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Can you feel the beat?

Chapter Text

Buffy hated London. It was nothing like she had expected it to be when her parents had presented her the idea to spend two semesters aboard.

Of course, now that her parents had both new lovers, the idea to enlarge her horizon was mostly based on the idea to have her out of their way. And she had really not been sorry about it. Not that her parents really had ever cared about her. Not in the loving kind of way. As long as she brought halfway decent grades at home she could be sure that she got everything she wanted and that her golden Amex never rushed into a debt.

And hadn’t had the idea to spend a year in Europe sounded so exciting. And London, yeah London, known to be a hotspot for new trends and also for some kind of cool music, though often both not being really her style. She was a Californian Valley-girl from tip to her glamorous high-heeled toes. And she did not intend to change any of this. BUT EUROPE! LONDON!

Paris would be just a flight of one and a half hours away and she had been sure that Cordelia and Harmony would turn into willing murderers if they could get their manicured nails on such an opportunity. Since junior high the three of them had been the uncontested queens of first high school and now UCLA.

How should it be any different? Jeez, if somebody thought ‘Clueless” was a fashion-statement-movie they hadn’t seen Queen-Bee Buffy and her following Queens. They were the living incarnation of exquisite fashion taste and beauty sense.

But now she was stuck in stuffy Notting Hill, London. Everything and everyone was, simply said, stiff. Same for the university she attended. Who could have guessed that she had to wear a uniform? A school uniform! Just for a university.

And who would consider tennis and rowing to be acknowledged sports? Whereas football was regarded as a degenerated ‘Yankee’ sport! And on top, one only for ‘sissies’ as real men were playing soccer or rugby. The former being called football here. Go with the confusing.

And even worth, cheerleading was obviously not regarded as any kind of sports at all. Since her arrival, she had completely stopped to mention that she had been the captain of the UCLA cheerleader squat. As it either got her pitiful glances or a debate about women’s rights or even worse comments how she could be so oblivious to being sexualized to a brainless, quoting here ‘bimbo’ that presents her body to cheer to testosterone loaded men.

Those limeys had simply no idea what cheering for a winning team was all about. How important it was to heat up the crowed that was fevering for the team she was cheering and to fuel the players. Not to mention that you had to be a top athlete to get all the acrobatic elements perfectly in place. Doing this required years of training and also a will to keep on a diet. Getting to heavy would immediately erase her privilege to be one of the diving cheerleaders.

However, this was the cause when she really had started to feel lonely.

And the London weather in late autumn did any to help with that mood. Not to mention that she would have lost her bronze Californian tan already if she wouldn’t have become a frequent customer of Halid’s Sun and Beauty Parlor. Which was really a poor excuse of a L.A. beauty parlor. But they allowed her to go on the sun bench as often as she liked and also were capable of a decent mani-pedi.

So yeah, she was now stuck in that misty, stiff suckhole of London and had not, since her arrival, really found anybody on the same wavelength she was swinging on. Not that she would ever give herself away to Cordelia or Harmony that London and Europe really sucked. Nor would she tell her boyfriend Riley how football or cheerleading were regarded as stupid sports, if at all, in the Old World. He probably wouldn’t understand. God, even she didn’t completely.

One of the small highlights was that she was now, with eighteen, being legally entitled to drink and smoke. Not that she was much for the smoking and drinking… Beside form one mimosa at a classy weekend brunch with her mom.

Yeah, but apparently British people were not so into brunch culture and mimosas. And there was no way that she would set her feet into some of those sticky, stinky pubs, that could be found at every corner and where beer was served in pints and people were chain smoking and took pleasure in betting and bellowing at TV broadcasts of soccer games and playing darts.

But tonight hold the small promise to be a highlight. Geez, how low have I gone to consider this a highlight?

However, it was Saturday and she was going out!

And to her own surprise she was really excited.

The more it had become clear that she didn’t fit into the boarding school folk the less she had attempted to initiate anything that in the slightest way could be called a fun weekend. Not that there was any fun-time under the week.

But three weeks ago she had met Willow when she had made an exploratory trip to Camden lock. Not that she was really thrilled about it, but as it was mentioned in every tourist guide Buffy had decided that it was an obligation to have seen it once. And to later gossip about how great shopping at underground labels could be. Even if she was faking it. As she had entered the area, she simply had been overwhelmed.

Camden lock had turned out to be a maze of buildings with big shops, small booths, stairs and open areas. She just had stopped in an inner courtyard, watching some Jamaicans, behind an improvised bar, opening coconuts with machetes while another guy was spitting fire with the rum they sold when Willow had bumped into her, spilling coconut water all over her Ralph Laurent dress.

Buffy had been really pissed off, but the way how Willow had apologized and invited her to a coffee and bagel with cream and salmon – she had claimed to know the best bagel shop in Camden Town and she definitely had not been lying – brought them closer together.

Willow was what you would call a new-age addict. She was all into crystals and incense sticks and astrology and what not. And she called herself a Wicca. Up to now Buffy had not found the courage to asked what a wicca was, she just had nodded and throw her a look that hopefully displayed knowledge as Willow had revealed this obviously shady secret.

Willow lived in a flat she shared together with Oz, who was her ex and now her best buddy – Buffy had no idea how such a thing could function at all – and Anya, an exchange student form Scandinavia.

Enough with too much think-y and self-pity Buffy! she scolded herself. Right now she was standing in said flat’s bathroom. Squished together with Willow and Anya in front of the mirror and getting ready for something Willow and Anya called a rave.

Buffy had never been to a ‘rave’, but as far as she understood it was a party with lots of music and drinks. She just worried about the fact it taking place in some of the run-down districts of London. Although Willow and Anya had reassured her that it had to be that way to be good.

And yeah, eventually going to a real party with real dancing since she had arrived here would be of the good. I’m so gonna be the party queen of tonight!

Chapter Text

Spike hated London. Hated it fully with his beating heart. It was a moloch of a city. Eating up people alive and spit out the worst versions of them.

It had not always been that way. He had had a lovely and protected childhood and early youth. Living with his mother in one of the outer boroughs in a nice brick house which she had inherited from his father when he had suddenly past away. Him still being a little one. Honestly almost all memories of that man were kind of blurry as he had been so small. But he remembered the loving smile of his dada.

And he had loved his live. Loved his mother and the house. He had even loved the catholic boys school where his mother had sent him to. Although he had gathered pretty quickly that Latin and ancient Greek probably were not the most fancy languages one could speak, or better read.

However, he had loved the admiration that shone on his mother’s face when he was declining words. She always said that it would be a huge advantage when becoming a doctor or a lawyer or whatever he liked to become. And that it would came in handy to learn other languages, which he could not deny as he had picked up French, Spanish and German as voluntary subjects.

Honestly he had liked going to school and learning. It had never been the way him struggling to acquaintance new knowledge. His brain apparently had been like a sponge, eager to soak up every new bit of information that had been thrown at him. And same was still true today only that the contents had changed.

Maybe his life could really have turned out the way his mother had hoped for. Maybe it would really have. It wasn’t like that his rebellious phase that had started when he was close to sixteen was such uncommon. Hell, every teenager went through this!

Spike’s personal bad luck had started when his mother had died unforeseen while he had poked the high point rebellion. All leading to some very, at least for him, unfortunate developments.

His aunt, the only living relative, had declined to take him into custody as soon as she had seen his snotty, grunge look. However, probably of feeling to have at least some obligation, she had arranged for him to visit a boarding Catholic school.

Spike would have had accepted this without batting an eye. But then she, the stupid bint of an aunt, the Cafcass and the court had decided to sell his home and to manage his inheritance.

Everything was still his but until he turned twenty-eight he was not able to get his fingers on it. He just got a monthly allowance of two-hundred pounds, which would be increased depending on his progress. Meaning more dosh for entering university or such rod.

The only obstacle was that he made a run form the Catholic boarding school after all. Simply being tired of the obvious bullying, the not that so obvious harassments and the secretly but always prominent sexually abuse by older students and teachers.

First he had tried for the most obvious help to get him out of that school. Only to get wholeheartedly devastated that neither his aunt nor Cafcass would believe him. Still thumbs up for his aunt that the two-hundred pounds still appear on his bank account since he made a run. But beside that? Nothing!

From being a little, rebellious teenager who had become by bad luck an orphan he had been thrown onto the rough streets of London. Lucky for him he had been and still was a quick learner.

Now, with twenty-one he didn’t doubt that there was anything that could shatter him anymore. He had slept under bridges, in parks, in fancy houses of lonely wives and in posh hotel rooms of equally lonely old men on business trips.

He had been robbed and he had robbed. He been beaten to unconsciousness and he had beaten others into that state.

He hadn’t had showered for weeks and had rode the underground while the commuters wrinkled their noses and he had rode the underground freshly showered and groomed and turned up his nose by a stinky beggar who hadn’t showered in weeks.

He had made money with everything that had promised being a good bargain: Stealing, robbery, fraud, blood donations, footboy jobs for underworld bosses, selling illegal weapons and overpriced legal ones (to the posh private school kids whose mothers were mother hens, monitoring everything in their sprout’s life), selling his body, selling other bodies, selling hot goods and selling drugs.

Eventually, after he had made his own name, ‘Big Bad’, on the streets of several boroughs of London, he had more and more concentrated on the things he was really good at. And this was selling his own body, thanks to the Catholic boarding school he had been forced to attend after his mother’s death and their famous rowing team he had been a member of since he got forced into attending that school of abusers… and, well, selling drugs.

His poor mother would rotate in her tomb if she would know what had happened to her beloved only child. Her Spike, or better her sweet little William, had neither experienced drugs nor sex when she had been alive, but times had changed…

And her he was.

A bad ass of a Big Bad.

After he had been, literally, stripped off of any dignity he once had believed to possess during his short play at the Catholic boarding school he had it found ridiculous easy to do the same on the streets. With the only difference, that he now got paid for it.

And, as a nice side-effect, he had figured out that sex could really be fun and that he didn’t mind much about the gender. A good fuck was a good fuck. Color him surprised!

Sadly, most of the time it simply wasn’t. Disgust and revulsion were too light words to describe what he had endured or had forced himself into. But as long as it spilled some money in the bank he had trained himself to swallow his pride and gag-reflex. The trick was to simply look forward to the next really good fuck.

And drugs and alcohol… Well drugs, drugs were a permanent danger. Since he had spent his days and nights on the street he had seen close enough boys and gals – never call them friends – whom had been soaked up and swallowed completely into the universe of chasing the next high or down a bottle or both.

When evaluating himself he came to the conclusion that he held himself pretty good. Not that he was a virgin to drugs and alcohol. Hell, those substances brought the fun into living! But somehow he had managed so far to not getting swallowed by the insatiable black monster that was commonly called addiction.

And, honestly, the longer he was now rocking that life the better he became. It wasn’t anymore that he would sell himself on the next best corner.

Quite the opposite! He had built up a broad-ranched tree of good paying and even wealthy love-seeking customers. Probably he could settle down with that income but he also liked punk music, the filthy clubs it was played in, the rush on the floor, the crunch of pogo. All in all it was too much to strive to be a white collared boy all the time.

And never put all your eggs in one basket!

Over Christmas time, Easter and several other bank holiday or celebrations the request for paid love was running foot low, so selling drugs was a plus. A big plus, because he could mingle with the party folk in the punk clubs and that such. Not that he didn’t do that all the other times of the year anyway.

Though, not born yesterday, he figured out right quickly that the punk clubs were not the ideal setting to make a huge bargain when selling drugs. The people there consumed large amounts of beer and strong alcoholics and asked him from time to time for some ganja or heroin. The ganja people were a great, steady source of a good income but he held a personal revulsion against the heroin addicts.

First they tried to pay him in things other than money or they looked so rocked down he didn’t want to have any close contact with those poor sods. Keeping his own pride to never go that low. And probably never would. Never say never you sodding git! But definitively would not tonight or in the nearer future.

What instead had turned out to be really lucrative were the upcoming rave and techno parties. Big plus was that most of those were only half legal. Using some abandoned factory buildings in the neglected boroughs of London.

Even if it was not his preferred music, the thumping, endlessly monotone beat animated the crowd to dance all night long. Hell, to dance into the next day and the forthcoming night. And while doing so they used a lot of synthetic drugs. Ecstasy and speed mostly. But also cocaine, which was also an all-time high when he sold it in pubs at football games, and don’t forget the ganja.

To be prepared he also had stocked up for small amounts of psilos and trips. Never honestly getting those people who voluntarily would send themselves on a mindfuck.

Well, Drusilla liked to. Also being a pretty duck and more than that a decent fuck. However, she was completely lost. God, sometimes he wished he would have met her before the claws of the cold London streets had dragged her down. Not to mention the psychedelic goodies form which mind-cage she probably would never ever escape again.

But there was no time for sentimentalities. Not in the world he was living in. And not when he was about to establish his own respected corner in the world of half-shades and dark. Right now he was sorting the pills from burner to crap… selling the crowd what it deserved. He had stretched the speed already.

Right now it was time to get a decent look. Just when he had finished to massage the hair-gel into his bleached blond hair to tackle his natural curls a knock on the bathroom door interrupted his routine.

“What!” Spike shouted as he didn’t want to be disturbed while applying the dark eyeliner. “Spike, do you really think it is a good decision to go out. You can have everything here. God will embrace you. You just have to admit to the sins that you have committed. It is not too late!” It was Father Angelus who interrupted his style routine.

“Holy pounciness, I will consider your words… after I’ll return!” Spike scoffed, trying still to apply the cole-pencile’s line in the right way he wanted it to show on his eyelids.

“Will… Spike! I really mean it is not too late. You can pray for the mercy of God. Even sinners can earn God’s redemption.”

This was the downside at sleeping over at Father Angelus. The permanent litany of how he should seek out God for forgiveness. Blah, blah, blah.

Especially when said Father granted him shelter for the exchange of physical affections. Like all of the male members of the Catholic church probably were up to. At least telling by his own experience.

“I’ll seek redemption on Monday!” Spike growled. He so much disliked it when someone disturbed his style routine. That he was not sleeping in that rat hole he had been forced to do for the last several nights didn’t count.

Spike had decided to sleep there and now he was fed up and had longed for something clean and pure. Not that Father Angelus gave away his private apartment for free. But Spike was a real good cock sucker. Granting him a warm clean bed and a real bathroom. And heaven help Father Angelus if he denied Spike’s skills when he would meet his grand maker. “I just mean Willa…”

“Keep your lousy gob shut and seek redemption for us both over the weekend! ‘s not like you are an angel!”

He imagined that Father Angelus swallowed hard, telling by the silence. Knowing exactly what Spike was aiming at. Granting that lost child of God shelter in exchange of some really good blow jobs was not exactly what Jesus had preached.

Fact now was, he got the Father in his hands… every time he was tired of the filthy sleeping places he allowed himself an out-time at Father Angelus. And sucking Father Angelus dick like a pro while pretending to be a twelve year old ministrant had probably granted him a sleeping place for a life time. Not to mention that he so far had never heard any complains about suddenly disappearing small electrics or money.

Internally he wagered his sleeping opportunities. Not that he would need one before Monday. But if he didn’t caught on one of his sponsors before Monday night he would ring at Giles’ door. Poor sod was a librarian at his former school and still had had a soft edge on him.

But who cares anyway. Tonight he was going to ‘party’…

Meaning he was making some decent dosh and maybe also gonna fuck some of the posh university girls who always pretend to be out of his reach until they had swallowed enough of the pills he was selling or sniffed three or four lines of his stuff to became wax in his skilled hands.

His bait? He always administered a free ‘buy’ in exchange for a decent snogging when a boy or gurl really fancied his favor.

Chapter Text

It was indeed a kind of a rocked-down, very huge and grimy looking warehouse were the party should take place. Same as all its surroundings. Long before she actually had caught sight of the building Buffy was able to hear the booming bass.

As she and her companionship, after the sad time here she still refused to call them friends, made it around the corner she was shocked by the line of people queuing to get in. She wrapped her short leather jacket more firmly around herself and sighted “That might take over an hour to get in there.”

Damn, am I the only one freezing here? Not that she had every right to. The black leather-mini skirt and the red sheet-top that left her whole back bare except for the three strips that hold it together could be barely called adequate clothing for a foggy London October night. Her crimped hair also does not help to offer any more warmth other than a not so chilled neck.

She asked herself how the Europeans did that. Willow did not wear a jacket at all and for sure she must be freezing. Not that a fuzzy little pink crop top, a long, fake-velvet skirt and hair that was knotted into an almost annoyingly cliché number of mini-buns were appropriate clothing for a late autumn night. Or Anya’s white, satin-like mini dress.

“Don’t think we have to wait longer than five minutes.”

Buffy was ripped out of her thoughts by Anya.

“The huh is what?” Buffy was confused.

“We are not queuing in that line.” Willow grinned and handed the half empty bottle of cheap prosecco to Buffy. “Remember that tall, brown haired guy Anya got all moon-eyes with a week ago. Even if they just hadn’t done anything more than exchange numbers…”

“Hey!” Anya interrupted “Even if he looks like total orgasm material it’s not that I’m so desperate that I will jump him. I mean I have still my nice collection of battery operated orgasm-granters.”

Buffy almost choked on the bubbly drink by Anya’s bluntness but somehow was not surprised at all. Though she heavily doubted that all Scandinavians were that blunt. Probably this was a typical Anya thing.

“Anya TMI! But hey, anyway, he is working here and Anya and her hottie got it that far that he will let us in through the back door.”

“Oh, that are good news.” Buffy cheered and took another heartily sip form the bottle. “Hey greedy, don’t forget the two other sexy party-girls who need a warm-up.” Willow laughed and snitched the bottle from her hand.


Spike was bored as he got here way too early. But he really had not wanted to engage with Father Angelus any further tonight. The wanker should be thankful that he didn’t fink on him. Not that the police wouldn’t be interested in what was stored on the ponce’s hard-drive.

To get away as quickly as possible he had treated himself and the Father with a generous line of pep on the wanker’s washing machine while gently rubbing the bulge of the Fathers pants to suddenly make a bee-line and saunter out of the front door, calling “Going to be late, don’t wait for me, pet.” before noisily slamming it behind him.

Christ, he shouldn’t had have left head over heels. The stuff always made him horny like a randy tomcat. So here he was now, leaning against a wall on the main floor, watching how the space slowly filled with people, hosting his rock hard dick pressing against his jeans.

He wagered the option to head for one of that grimy stalls that were considered as the men’s rooms to have a nice wank but eventually decided against it. Way too early and hell, he wasn’t fifteen anymore with the felt need for a release any sodding fifteen minutes.

Instead he adjusted himself, but not without giving his best pal two or three splendid teasing strokes, making himself hiss, before he started to saunter over to one of the counters selling alcoholics. Nothing that a nice Mitsubishi and a cool beer couldn’t help with.

He thumb-flipped the little pink pill casually into his mouth before he haphazardly propped himself against the counter waving lazily a five pound bill to get served quickly.

“Spike! What do you want?!” The little git of a wannabe barkeeper asked him with undeniable scorn.

“Oh it’s you Harris, was hoping to see an eye candy.” Spike acted as if he was surprised and disappointed. The latter was true somehow. He really had hoped for a decent chick. “However, congrats to you that you are able to keep a job for two straight days.”

“Kidding aside punk-boy! I’m tending the bar for much longer than two days!” Xander complained before he became aware that he just had taken the bait Spike had dangled in front of his face.

Xander’s face showed all the stages of awareness, embarrassment and finally rejection. “Tell me what you want.” Xander huffed.

“Oh, an open question… let me think. Yeah, I want a nice house, a harem of girls, maybe one or two of these sport cars that make a bloke all manly…” Spike inwardly cheered when the nit rolled his eyes “…but for the moment I want a nicely draught Guinness.”

Xander growled “Spike, you know this place, it’s not a pub. We don’t have beer on tap. So what do you want?”

“Right then, give a bloke one of those shitty Carlsberg’s, yeah.”

Xander turned around to get one of the sodding excuses of a decent beer out of one of the unlighted fridges before he slammed it on the counter. “Here you are. Three fifty.”

Spike flipped the five pound note at the git. “Keep the change but be attentive when I’ll get back, yeah!”

Xander grabbed the bill and mumbled something to himself which sounded highly like some curses.

Spike smirked “You know, I can get you something that brightens up your mood.”

“Spike, I swear if I ever gonna catch you selling some of that shit you apparently do, I’ll get you removed edgewise.”

Spike took a long sip from his beer “Well, try so. Always fancy a challenge.”

To his surprise the little git watch his wristwatch “Fuck, I’ll have to… doesn’t matter. Just fuck off.” And in a rush Harris was hurrying away from the counter.

“Fuck you off, too” Spike greeted him with a two fingers salute.

Chapter Text

Buffy was actually having fun. Having fun in a demolition-worthy ware-house building that hosted an underground and probably, completely illegal rave. Dancing to music she wouldn’t have considered being music before at all. At least not a couple of months ago.

But it was great. Really, really great! Maybe she was just depraved from the lack of going out and longed for simply diving into social interactions…

However, right now she was having fun.

And right now she was swaying to the catchy melody of the headline accentuated by an artificial woman’s singing voice while the baseline made her whole body vibrate. The bass thumped just in accordance with her heartbeat and she let herself flow.

An unpleasant bump into her rips drew her back to reality. It was Willow, wiggling her empty miniature prosecco bottle right in front of her face.

Her lips moved but the music was too loud.

“What?” Buffy shouted closing the distance to get her ear closer to Willow’s mouth. “I asked… another one… empty.”

Buffy checked the filling level of her own bottle. She already felt kind of tipsy or this might simply be an effect of the hammering beat. So yeah, another one sounded great.

Buffy nodded agreeing towards Willow, shouting “I treat us!” She grabbed Willow’s hand to make their way through the heated crowd of dancing bodies which almost moved like waves on the ocean.

Pretty quick she found out that it was better to dance with and around the moving waves of bodies than trying for a straight path. Eventually she aimed for the wall as there seemed to be more space even if it might prolong their way to the next bar counter.


Spike felt pleasant with himself. Staying on the main floor had paid out so far. Not that he was at lick a fan of that degenerative, sugar-coated music but the buying public was here. If it went that well for the next hour he would allow himself a short dip onto the third floor were Hakke, Schranz and Gabba was being put onto the turntables.

Not that he was a fan of that music either, but he liked the raw edge and the brutal pumping of the base-line. He liked the crowd also. They were dancing rough and unapologetic. Especially the Gabba-blokes who often took a short trip to England from the Netherlands or Belgium. And he probably also liked it because they were toe to hilt pumped up with drugs. He was all for the rush, the crunch and that raw feeling on that floor.

But right now he forced himself to linger some time longer on the main floor. The annoying thing was that he for sure had made good money but hadn’t spotted any decent fuck yet. Jesus fucking Christ what was it with today?

Spike was chewing like a maniac on his chewing gum – sodding Mitsubishis – and was still solid hard in his pants. God, wasn’t there some decent fuck walking around before he really had to get himself off in the loo.

That was when he saw her. She was petite. Wearing a red sheet top and a flaming hot, black leather mini skirt. God, her sight was mouth-watering. Her skin was almost bronze, a promise of summer and sea breeze. Her hair was golden, crimped, but still falling in waves like the one of an angel. She had big eyes and a perky, sweet nose.

Within in instant he knew that he had to gonna get that girl. His feet almost carried him involuntarily into her direction steered by his cock while his blank brain still tried to figure out how to approach her. Luckily, or unthankfully, his punk attitude took over.

He slammed into the girl and her red haired support-babe to sprawl himself against the bar.

“Firecracker, get me another one of these shite beers.”


Just when Buffy and Willow finally had shoved their way to the bar through the dancing mass of moving and sweating bodies to eventually reach the counter and after standing in what could be called a line she got harshly nocked aside by a guy with bleached blond hair. Without paying any attention to them he almost spread his upper body onto the counter like he owned the whole place. “Firecracker, get me another one of these shite beers.”

Buffy and Willow shared an annoyed glance. So typical. Men. Like that ill-looking guy, with, okay, pretty defined cheekbones, who probably thought he was the reincarnation of Billy Idol, could simply push them aside to immediately get the attention of the slut of a brown-haired, bed-room eyed bar hoe.

With the same vehemence that idiot had applied onto her, Buffy shoved her elbow into that guy’s rips and smiled, showing all her annoyance. “Rude much? My turn!”

Without hesitation she stared right into the eyes of the slut behind the bar. “Hey firecracker, if it’s what you react to. Two piccolos, if you aren’t too busy.”

The slut of a bartender shoved her low-cut décolleté onto the counter and eyed Buffy with dark-brown eyes. “Listen missy! Don’t piss your pink panties, I’ll serve you soon enough! But first I’ll take care of that handsome bad boy!”

Buffy found herself dumbfounded in the first seconds but then almost growled at that bleached blond, stupid idiot. She was just about to spit bile at the slut when a strong hand clasped her upper arm.

Buffy turned around in annoyance, knowing to well who was touching her, ready to project her aversion right back onto that guy. She opened her mouth, an insult ready on her tongue when he looked her deep in the eyes. Gosh who is allowed to sport such deep-blue eyes?!

“Two piccolos wasn’t it, pet?”

Buffy felt enchanted. She could drown in those eyes. No, not just in those eyes his whole face. Those sharp cheekbones just gave him the disreputable touch his whole appearance screamed for. But what caught her gaze were his lips. They were full and sinful. Very, very with the sinful. And on top they looked so very soft. Kissable soft.

Geez, Buffy, get your head clear! She swallowed hard, ignoring the physical attraction her body obviously had started to harbor towards that guy. Reminding herself that she was in a solid and very relatable relationship with Riley. Riley who had good and strong arms and was, yeah, a good guy.

“Yes two piccolos.” She answered, her voice more hoarse than she liked to.

“Right then, make it a shabby beer and two piccolos for the ladies.” The blond guy grinned at the slut.

“Oh Spike, being again out on the hunt tonight? You know that I can make you pop like warm Champaign.”

The bleached blond guy curled his tongue in a way that could only be described as sexy as fuck towards the slutty barkeeper. “Know that ducks. Not that I’m not appreciating your offer… you know that I could make you scream my name…” The guy, apparently named Spike turned his face to her with a leer “…all night long!”

“Here you are!” The brown haired slut smashed the three drinks on the counter, causing the piccolos to foam over.

The Spike guy just smiled at her “What do I own you?”

“You know, I don’t support you fucking around, so make it the normal rate and something I can powder my nose with later. Mia Wallace style!”

Buffy had no idea what they were talking about but the guy obviously did. Cursing he pulled out a little sachet form his right duster pocket before rummaged around in his left to shove another little sachet to that bar tendering tramp. Both immediately vanished inside her cleavage.

Just in that instant, Willow turned around, being apparently finished watching the dancefloor. “Oh, there’s Tara. You know, Tara. She’s in my Wicca group. Do you mind if I just... you know… say hello?”

Buffy had the growing suspicion that Willow might be not as straight as she was telling everyone. Not that Buffy would mind. Who was she to judge someone in this country which firstly had promised to be like her own, beside the fact that it was on the opposite side of the Atlantic, to then start overrunning her with one cultural shock after another.

Buffy smiled at Willow and handed her the piccolo “No, not at all. Go get that girl!”

Willow frowned and Buffy felt suddenly uncomfortable “Not in the sense to get to get her. More in the sense to get her. Saying hello. You know… Go Willow!”

Willow smiled with a mixture of relief and excitement before vanishing into the pulsing crowd.

“That makes us two.” The bleached blond guy, Spike, smiled broadly at her.

“Fuck, are you all with the stupid?” Buffy hissed at him. “Buying a girl a drink, especially if you pushed your way to get one first doesn’t make you someone I’ll favour to spend my time with.” To underline her words Buffy took a hearty sip from the piccolo bottle and focused her view on the dancing crowd.

“Don’t know! Don’t care!” The guy, with that strange moniker of Spike, purred into her ear. Making her whole body vibrate with that forbidden sexy growl. “Just being sure that I’ll like to see you on that floor.” His voice dropped an octave deeper “Seeing you move to the beat. Moving with you to the beat. Having a merry good time.”

Maybe it was the alcohol that was slowly occupying her brain. Memo to myself: don’t drink that much. And don’t start drinking before even entering the venue. “Okay, show me what you’ve got!”

Just as those words had leaved her mouth she became aware of the free ride she just had given that stranger named Spike.

“Oh, I’ll show you more than that, kitten.” The Spike-guy rumbled with his low, sexy voice into her ear.

Thinking of Riley and her life back in the States she let herself being draught by that guy to the middle of that shabby dancefloor.


Spike couldn’t believe that he had lured that ice queen onto the floor. God, she was gorgeous. He didn’t know where to start with. And this was the problem…

His cock pressed almost unbearably hard against the rough demin of his jeans. Longing for revelation. But this girl was not easy to get. Hell, Faith had ripped him of a G of cocaine just to keep her trap shut.

Don’t think about this. Enjoy the girl right in front of you, you sodding git!

Spike embraced her from behind and pushed himself a little bit closer to her delicious backside. A little bit more than being considered appropriate for a first contact. But he couldn’t detain himself from giving her a light note of what he thought of her.

“You’ve got a name, pet?” he purred into her ear.

She stiffened like being ripped out of a dream and turned around. Sodding hell there my opportunity for a decent fuck flies away.

“Yeah I got I name. And a boyfriend!” she exclaimed.

Sweet, the little thing got some teeth. “And would you share that precious name with me?”

She looked at him like he was a Martian before speaking “Buffy. My name is Buffy.”

That’s a real name? For fuck’s sake how much must her mother hate her to name her like that?

She must have caught the frown on his face as she wrinkled her sweet, perky nose. “What?”

“’s nothing, sweetheart. Just is kind of exotic. Not that I mind to add some exotic to me lifestyle.” He put on his most blinding smile.

“Or simply Californian. Already got the message that you go by Spike. But what really interests me is in what you having paid that slutty bar hoe?”

Spike couldn’t hide his chuckle. Little Buffy seemed also to have claws. Let’s introduce that little bird to the real world. “Drugs.”

“Drugs?” Buffy stared open-mouthed at him. “Drugs like in drugs? Real drugs?”

He tucked her closer and genuinely smiled at her “What do you think? You want some? Might help you to strip down this ice-queen attitude.”

Chapter Text

Buffy had no idea why she had accepted that little, subtle rosé pill from that eighties reincarnation of a scumbag in the first place.


Fuck, so far she had heartily excused herself every time when Willow and Oz and sometimes also Anya cumulated on the rooftop to enjoy a blunt.

But somehow tonight she had been tempted. Even more she had been fed up. Fed up with fucking, boring England. Fed up with London. Fed up with its rain and fog and make this a big ‘L’ its lameness.

Maybe she really hadn’t been able to catch up the real vibe of the city so far?

So why not take that little pill? It is just one little pill, yeah? What should spectacularly happen at all?

So Buffy had taken it eventually. When being in the women’s bathroom after Willow had been gotten all hands-y with Tara and Anya somehow really had accomplished to escape with bartender-Xander through the same backdoor through which they had illegally entered this illegal location earlier.

Probably this had been the moment when Buffy had decided that it was time to walk new perimeters.

Her final catalyst obviously had been the annoying low water-level in the loo. She would never get used to all those English quirks.

So she had popped the little, rosé pill and had washed it down with a generous gulp of sparkling wine. A new bottle. The one, that the idiot guy had brought her, was long empty and resting on one of the steps of the many staircases, connecting the maze-like rooms and halls of the venue.


Since then almost twenty minutes had past and she felt… nothing. Ok, nothing besides being borderline tipsy from all the alcohol.

She shoved her way through crowded and accumulated people back to the main floor when suddenly her fingertips started to tingle lightly.

Shortly after that her whole body incurred that lightly tingling sensation while her stomach started to feel funny. Though not sickly funny.

Hopefully not.

However she was too overwhelmed by that strange sensation to pay any more worries about her stomach. Which might hinder her to get to her destination. Where do I want to go exactly?

Instead she allowed herself a rest against the next wall to explore or get used to those strange feeling which suddenly was running through her whole body. Not threatening but frightening exotic.

After maybe five minutes she felt the urge to move again. Eventually pursuing her way to the ‘main’ dancefloor while her mouth felt strangely dry. She took another nip from the piccolo she still carried with her. Just to notice that the liquid suddenly tasted plain disgusting. Involuntarily she made a face.

“Oh look at you, missy! Doesn’t taste the fancy bubbly-water anymore like it should?”

She turned her head, the sudden movement made her feel kind of light-headed but not queasy, to see again that annoying punk.

“Don’t get too excited.” She barked at him over the thumping music. Lowering the bottle while simultaneously trying to wipe her mouth secretly.

Her words must hit a button!

If she wasn’t mistaken that Spike guy looked slightly taken aback and there was something in his facial expression that could be interpreted as hurt.

She wasn’t sure if it was really what his face was telling her, as it flashed with several emotions before his facial expression settled and he slyly grinned at her. “Knowing how to handle an ice-queen, luv. Just like to treat you for another drink. Nothing wrong with that.”

Buffy shortly calculated what money she’d got left and how being treated for another drink sounded more than tempting for her petty cash. Let alone that her mouth felt dry as a desert. And she would give her soul for a bubblegum.

She plastered her brightest cheerleader smile on her face “Ok, let’s go little bad. Treat me for another drink.”

She might have heard Spike mumbling being the real big bad but was immediately hit by the bass that boomed throughout her body when reaching the main floor again. Buffy was not sure if the DJ had decided to turn the volume up or if it was that pill. But suddenly every fiber in her body was flooded by that pumping beat.

However, she didn’t felt anymore drunk than she had felt before so it probably was the DJ. Maybe this was, how had Oz called it? A set! Maybe it was a new set with more bass and more… more.. yeah MORE.

This was when she felt Spike’s hand on the small of her back and a bunch of tingles emanate up her spine from the place where his warm hand was touching her.

In surprise, she turned around, just to see him smile at her. Penetrating her with his very, very bright blue eyes. Or what was left of them as his dark pupils were heavily dilated.

Beside that her gaze got caught on his cheekbones, razorblade sharp, and on top of that his defined, sensual lips, promising forbidden desires come true.

A shudder ran over Buffy’s complete body. Hot and cold and kind of sweaty. But temporarily hot!

Gosh, that guy is sexy! Isn’t he sexy?

Suddenly she felt the urge to get closer to him. Against all her instincts and good knowledge she leant against the hand that was still placed right above her… her ass and apparently caressing her gently. God, maybe she already got to be a little wiggly without noticing, but it just felt so good.

“Alright pet, let’s get you a drink and then we can hit the dancefloor.” There was some hope in that punk guy’s eyes. But she immediately was convinced that it couldn’t be hope. More likely he thought of her as easy bait.

Hello, Californian cheerleader here! No bait at all!

Buffy erected herself and almost marched forward. “Let’s see. Are you going to pay again with drugs? Because this is so not acceptable!”

A sudden idea buzzed through her brain” Wait!”

She raised a hand to stop him in his steps and damned herself as soon as her hand was touching his chest as he came to a stumbling hold. That stringy, not really tall guy had no permission to harbor such pectorals underneath that tight, black t-shirt.

Buffy draw her hand back in a rush. Trying to digest how she suddenly had become that horny and what a forbidden promise was lurking right underneath that black Tee.

“Wait for what kitten?” Spike, taking advantage of her sudden stop, purred against the side of her neck making her all tingly in the all wrong but so right places.

When had he gotten so close to her? Riley! Think of Riley! Your huge and tall and attractive as hell Quarterback boyfriend back in the US!

Not that this really did the trick but she gathered enough strength to retract herself from the Punk in who’s almost embrace she just had bathed seconds ago.

“Drinks! I treat you! I treat you and then we might give that icky-sticky dancefloor a try!” she rushed. Not carrying anymore about the money she had spent so far.

That smug smile she earned wasn’t anything what she had expected. “Alright then, kitten. Lead the way to treat us.”

Buffy allowed herself to smile at him before starting her way to the counter. Suddenly the stroboscope flickering lights were blinding her eyes and the people around her were moving too fast or almost staccato-like. She stumbled, accidentally shoving into a guy who was balancing three, four, five (?) cups while trying to catch her balance again.

“Sorry… Really sorry” she smiled apologetically at the guy to immediately being yap at “Spare your fucking excuse, you e-tard!”

“E… what…?” Buffy was stumbling. Gosh, she was really absolutely sorry that she had spilled some of his drinks and feeling an overwhelming need to excuse.

Apparently the guy didn’t as he now was building up in front of her.

This is so not of the good. she thought, before ‘her’ punk-guy, apparently with the name Spike, gently but determinedly shoved her behind him.

“What’s the matter, mate?!” he growled.

“I’m not your mate! And you better take care of your slapper!”

“Or what? Looking out for a good brawl!” Buffy heard Spike almost growling. She cringed, not wanting to cause any trouble.

Big-Guy puffed himself up in front of him “And in case I’m looking for a good one… not that you were one!”

To her surprise the Spike smirked at the big ape “Fancy your attitude, mate. But wager that you don’t fancy to get ruffled up by the Red Army, are you? Fancy a good clash on my own even more with my old pals!”


“With my whole heart and bloody soul, mate!” there was no denying about the pride in his voice.

“Ok, just keep watch on your girl.” Big nasty guy was suddenly pretty eager to get away. Buffy found herself dumbfounded “You are a communist?”

Perfect, going to Europe, which was mainly ill-reputed to tending to socialism ideas was one thing. But now meeting a sympathizer of the red army just fit in the scheme of her luck.

Surprisingly her not wanted-to-be companion (or maybe savior?) broke out in heartily laughter. Indeed he was laughing so hard that he needed to bend down clinging his belly. Buffy was flabbergasted “What’s so funny?”

That Spike-guy erected himself, wiping away some tears from his cheeks, while still trying to gather himself.

Eventually he managed to respond between his residual hick-up laughters “No communist… Holy crap!... Communist… you are a funny cunt…”

“I’m not a cunt!” Buffy stated, getting annoyed. Maybe that guy had saved her from trouble but he had no right to make fun of her! Let alone calling her names!

“Listen pet!” the Spike erected himself and tried to swallow his still surfacing giggles. “’s nothing about politics. ‘s about football. And strong fan support, organized in firms.”

Buffy was not sure if she got what he was telling her. So she started with the most obvious question “I hadn’t known that football is such a big thing in England…”

Spike took her hands in his “Not American football, kitten. Real football… think you yanks call it soccer.” He winked at her.

Awareness washed over Buffy’s mind. It was not that she hadn’t been blind since she had started to live abroad. All TV-channels daily announced soccer results in their news and also broadcasted complete games live.

“Oh…” she managed. “But what has ‘football’ to do with communism?”

The guy smiled at her brightly “Nothing, ducks. ‘Red Army’ is just the name of a very hardcore supporter’s firm for Manchester United. Which I’m a great fan of and tend to know one or the other lad in that firm.”

“Oh, I think I understand.” Buffy said, her mouth dry as sandpaper. “It’s just a name und you got some major rivalry towards other socc… football clubs.”

“That’s it, kitten. So let me get you a water and then we bloody hell hit the dance floor!”

She nodded, being still overwhelmed by what just had happened. All of her intentions to pay for her and Spike’s drink had left her mind. She still was too startled about the unintended confrontation with that guy, which almost had ended in a brawl, and how European extremist soccer fandom had saved her.

Chapter Text

Finally Spike had that chick, or to be more correct that American, bite-able, petite ice queen, with him on the floor again. Telling from her earlier behavior at the bar she never had kicked an Adam or Eve ever before.

He promised himself to be careful with her. Which was currently a hard task seeing her leather-skirt cladded ass wiggling right in front of him.

Not to tell about her red, glittering sheet-top that left all her back, beside some tiny horizontal strings, bare to him.

He had been horny since he had treated himself with the first line of pep, not to mention those that had followed since he had got here nor the Molly’s that he had jacked after.

Right now his eyes were fixed on that sexy girl’s slender, but wholly trained ass and her almost bare, feminine muscled backside. Admiring how those muscles played under her skin with every move she made.

Bugger, I’m going to explode! He gripped himself to rub his hard, steering cock though the rough demine of his jeans promising silently to himself that he was soon getting relief for him and his straining hard member.

So, the first step was to stop leering at her behind and instead getting himself into the game. He caught Buffy from behind lowering his hand to her hips to draw her closer while swaying in the rhythm she had chosen.

Immediately she turned her head around, stopping shortly, before firing at him “Annoying much?!”

Spike decided to just smile at her and whispering in her ear, loud enough to get the better of the bass “Not really. I’ve brought you drinks, tough also merry that you’ve aimed for doing the same. So we’ll let that slip. But… you promised me a dance on this floor. And I’m going to call on that promise of yours right now.”

Buffy half-turned in his leisurely embrace to look at him with bright, dilated, black pupils that were barely being framed by a hazel-green retina “U huh.”

She was indeed bite-able.

He drew her closer in his arms, whispering in ear “And here I am.”

He felt how she let down her guards and let herself being pulled closer into his embrace. Exactly as close to him as possible with clothes.

Spike bit his lip to suppress the moan that was about to escape from his mouth. Though Buffy seemed to have other ideas. In time with the beat she rubbed herself against his front. Even more, she turned back, wiggling her sweet, little ass against his groin.

Hell, how he wanted her! Right now and here! Ripping her skimpy clothes off to ravish her right here and now on the dancefloor.

Instead he let his hands travel over her body. Cupping her rather small but so tempting and firm breast with one hand. Noticing that she bore fucking stiff nipples. He let his thumb run over the little, pebbled knob while his other hand wandered to her lower regions. Playing with the waistband of her skirt before secretly shoving his fingers around and underneath it.
All while Buffy grinded against his body. And even more, grinding against his painfully hard, erected cock. Said one, mind you, had been neglected all night long.
With skilled fingers he shoved her panties, if you could call that little lacy thong that at all, aside, to explore her hopefully wet folds.
And holy hell, she was wet. Same as he was ready. He pulled her closer to himself to grind his hard, jeans-clad erection into her skirt-covered butt crack.
Skimming with his fingers amongst her juicy lips to eventually brushing her sweet nub of a clit with his thumb while pumping his ring finger into her sweet pussy.
It was unnervingly unsatisfying. The angle wasn’t right and he wanted more… More of her. More of her sweet juices. Not only coating his fingers but his dick.
Buffy moaned, her head leaning against his shoulder before she turned in an instant. Forcing him to release his hands from her firm breast and juicy quim.
She looked with dark longing eyes at him before whispering in his ear “I want you!”
Hell, I want you too!” Spike rasped, almost bereft of his voice, before lifting her sweet bum up to carry her though the pulsing throng over to the next wall.
Buffy’s hands were all over him. Creeping below his duster to scratch his T-shirt clad shoulders while he desperately fought with the belt, button and zipper of his jeans.
Buffy bit his lip before sucking it into her mouth. “Ugh Buffy!” It was marvelous. He followed right on track. Letting his tongue plundering her mouth. Causing them both to moan.
God, he had to hurry. Finally he ripped his straining hard cock free, not caring about the little zipper-teeth causing probably some minor hurting wound on his sensitive flesh.

Spike hurriedly shoved Buffy’s skirt up and her string-thong aside. Pumping his fingers again into her juicy quim only to ask “Ready Kitten?”
Buffy looked kind of surprised at him but then nodded and gave him the truest smile he had ever seen.

“Hell yeah!” Spike exclaimed. Holding her folds apart with one hand while maneuvering his throbbing dick to her entrance with the other one. Both kind of clumsily. Thanks to that chicks sportive constitution to having her legs already winded around his hips while supporting herself against the stone wall.
However! He took the time to brush his straining member through her wet folds two or three times before directing it at her sappy entrance to eventually starting to push into her.
Buffy moaned loudly while Spike was clinging his teeth. Holy hell, beside of her wetness and willingness she was tight as fuck. And so hot.
He slowly pushed further into her. Feeling the thigh muscular ring that once had been covered by her hymen. He groaned loud by the sensation. Eager to fully sheath himself into her.
Spike looked at Buffy with burning, longing eyes and she reflected his gaze. Giving a yearning nod. “Geez yes!”

They both groaned again when Spike pushed completely into her. Tearing away from her lips to bit into the tissue of his cheek to prevent himself from coming right here and now. He gasped “So tight, little kitten… so fucking tight.”
“God, that feels so goooood.” Buffy keened. Pleading “Give it to me! Give it hard!!!”
Holy hell, if he wasn’t so experienced he would come undone right now. But though? Spike increased his pace. Spurred on by the little wanton bitch he was pounding his cock into right now and the pumping bass and music that rung distantly in his ears.
“I’ll show you baby. I’m gonna give it to you hard. Fucking your tight, little, wet pussy like no one ever did before. Fuck yeah… squeeze me like that… your tight little cunt…”
Buffy was sweating and made a great picture of how he was shoving her up and down against the wall. Her head thrown back in wanton, long blond hair cascading over her shoulders, her body sweaty and her stiff, pebbled nipples standing out like alarm posts through her tiny shirt.
Spike couldn’t withhold other than greedily bite into one of them with blunt, gentle teeth while Buffy begged “Please, please! Get your hand down!”
Spike dared a short look at her ecstatic face. ‘s was all he needed to comply. Immediately getting one hand between them. Fingering her little, sweet clit while pounding merciless into her.

Suddenly she clenched around his dick, tightening her legs around his waist in a vice-like lock, all in a way he had never experienced before. Bloody hell!
“Oh mi… mi… my… god! YEEESSSS!” she yelled, predominating the droning music.
And he was following her right on track. His balls contracted before his brain even caught up. His cock starting to shoot his load of splendid sperm into that so receiving, little pussy. He was shaking by the sensation. His dick pumping and pumping and his orgasm going on and on. God, if he would die right here and then he wouldn’t complain.

He sacked against Buffy, who had eventually lowered her legs. Causing him to slip out of her so sweet pussy. They both moaned by the loss.

Spike gathered himself enough to help the girl to get a good stand on the floor and brushing her skirt down while she straightened her tiny shirt before taking care of his own, now very spend own member. Shoving it haphazardly back into his pants.

She looked again up into his eyes “That was just wow. So wowey wowey WOW.”

He managed to respond with an eloquent “Dah.”

Forcing his brain to clear out the post orgasm jitters that were still rushing through his body to actually form a complete sentence. “Fame is on you, luv. You did the deed.”


Buffy’s head swirled.

Could it be true that she just had the most satisfying, most mind-blowing orgasm in all womankind? And that with a guy she barely knew and had settled on to disgust in the first place?

Why had Riley never accomplished what that stranger had? And why hadn’t had that stupid Parker guy had not at all nearly came close? Not that the disastrous single night with Parker would count.

And… oh god! She just had had sex with a stranger. Had probably the best sex of her entire life with a bad 80ies reincarnation of a stranger. And it had been fantastic. Breathtaking. Uber-extraordinary.

She barely noticed when Spike put an effort in to straighten her clothes. All she was able to say was “That was just wow. So wowey wowey WOW.”

Spike seemed also taken by their moment. Not really being able to get a sentence out before trying again with “Fame is on you, luv. You did the deed.”

She let herself bath in his words. Feeling still absolutely comfortable in his close embrace when suddenly the music stopped and the room got much brighter than she liked to.

She squinted her eyes against the so much brighter light. Something was definitively going on. And she had no idea what it was. She clinged closer to Spike. Hoping he could explain. Only to see his eyes darting around the area like a deer caught in the headlights.

Without ceremony he shrugged out of her embrace. Kissing the tip of her nose. Exclaiming “Gotta fly, pet. The rozzers gonna blowing up the party!”

The who does what? She looked flabbergasted at the guy she only had been absolutely intimate with seconds ago. Trying to make sense of what he was saying.

“Meet you, ducks!” he winked at her before he disappeared in a swirl of black leather into the crowd.

Buffy stood there. Not comprehending anything at all.

Then the flashlight of a cop shone into her eyes and she got forced down to the floor. Her hands getting cuffed with cable ties.

Oh crap! This is going to be the worst night of my life in the worst country on Earth.

The happy feelings she harbored just moments ago completely vanished. Same as the guy she had shared them with. And she couldn’t do anything against the hot tears that were quelling in her eyes and eventually running down her cheeks.


The End (for now… at least).