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Tale As Old As Time

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Spike was finally ready.

He’d vowed it before, he supposed. Quite a few times, some might say; often loudly and with a suitably devilish amount of venom. But tomorrow? Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, he was going to kill the Slayer.

And god, he couldn’t wait. The scene had played out in Spike’s mind so many times and in so many different ways. There had been no escape. Every kill he made, every time he’d hunted and toyed and fed, it had been so easy to close his eyes and pretend whichever pretty blonde melting under him that night was her. Even sleeping had been no escape when his dreams every night played with flashes of the Slayer.

Spike had it all thought out for once. Everything in him was screaming for him to get up and find the Slayer right that second: to stroll right up to her fancy house, sunlight be damned, and challenge her to a good ol’ brawl. But he’d tried that before, and it hadn’t resulted in much more than one extremely pissed off slayer and a few hours of Harmony’s disgusting clucking and tittering as she patched Spike back up. So, Spike would wait. Spike would wait until the Slayer patrolled that night - all alone and delightfully ambushable. With such calculated patience, Peaches would’ve been proud of him, or at least temporarily less hateful. Though with that pesky soul? Maybe not.

His life had been leading up to the moment he would drain her for years now. Everything that had gone wrong in his unlife lately was her fault when you thought about it. If the Slayer hadn’t gone and got all smoochy with Peaches, Spike’s Dru would never have gone crawling back to her precious daddy. Spike would never have had to team up with the bloody Slayer in the first place, and Dru would never have left him.

And he supposed he would be happy.

So he was going to sink his fangs into her pretty little neck, and it was going to be bloody magnificent.

“Blondie bear?” Harmony writhed next to him, her naked body pressing up against him. “Whatcha thinking ‘bout?”

If you’d asked him a few years ago, Spike would have said a queen sized bed was more than enough space for two. Recent months with Harmony had changed that opinion rather drastically.

“I’m thinkin’ you’re beautiful, baby,” Spike replied lazily. “That’s what I’m always thinkin’.”

After all, ‘I’m thinking about the Slayer’ probably wouldn’t have gone down too well. Not that he was too concerned about Harmony’s feelings, but Spike had a feeling she wouldn’t be so keen to let him shag her when his mind was full of thoughts of certain annoying blonde do-gooders. When it came to that, he’d learned his lesson with Dru.

And Dru, as perfect as she was, really was not someone he wanted to think about right now. Not while he was alone with a cheap fling. Not when she’d left him. Not until he could get her back.

He hadn’t even opened his eyes as he spoke, but Harmony’s girlish squeal was enthusiastic enough for the both of them. Christ, you’d think he’d proposed.

“Oh, Spikey.” Her mouth pressed up against his, leaving behind stray streaks of too-sweet cherry lipgloss. “You always know just what to say.”

“It’s a talent, my little deflated football,” he told her with a yawn.

Spike smirked, and moved to wrap his body around hers. He was hard already, and it was probably better to blow off steam before tomorrow anyway. Though, if he was going to be tasting slayer’s blood any time soon…

Well, the memories of the last time he’d feasted on that particular aphrodisiac were more than enough to help him forget who exactly he was fucking into next week.

What would Summers taste like, he wondered? Thinking back, it was a shame he’d only ever tasted the one slayer and not two. Nikki had put up a good old fight, after all, and it wouldn’t have done much harm to have had a nummy treat while he’d had the chance. His first slayer had tasted divine, of course: sweet and bitter all at once with one hell of an aftertaste to top her off.

Just thinking about it made Spike shiver.

But perhaps this slayer would be different. Because Summers was different. He’d never fought anyone quite like her in all his years; nobody had made him feel quite as alive as she did when she bent her sweet little body to punch him in the face.

There was no question about it. Her blood would be divine.

“God, Spike.” Harmony never could shut up, but it really would have been a treat. “Oh, blondie bear. That’s-- yeah, that’s really good. Yeah. Oh, god--”

Smoothly, he flipped them so that the more vocal side of her body was buried in pillows.

“Spike,” she cried blissfully again, but muffled like it was it could have been anybody moaning. “Spike, that’s so good, I’m--”

In fact, with the long blonde hair tickling his forearms, it could have been somebody in particular. Somebody hot and lean with hazel eyes that could burn into his own with a single piercing glare--

Bloody hell. Tomorrow really couldn’t come soon enough.

-

“Blondie bear?”

Maybe - just maybe - if Spike kept his eyes closed, she’d let him sleep. He’d been having a particularly enthralling dream that had included several cameos from the recently popular guest star of his subconscious.

“Platinum baby?”

No.

“Listen, I’m going out. I have a wax booked for four, and if I’m late the cute beautician I want to eat might go home. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Spike rolled over and let out a snore that even he had to admit was unconvincing.

It took what seemed like forever for Harmony to stop nattering and leave, but Spike kept firmly still until she did. Couldn’t be missing his beauty sleep. At least not with his big day tomorrow.

But even after she left, Spike just couldn’t get back to sleep. Harmony’s crypt was cold and quiet and devoid of its owner which happened to be exactly how he liked it. But what with all his dreams and his fantasies, Spike imagined he felt like a kid on Christmas eve.

He was doing this for Dru, but it was funny. She would hate it if she could see him now, lying awake with thoughts of the Slayer. This was the reason she had left him, but he just couldn’t seem to stay away. That would all change when he brought his black goddess Summers’ head.

And he would. Bugger his plans, he would. Sitting here doing nothing but pacing like a caged panther wasn’t doing Spike any favours, and every minute he spent thinking about the Slayer was a minute without his hands at her throat.

It had to be afternoon by now, Spike figured. This time of year, that meant he wouldn’t have too many problems dealing with a little bit of sunshine as long as he kept to the shadows and didn’t do anything stupid. Of course, knowing himself, that wasn’t something he could count on. ‘Stupid’, ‘Spike’, and ‘being around the Slayer’ seemed to go together as well as worn leather dusters and Docs did, by which Spike meant perfectly.

He’d take the sewers, then, but he’d better check the sky first. If it was too bright out, Spike figured his trusty blanket would come in useful, but he would really rather leave it at home. He wanted - no, he needed - the Slayer to tremble when he destroyed her, and he had the inklings of a feeling that scampering around in a pile of rags really didn’t do much to perpetuate his Big Bad persona.

The door to Harmony’s crypt creaked as he opened it an inch. He took it as a good sign when sunlight didn’t pour in and singe his still nude frame, and peered a steady eye through the gap.

A few moments later, Spike was delighted to confirm that yes, he still actually had eyes, which seemed to indicate that the weather was decidedly in his favour. It was a good day to kill a slayer, and that’s all Spike needed. A good day.

If Dru was here, he decided, she’d egg him on with sweet words in his ear.

“My Spike,” she’d say, her voice lapping at his insides and outsides and every other side of him that there had ever been like poetry. “My precious knight is going to eclipse the sunshine, he is. He’s going to make her burn.”

And then? Then he’d push her up against a wall and she’d let him make love to her again and again and again until she couldn’t argue with him when he told her he was hers. There’d be no more of this bloody Slayer bullshit. No more bloody ‘tasting like ashes’. No more having to watch her sleep around and push him away and tell him nasty somethings that cut parts of him he’d been trying to kill for over a century--

Oh, who was he kidding? Things between he and Dru had never been flawless, slayer or no. But a man had to try, and that was exactly what Spike was going to do.

It was when he turned around to grab his clothes that he heard it. Even for a vampire, Spike’s hearing was excellent, and he knew someone was outside well before they got anywhere closed enough to knock.

And knocking was unusual in itself. To simplify it: Spike was a vampire. Most people he knew here in Sunnyhell - not that he was a fledgling social butterfly, by any means - were also vampires. Vampires, due to the small catch of evilness that came with being a vampire, were not often the biggest proprietors of proper manners. There were exceptions, of course, but Spike could really not imagine anybody caring enough about respecting Harmony’s crypt to dot their i’s and cross their t’s.

And yet, there was somebody knocking on the door.

“Just a sec,” Spike grumbled, slipping into his jeans with a sigh. If this was a bloody sales visit--

Spike answered the door, shirtless and frowning.

Before him stood a woman, and underneath the rags she was wearing, that was about all Spike was able to make out. He’d thought his own anti-sunlight blanket was bad, but this chit’s own cover made his blanket look like a contender for a bunch of bloody fashion awards.

“Yeah?” Spike scratched his hair, mindful of his curly bedhead. He’d need to gel it before going hunting for the Slayer. A man had to look his best on these sorts of occasions. “And what do you want, lady?”

If this was one of Harmony’s weird friends-- oh, wait, he forgot. The bint didn’t have any friends.

“A moment of your time, if I may,” the woman replied. Her voice was soft, but in a way that was worn. So the chit was probably getting on in her years then. Now, Spike didn’t usually like to eat anybody starting to get stale, but he really had worked up an appetite that afternoon.

“I didn’t know they did brekkie to order now,” Spike said cheerfully.

A little test of his reflexes might do him some good, so perhaps he’d give this old lady a head start. A wolfish grin playing on his lips, Spike put on his game face.

The old woman didn’t move.

“You know, lady, this is usually when they start runnin’,” Spike suggested helpfully.

It was like he hadn’t even spoken. The silly bint didn’t even stiffen under all those rags, just standing there and staring at him like some kinda gormless git. He could hear her heartbeat as clear as day, and even it was frustratingly level even as Spike gave her his best snarl. It was more rude than anything, really. Didn’t this chit know Spike was the Big Bad around these parts now?

“Hello, William.”