Buffy stepped inside the Bronze to hear the first notes of Cibo Matto’s “Sugar Water” begin. Her black suede platform heels struck a seductive path as she sashayed deeper into the club, her body swaying to the hypnotic music, oblivious to the stares of the men in the room – especially the one that watched her with amber eyes blazing.
Her eyes skimmed the small crowd, her mouth turning downward in a slight frown as Angel made eye contact with her and drew near.
“Hi,” Angel replied.
“So, is there danger at the Bronze? Should I beware?” she asked him, the snippy tone and slightly mocking look able to win her an honorary spot as a “Cordette.”
“I can’t help thinking I’ve done something to make you angry. And that bothers me more than I’d like.”
He sounded like a whipped puppy, and Buffy rolled her eyes, her lip curling up in distaste.
“I’m not angry. I don’t know where that came from.”
Angel pinned her with a look, his face a mask of equal parts concentration and brood as he tried to get her to open up, to be the girl she was before the thing with the Master. “What are you afraid of? Me? Us?”
“Could you contemplate getting over yourself for a second? There’s no ‘us.’ Look, Angel, I’m sorry if I was supposed to spend the summer mooning over you, but I didn’t. I moved on,” she told him.
She turned and walked away, adding just loud enough for him to hear, “To the living.”
Buffy was about to join her friends when a figure dressed in black caught her eye. The smirk, the swagger. Yeah, he just screamed “Bad Boy.” Just what she needed tonight. Dismissing her friends out of hand, and knowing that Angel was likely still lurking in the shadows watching her, she added a bit more sway to her hips and sauntered over towards the blond.
She was halfway to his side when he turned away from whatever he’d been staring at and his gaze zeroed in on her. She smiled – a seductive tilt of her lips that promised untold pleasure – and invaded his personal space, forcing him to stop in front of her. Her hand lifted, one finger tracing the edge of the leather duster before veering away to run down the black t-shirt that seemed molded to his frame.
Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and she looked up at him from beneath her lowered lashes. “Wanna dance?”
Spike had heard through the demon grapevine that the Slayer had been in Los Angeles for the summer. He’d just missed her, naturally, the chit having returned to the Hellmouth the day before he’d arrived in the city to go back to school.
Like she expected to live for years yet and could afford to engage in such normal activities.
Having to chase after her to this small town – even if it did reside atop a hellmouth – had left him in a foul mood. He just wanted to drain the bitch so his sire could feast from his neck and hopefully heal after the mob attack they’d suffered in Prague.
He’d come to the Bronze to find a bite to eat; teenage clubs were known for producing a plethora of sex-starved teens that thought nothing of escaping to a darkened alley for a little slap and tickle. Spike had been just about ready to partake in an early snack when the familiar scent of family had permeated the air.
Spike drifted back into the shadows, hoping he’d not been sensed. Wouldn’t do to alert his souled-up grandsire to his presence. He’d not seen Angelus since China, right after he’d bagged his first slayer. Darla had tortured him for days on end after he’d inadvertently killed off the gypsyman’s family, yelling all the while that it was his fault that Angelus remained locked away, buried beneath the soul. Like he’d been able to differentiate between food and hostages. A meal was a meal, and the wife and daughters had been trussed up so nicely, just ripe for the picking.
An hour later and Angelus still hadn’t left. Spike was just about to go somewhere else when he felt the faint tingling on the edge of his senses that indicated the Slayer was near. Sticking to the shadows and keeping Angelus in sight, his gaze roamed over the club’s patrons on the lookout for the “Chosen One.”
Imagine his surprise when he saw her stop before Angelus. Listening to the husky timbre of her voice as she told him she’d moved on.
Spike chucked at the dumbfounded expression that transformed Angelus’ features when she walked away, even as he felt the metal dig of his zipper against his rapidly hardening length. He’d seen enough for now, and decided to beat a hasty retreat before he was noticed, his eyes keeping Angelus in sight as he moved toward the exit. He neared the door, and Spike turned his attention away from the far wall and his gaze collided with that of the Slayer’s.
Young and supple, her body moved with the natural grace of a predator. The maroon dress she wore accentuated every curve of her body, and he couldn’t help wondering what she would look like with her clothes off. His waning erection sprang back to life when she smiled at him.
Then she was moving, not stopping until she’d blocked his path. The hand on his chest, the way it moved down his body, had him quirking a brow. He barely contained his surprise when she asked him to dance.
Oh yeah. The girl really was playing with fire.
His hand shot out and gripped her waist, hauling her flush against his body so that she could feel his arousal pressed against her stomach.
“’m always ready t’ dance, luv.”
He watched her eyes widen momentarily in fear before she quickly masked it and returned to her role of seductress. The cheeky chit turned in his arms and rubbed her ass across his crotch, making him groan silently at her blatant teasing. Angelus was forgotten as he followed her willingly onto the dance floor. He liked living on the edge. Craved it after the mockery that had been his human existence. And dancing with the Slayer while Angelus looked on couldn’t get him any closer to it.
He was walking a fine line, and he knew it. One false step would see him dust beneath her heels. But right now, with the two of them center stage on the dance floor, their bodies pressed tightly together as they moved to the hypnotic beat of the music, he didn’t much care.
Right now, in this instant, it was well worth it.
Buffy had a moment’s panic when her dance partner drew her close, telling her without words what kind of dancing he’d really like to be doing. She was all set to give up her bad girl charade and go home, but her body had other ideas, relaxing into his lean, wiry frame. The smell of leather, smoke, and liquor overwhelming her senses, returning the look of cool seduction to her face.
Now, as they danced together, she wished he’d take the initiative and drag them off the dance floor and out into the alley. She wanted to know if his lips were as soft as they looked. If her fingers weren’t lying when they told her that the black t-shirt he wore hid a well-defined body.
“Mmmm… smell good, pet,” he murmured against her ear, his tongue tracing along its outer edge.
Her knees went weak, her arms tightening automatically around his neck to hold herself in place – the movement pulling him that much closer. As he continued to tease the sensitive orifice, her eyelids fluttered then finally closed.
“Jasmine,” Buffy managed to gasp out in answer to his comment. “It’s jasmine.”
“Nice.” His lips nibbled the bottom of her earlobe, his tongue worrying the earring. “But that’s not what’s drivin’ me crazy.”
Blunt teeth moved from her ear to trail down her neck until they encountered a set of bite marks. ‘Slayer’s been bitten and lived to tell the tale.’ His mouth closed over the marks and nibbled lightly.
Spike was prepared when her legs buckled, knowing firsthand the feel of teeth and tongue on so erogenous a zone. His arms held her body securely to him as he continued to drive her crazy with lust right there on the dance floor, their movements barely passing themselves off as dancing. When she came a moment later, he couldn’t help but groan as her release flooded his nostrils. Made him want to drag her out of the club and into the alley so that he could shove her up against the brick wall and make her do it again. Only this time her legs would be wrapped around his waist as he buried his cock deep inside her pussy, thrusting hard and fast until she milked his own release.
He groaned as the smell threatened to overwhelm him. Rubbing himself against her ass wasn’t helping. Bloody torture was what it was. There was no way he was going to kill her now.
Shagging her into next week was on the top of his list, however.
As the music continued to play, his fangs elongated and pierced her flesh. Right over the marks left by the master of his line. His demonic features were hidden in shadow as he supped at her neck, and he wasn’t surprised when he nearly spilled his load inside his jeans as her rich blood coated his tongue.
The warning growl from Angelus came too late.
“Mine,” he snarled at the elder vampire, retracting his fangs and licking the wound closed, his human mask once more firmly in place. He knew Angelus wouldn’t cause a scene, especially when he held the Slayer in his arms. Dismissing him from his thoughts, Spike gazed down at the bemused expression on the Slayer’s face. He guided her off the dance floor and over near the exit that led to the alley, on the opposite side of the club from Angelus. It would warrant him a few moments, but just a few.
“Gotta run, pet. But I’ll be back,” he told her.
“Go? Go where?”
Buffy was still dazed from their encounter and didn’t want him to leave yet, having only just met him. She shook her head and tried to clear her thoughts. All the anger she’d felt on walking into the Bronze was gone. Disappeared in the face of the angel looming over her. No. Not an angel. She remembered suddenly and her hand went automatically to the wound on her neck.
Felt the raised flesh and closed over holes.
“You bit me!” she accused.
Spike chuckled, pleased to see the ire sparkling in her eyes. Oh, she was going to be a handful.
“You caught me, luv,” he replied. His hand lifted to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Now, go home and get some rest. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“You’re mine now, Slayer. And I keep what’s mine.”
A harsh edge had come into his voice, one that had her shivering unconsciously.
“Slayer? But how did—?”
Her protest was cut off as he lowered his head and kissed her. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. No first time getting-to-know-you fumblings. His mouth swept over hers with bold ownership. As if he’d been kissing her for ages. Buffy let out a whimper and leaned back against the wall for support.
Spike took immediate advantage and thrust his tongue in her mouth, coaxing her into a response.
And she did. Her arms lifted and wrapped around his neck to draw him closer. Her own tongue pushing against his so that she could taste him, commit to memory every contour of his mouth, anything to tide her over until his return. If his growl was any indication, he seemed to like it.
He tore his mouth from her suddenly, some invisible signal having told him that his time was up. A caress to her cheek and he was gone, escaping out the side door and into the alley. Her body left heaving and needy from arousal.
Too caught up in reining her riotous emotions under control, Buffy didn’t notice Angel’s presence until he was standing right next to her. She looked up at him, one hand fingering the new marks on her neck as she pushed herself away from the wall she’d been leaning against for support.
“Well,” she paused dramatically, looked Angel in the eye, then added, “maybe not quite living.”
Then she walked away, snagging her jacket and escaping out the front door of the Bronze.