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The sun was setting. Spike packed up his bio notebook and sighed. Cramming for finals in a new country while being the Slayer was just about one toe over his personal line of crap to deal with. But duty called, and patrol tonight might offer a bit more than the usual hack and slash.

He grinned at Willow as she approached in her usual bouncy manner. “There’s my mojo girl. How’s the magic feeling tonight? Ready to fireball a vamp or two?”

His best friend returned the smile and pushed a loose strand of hair behind one ear, then again as it didn’t stay. “Eh, maybe?” she said, wavering one hand in the air as Xander joined their little group and they headed off, their motley crew of three who didn’t look like they should be hanging out together according to high school rules.

Spike shrugged. “Well, old Rupes thinks you’ve got talent, so there you go, pet. And Xander, did you practice with the stakes like I told you?”

Since he’d made friends with the pair last year after coming to Sunnydale from England to guard the Hellmouth, Spike had been damn certain they weren’t going to get themselves killed if they insisted on helping. Willow’s small forays into witchcraft were actually getting somewhere after a summer spent under the tutelage of Giles and she was almost ready, both confidence and ability wise, to take out her first vampire with magic.

Xander, on the other hand - Spike glanced down and picked up the stake from where it had fallen out of Xander’s twisting fingers. He held it up with a sigh. “Whelp, mate, don’t flip the stake.”

Xander rolled his eyes at the blond and took it back, Spike let him with a snort. “This weekend, we’ll start lifting weights, get some muscle to push that thing through the ribcage, yeah?”

 

They laughed and jostled almost all the way to the cemetery, but as the sun fell completely below the horizon, each teen quieted, listening for things that went bump in the night.

Spike, in particular, was looking for one vampire in particular - blonde, and decidedly dangerously curved. He didn’t know what her name was, but they’d been watching each other for the better part of the school year and his heart was swiftly, traitorously, falling for the unknown vampire.

WIllow, of course, keeper of his secrets, knew about the mysterious vampire, but was sworn to secrecy. Xander only figured that some girl had captured his friend’s attention and lost no opportunity to tease about it, resulting in a lot of “stupid boy fights” as WIllow called them.
Two laps around Willowbrook and they were all bored - only a couple of new vampires had broken the monotony, and Xander was about to introduce the trivial pursuit of finals quizzing when a wolf whistle split the air and they stopped and searched for the newcomer. Spike grinned as he caught sight of her on top of a mausoleum, picked out in the sharp glare of a streetlight.

“Hey, stud.” Buffy Summers, late of Hemery High, late of Los Angeles, late of life altogether, crouched on one leg, the other shot out in front, perfectly balanced and at ease as she teased the Slayer.

She’d heard about him, of course, from the Master, but was new enough and arrogant enough to think that poking the beast wouldn’t end in a pile of ash. Specifically, her being one. Plus, god, he was super hot. Hotter than Pike. Way hotter. His bleached blond hair and bad boy good looks, along with the guitar he routinely carried made her blood boil.

It was a weird feeling, combined with the urge to kill, kill, kill! That woke up in her whenever she got hungry.

Willow pulled Xander out of the vampire’s sightline and covered his mouth with her hand. After a minute, he quit struggling and watched the show. Because it was definitely a farce.

Spike made his way up to the crypt and tilted his head back, watching her trace the pale line of his throat with her eyes. “Got a name, gorgeous?”

“Well, yours is dinner!” Buffy quipped, jumping lightly down in front of the spot where Spike no longer was. She spun and ended up face first in the door of the crypt, crashing through it and landing in a heap on the floor on her knees. “Shit, these pants were new!” she hissed. Not that Buffy had paid for them, but still. Clothes were important.

Spike interrupted her thoughts by kicking her in the side. She grabbed his foot and wrenched his leg at the knee, but he turned into it and used the force to wrap his legs around her upper body and pin her, scrambling to get the upper hand.

But they ended wrapped around each other, neither giving an inch of ground. Buffy’s game face was in full force. Unfortunately, there was no stake to be found, and Spike’s thudding heart and irregular breaths were making him completely forget that he had several on his person, a couple even accessible.

All he could do was stare at her, pressed against him in every place their bodies could touch in this position. Her eyes were big in the ridges of her face, and before he could second guess his own actions or desires he was kissing her, feeling the edges of her fangs with his lips.

Their hands released and gripped again, bodies sliding into more intimate, less angry positions as minutes passed. Buffy gained the upper hand and pushed up, straddling Spike as his hands slid up her body. HIs eyes met hers and there was one moment where it could have gone further down the path of madness, but some deep Slayer instinct in Spike rose up and he shoved, hard. Buffy flew to the side, hitting the tomb and cracking the stone. She looked hurt, then angry, then furious, and their fight resumed with neither one the victor.

They broke everything in the building and tumbled back outside to separate, staring each other down.

“Buffy Summers, Slayer, and when St. Vigeous gets here, you’ll regret it! All of it!” she yelled, turning to run, her emotions running high and hot, the need for blood, and death, any blood, and any death, coursing through her. The desire to forget what had happened was strong, but the want to hold onto the memory of those lips on hers was maybe, stronger.

Willow and Xander rushed out from their hiding spot and approached Spike, who was bent at the waist, trying to catch his breath, and swearing in turns.

“Is that -” Xander started.

“Yeah, mate. That’s the girl,” Spike said despondently, wiping blood from his lip with a grimace and then grinned. “Bloody hell, is that ever the girl. I am fucked, is what i am. Royally screwed.”

THE END.