A/N: Here is where the story picks up; the previous four chapters established the groundwork for what I guess I can call Act II. Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review so far. It is very appreciated – and motivating!


Disclaimer: I am merely playing with characters created by others. I claim no ownership of them.



Chapter 5 – First Fight


Yup, Buffy thought to herself as she strolled towards Restfield Cemetery the following evening. Today was a good day.


It had been one of her days off at the gallery, so she’d dragged Willow and Tara to the mall and proceeded to spend a good chunk of her hard earned cash. She’d found the cutest wedge sandals, casual enough for jeans but also good with a dress or skirt, and comfortable enough for hours at The Bronze followed by intense slayage. She also stumbled upon a two-for-one deal on yoga pants, and what kind of Slayer would she be if she turned down that deal? Black, deep blue, charcoal, light grey, long, cropped, loose, tight, stretchy, with pockets, low rise...she’d gone a little crazy, but maybe this time, what with all the intense quiet going around lately, she’d be able to make this latest batch last until at least October.


The only damper to be had was the major uncertainty she still had going on towards her ten o’clock meeting – not date! – with Spike. But the Caramel Frappuccino she was currently slurping the dregs of had gone a long way towards making her feel better about kicking his ass in a controlled, spar-happy setting.


As she crossed the gate to the cemetery, she mentally selected a few moves to try out on Spike. Punches and weaves she was sure he hadn’t seen from her yet, and maybe that new kick she’d been pondering last night. Comfy, stretchy yoga pants would make it seem effortless. Spike wouldn’t know what had hit – or kicked – him.


She paused next to Donald Maxwell’s grave marker – 1960 to 1991, short life to live, Buffy thought with a pang of sadness – as she caught sight of a familiar flash of platinum in the distance. Spike was leaning against a stone statue, smoking a cigarette and staring up at the night sky. She felt a jolt of awareness course through her and her Mom’s words came back to her, “he’s got a sort of dangerous appeal,” and she had to admit, to herself, almost reluctantly, that Joyce was right. Objectively speaking, Spike was hot. If he were human, she could see herself being attracted to him. Very attracted. And maybe even having the guts to act on her attraction.


And then she was all business again as something occurred to her as she watched him bring the cigarette to his lips and inhale. Spike was a lefty.


Which in itself was not much of a problem; she was used to sparring with Giles, who was also a southpaw, but it didn’t help her much in a real fight. From her first semester psych class, before Professor Walsh went all insano power trippy, she had learned that roughly 10 percent of the adult population was left handed. Buffy had thus deduced, rightfully or not, that 90 percent of the demon population was right handed, giving her a bizarre disadvantage – that she was nonetheless quick to overcome in any fight – since she was so used to learning new moves and polishing old ones against a left-handed, well, ‘opponent’ for lack of a better word to describe Giles.


Oh well, she figured as she started moving again, if a left-handed adversary was all she was destined to get tonight, she might as well make the best of it. And since Spike could fight demons, maybe they could figure out a way to work their different strong sides into an advantage or something.


“Oi, Slayer, hurry up will you? ‘m not gettin’ any younger here,” Spike bellowed out as he caught sight of her making her way towards him.


“Spike,” she whisper-hissed back at him, knowing very well that his enhanced senses would allow him to hear her despite the remaining distance that still separated them. “You yelling at me is doing nothing to ensure that whatever evil thing could hypothetically be out here sticks around to die!”


She was now close enough to see the smirk on his face as he crushed his half finished cigarette beneath his boot and pushed off from the statue to saunter over to meet her. “I didn’ think you’d actually show, Slayer.”


“Yeah, well my Mom made me, so don’t go thinking I’m here for your sparkling personality,” Buffy retorted, suddenly irritated with his lack of faith in her willingness to kick his ass.


Spike snorted at that. “Your Mum made you? That’s rich, Slayer. I don’ whether to be insulted or hurt,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head at her.


“Whatever, Spike, the important thing is that I’m here now, right? So let’s make with the fighty, shall we?”


“Not so fast. Where’s mine?”


Now it was Buffy’s turn to cock her head at him. “Huh? Where’s your what?”


Spike pointed at the now empty plastic Starbucks cup in her hand. “My disgustin’ coffee beverage. I’m particularly fond of the whipped cream and caramel they put on top.”


Buffy treated him to one of her patented Slayer glares, the one she used to instill fear in her particularly difficult soon to be victims. “You can’t be serious! You expected me to bring you what, a treat, as if we’re actually friends hanging out?”


Spike had the gall to look hurt at that. “Well, yeah. I thought we’d established yesterday that we’d be meetin’ tonight to see if we could spar without my brain gettin’ all scrambled and such. I figured that meant we were going to at least pretend that we don’ hate each other for a few hours.”


God, Spike could be so irritating sometimes! Buffy was half convinced he was only goading her into a fight... “Ok, fine,” she ground out as she tossed the cup on the ground and raised her fists in a fighter’s stance. “You want to see what we can do? Bring it on,” she invited with a quirked eyebrow.


“Thought you’d never ask,” Spike retorted. And then he struck.


Buffy effortlessly blocked the punch he’d aimed at her nose. “So,” she started as she retaliated with a push kick to his stomach, which he slapped away before she could do more than move him back a couple of inches. “How do you want to do this?”


“You,” he started as he swung his left fist in a hook towards her chin, “come at me full force,” he continued as he came back from his missed move with an uppercut that she easily moved back from, “and I,” he added as he transformed the momentum into a spinning back kick that allowed her to grab his ankle and spin him to the ground, where he landed on his back, “take it and try not to get fried.”


Buffy stood above him with crossed arms, tapping her foot. “And how’s that working out for you so far?”


“Oi, I was just testin’ you there,” he protested as he kipped to his feet.


“Ok then, whatever you say. Hey,” Buffy exclaimed with a frown, as something occurred to her. “You just swung at me, like, four times and look at you, all with the not clutching your head in pain. What’s up with that?”


“It’s all in the intent, pet,” Spike replied as he stuck his hands in his duster’s pockets and rocked back on his heals. “That, right there? There was no intention to hurt you in any way. The chip sensed it and didn’ go off.” He smirked then. “As long as you don’ piss me off too badly, as you’re prone to do, ’ll be fine.”


“Whatever, Spike. Less talky, more fighty,” she requested as she came at him in a flying front kick.


And they were off. Buffy reveled in the exhilaration she could feel coursing through her as she struck and parried with Spike. She’d forgotten how agile he could be, how quick he was. And how much fun going full out against him, how much of a rush it was. Where Riley was all military precision and well thought out techniques, Spike was graceful and imaginative. His moves were smooth and almost flawless after more than a century spent perfecting them.


However, the key word here was ‘almost.’


As she had before, she grabbed his ankle on one of his kicks and spun him to the ground. This time, he landed on his stomach with an unnecessary “oomph” expulsing air from his dead lungs.


Before he could jump back to his feet, she was on him, straddling his butt and pressing the tip of the stake she’d pulled from the small of her back between his shoulder blades.


“Buffy – 1, Spike – 0, wouldn’t you say, Bleached Wonder?” Buffy leaned over to whisper teasingly in his ear, careful not to put any pressure on the stake. She stayed where she was as she waited for his no doubt pissy reply.


Mistake.


Spike started to wriggle beneath her in an attempt to throw her off. Unfortunately for Buffy, her position practically sprawled atop his back allowed the movements of his lean hips to grind the firm globes of his ass into her clit. Almost despite herself, she ground back into him – to keep him from throwing me off, she told herself as she bit back a moan.


“Lemme up, you bloody bint!” Spike growled as he bucked up into her.


She clamped her thighs down harder on his hips and tossed her stake aside to brace her arms against the ground in order to try to prolong his thrusting. The more she resisted his attempts to toss her off, the harder she pressed into him, rubbing her now aching clit into him on each upstroke and pushing aside the little voice in her head asking her what the hell she was doing!?


She was quickly approaching the point of no return and panting up a storm when Spike seemed to sense her, ahem, distraction and, with a particularly violent thrust upwards combined with a cunning twist of his hips, managed to unseat her and jump to his feet.


Buffy landed on her butt in the grass and struggled to catch her breath. Trying to stay perched on a bucking vampire sure took a lot out of a girl! And the irritating throb in her clit – which didn’t seem to want to abate now that the outside source stimulating it was gone – was causing involuntary moans to escape her lips.


“Wha’ was that all about, Slayer?” Spike demanded as he clutched his head. “You made me set the chip off with your little show of dominance! Bloody hell, it hurts!”


Buffy could feel her cheeks flame in embarrassment. She got to her feet and brushed imaginary grass of the seat of her pants, trying to hide how unsteady her legs were. I must really miss Riley, she tried to rationalize. No way in hell would I have let myself get carried away like that with Spike if I weren’t...


She couldn’t even finish her thought. Riley had been gone for four days and already she was grinding her womanly bits on another man – vampire! – as if her actions would have no consequences. Big Ol’ Slut, thy name is Buffy.


She took a deep breath and hoped that Spike’s head pain would allow her to slip away unnoticed. She suddenly needed out of Restfield Cemetery, like, yesterday and didn’t want to have to explain anything to him.


So with a final glance at the blond vampire still clutching his head and muttering curse words – no doubt aimed at her – Buffy took off in a run towards the gates, never once looking back.




TBC...