Work Text:
It had all been an act, of course. The accidental contact of fingers reaching for sweating glasses on the bar. His earnest, halting confessions of love lost and lamented, set to the visiting band's mournful soundtrack.
When at night's end she glimpsed the face of his demon in the harsh glare of the streetlight behind the Bronze, the girl whimpered, her mouth stretched into a startled expression of despair. "But you were— You said—"
Spike smiled and flicked the smoldering end of his cigarette into darkness. "Just pick-up lines, love."
He was still smiling when he drank from her.