She thought of him like she thought of the moon; pale, beautiful, unattainable, even when he was there with her. Sometimes, she wondered if he even saw her, or whether she was just a toy he kept around for his own amusement. One night, she decided to test the theory, "Spike," she said, "let's make love."
He flashed that smile, the one she wasn't sure if she loved or hated. "'Make love'? Pet, I'm a vampire. Vampires don't make love. We rut. We fuck. We do the dirty deed. We don't make love."
She considered smacking him but it would spoil the mood. Not that it wasn't spoiled already. "Fine." Show him, show him, a little wicked voice inside said. "Then I'll bake a cake." Where did that come from?
His laughter followed her totally dignified retreat from the bedroom, down the hall, to the kitchen where she did, indeed, whip up a cake for baking. So there.
Amidst all the noisy, angry clatter, Spike came and lounged in the doorway, sucking on a cigarette . "Come back to bed," he said.
She pointed at the cooling rack; the cake atop it. "I need to frost this. And what makes you think I want to come back to bed?"
He tossed the cigarette in the sink and with a swagger James Dean would covet, swooped up behind her and nuzzled her neck. His hands did interesting things along her ribs, one sliding upwards, the other slipping down.
She almost succombed but remembered her request earlier and skittered out of his reach. His eyebrows cocked up and his mouth cocked down. "Pet," he said, "this could be a limited time offer."
Why was she with him again? Oh, yeah. Moon. Moon, spoon, June. But it was October. She licked her lips as her eyes travelled down his naked torso to his incredibly low-slung jeans. Wait, that little stupid voice reminded her, you're angry at him.
But the jeans, she whined at the voice.
Angry! the voice snapped back. Forget the jeans!
She gave the little voice a mental reminder of what was inside those jeans, waiting for her.
The little voice tried not to sound impressed. Don't be a pushover, it said warningly, sounding remarkably like her mother.
She rolled her eyes mentally as Spike rolled his physically. "Listen," he said, "are we gonna have a go or not?"
"Do you love me?" Oh, fuck, where did that come from? Blasted evil little voice!
"'A man can be happy with any woman as long as he does not love her,'" Spike said, quoting...she knew he had to be quoting someone.
"So, I'm just around for sex?"
Spike shrugged. "You're not hard on the eyes," he said, giving her a once-over.
She slammed her jaw shut firmly and the little voice egged her on. Really, it did. Well, okay, rage had something to do with it. Picking up the cake, she flung it at Spike. He was too surprised to dodge - yeah, so much for those legendary vampire reflexes - and was covered in orange and strawberry cake.
"Fuck! Fuck, fuck fuck! " Spike howled as the hot dough clung to his skin. He turned blazing eyes at her, a growl resounding in his throat.
"Now that I know where we stand," she said, totally unmoved by his fury, well, not fearfully, anyway. The way his eyes flashed and his chest heaved...with cake stuck to it. How totally transparent of you, the little voice sniped as Spike glared back, though his expression was melting from one thing to, well, interest described it best. She sauntered over to him, shoving him back against the table. Spike's eyes widened then narrowed as she leaned over him. She said, pushing him back farther and licking cake slowly, luxuriously, off his chest, "We can have sex."
Spike growled. She giggled. The little voice was gibbering with the taste of cake and Spike.
And they had sex until the cake wore off.