark had pretty green and yellow striped skin with lizard-like scales. Ryzark skin would make an attractive pair of high heels.

She wasn’t jealous. Not one bit. She didn’t care if Spike slept with someone, not even if that someone was boyfriend-grabby-snooty-nose-bitch-from-a-hell-dimension Cordelia. Maybe, she cared about him sleeping with Cordelia a little, since sleeping with Cordelia was bad taste.

The whole Cordelia thing annoyed her for other reasons. Cordelia hung on Angel and tried to steal him away from Buffy and now she was trying – no succeeding – in stealing away Spike. Cordelia always sniffed after Buffy’s boyfriends. Couldn’t she find a vampire of her own?

Spike and I don’t have a romantic thing. We have mind-blowing sex. Spike could have sex with anyone he wanted and so could she. If she wanted.

Buffy trudged out of the cemetery, walking the long way around to check for a light at Spike’s crypt. The door hung off its hinges, the way she’d left it, and the crypt was dark. They’d probably gone downstairs to Spike’s love nest where he kept his soft bed with the black, satin sheets and his romantic candles that smelled like roses. He always lit the rose-scented candles for Buffy when she came over to visit.

He was probably kissing Cordelia and stuff right now. Cordelia was probably enjoying the best sex she’d ever had in her life.

Buffy brushed away a tear and walked slowly home.