Title: Place Your Bets Author: Pattyanne snapkik@yahoo.com Disclaimer: None of the BtVS characters belong to me. Feedback: Love some, thanks! Rating: Up to NC-17 Summary: Spike and Buffy have a bet going as to who can last the longest with- out sex. AN: Remember the drinking contest in 'Life Serial'? Well, it never happened. Part nine: Ace In The Hole This isn't funny anymore. I wish someone would invent a time machine. With all the other stuff they're coming up with, you have to wonder what the frigging hold up is. I need one badly. If I could lay my hands on one, I could go back a few nights and duct tape my mouth shut before taking on this miserable bet. Every day I feel a little more worn away. It's like being nibbled to death by ducks. But I'm not ready to give up yet. If there's one thing I'm not, it's a quitter. I'm also the stubbornest person on the face of the earth. Spike doesn't put it that way. He says I'm "irritatingly obstinate...bull headed to a level that doesn't exist for other people...unable to see anyone else's point of view...head strong beyond the telling of it" and a whole bunch of other five dollar words like, "obdurate, intract- able, recalcitrant, tenacious, inflexible, and immovable." He always see the glass as half empty. I prefer to think of myself as persistent, resolute, purposeful, and unshakable. It just sounds better. But anyway you slice it, my stubbornness is taking a real pounding. I just know that soon my body is going to stage a revolution and kick my brain out of office. Take last night for instance.... ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ After the 'cookie baking' incident, I'd taken a long bath and reassessed my position. The only possible reason for my failure, so I'd figured, was that chocolate chip cookies are just too wholesome to plan a successful seduction around. I mean, really...who equates cookies with sex? Well...I do. But that's just because I'm equating every- thing with sex ever since I stopped getting any. And I DO mean everything. Washing dishes, I squirted out a glob of Ivory into the running water and for the first time ever I noticed that the spurts of white soap looked a hell of a lot like the stuff a certain vampire produces when I give him a hand job. While grocery shopping, I see penis'...peni?...everywhere I look. Bananas, cucumbers, dill pickles, popsicles, chocolate eclairs, and don't even get me started on the kielbasa. Around the house? Yeah, there, too. A turkey baster, a rolling pin, candles, the pepper grinder, my stakes, even my electric TOOTHBRUSH for god sakes! I can't even just sit in my room and listen to the damn radio. The minute I switch it on, I hear 'Let's Get It On' and 'You Shook Me All Night Long'. I change stations and hear, 'Let's Make Love' and 'Get mine/Get Yours'. I switch it again and have to listen to 'Big Ten Inch Record' and 'A Piece of Your Action' and 'She Goes Down'...which REALLY drives me nuts! Then there's the "Do Me/Do It" songs. 'Do Me Baby', 'Do Me Baby ALL Night Long', 'COME Do Me', 'The WAY You Do Me', 'Do It', Do It To Me One More Time,' and the always popular and about as subtle as a shovel in in the back of the head, 'Why Don't We Do It In The Road?' I can't tell a clean joke to save my life. I tried to come up with one I could tell Dawn during breakfast and all I could remember was the one about the bride and groom on their wedding night. The bride's a virgin and she's really shy about "doing it", and isn't sure she really wants to. So, her husband says, "Got an idea. If you want to have sex, pull my dick once. If you DON'T want to have sex, pull it fifty or sixty times." Ba-da-boom. Then there's the one about Jack and Mary. They work in the same office, but times are hard and the boss has to let one of them go. So, he calls Mary in and says, "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have lay you or Jack off. She thinks it over and says, "Could you please jack off? I have a rotten head- ache." You may be wondering where I learn such jokes. Take a wild guess. I think about sex during the day and I dream about it at night, which doesn't surprise me...I mean, if I was hungry I'd be dreaming about food, wouldn't I? ******* So, cookies are out. Also out are ice cream sundaes, macaroni and cheese, pudding, apple pie and meat loaf. Lovely comfort food, but hardly seductive. Well...maybe the pudding. If food is out, what's next on the agenda? Obviously the answer is drink. Not milk, orange juice, or root beer floats, either. No, I'm talking about alcohol. Hard liquor. Strong spirits. Demon rum. What makes people drop their guard faster than a little of the hard stuff? A lot of the hard stuff. Which is what I'll need. Being a vampire, Spike has a strong tolerance for alcohol. I've seen him polish off enough beer to float a battleship in the high seas...then follow it up with a few shots of Jack Daniels...and never even slur his words a bit. The problem is, if I invite him over and ply him with booze, he'll shut me down fast. There's really only one way to do it. Another challenge. Challenge Spike to a drinking contest? One of these days, I'm gonna have to get my head examined. ******* I got home from the liquor store around six. Luck was with me, and Dawn was invited to spend the weekend at her best friends house. Things got even better when I'd noticed that the sky was clouding up. By the time Spike arrived for patrol, if anyone up there was still on my side, it would be raining like hell. Spike hates the rain. Ever since he took over Giles' condo and rediscovered how pleasant it is to live in water- tight accommodations. He says if he wanted to be cold and damp, he'd have stayed in his "bloody crypt". It wouldn't be hard to keep him here. I'd pulled a bottle out of the bag and examined the label: Craganmore Single Malt Scotch The stuff is twelve years old, and it costs an arm and a leg! Thank god for credit cards. The owner of the liquor store actually kept it in a locked cabinet in his cellar. He'd promised me that it's one of the best, then gave me a lesson on the origin of Scots and Irish Whiskey that had me tapping my foot to stay awake. Apparently, sometime in the 12th century, some alchemist or other discovered that distilling the mash of grains like rye and barley could produce a tasty little drink. The Gaelic word for it was "Woosk'akei", which meant "the water of health". The Scots shortened it to "whiskey". Up until a few years ago, most of the Scotch whiskey consumed was blended. People mostly felt that unblended malt Scotch whiskey was distilled by and meant to be drunk by those strong and burly highlanders. (You can add a certain vamp I know to that select group. Talk about a constitution!) The old guy threw around terms like "full bodied" and "well- balanced" , with "a honey like sweetness on the palate". Opening the bottle, I'd taken a whiff. Honey like? Yeah. Right. I'd dumped a tiny amount in the sink to make it look like I had the bottle just laying around, then stuck it in the back of the pantry. On the top shelf of the cabinet over the sink, I'd located a couple of shot glasses and rinsed them out, then put them back. After that, there wasn't much to do but wait. And get nervous. Fortunately for me, Spike is reasonably prompt. When he promises to be somewhere at a certain time, he nearly always is. At five past seven, the doorbell rang. I'm gonna have to give him a key. ******* "Is it raining?" I'd sounded way too delighted, and he'd given me a suspicious look. "Not yet, but it's about to" he'd replied. "You want to get a patrol in, we'd best go now." Nooooooo!!! That wasn't part of the battle plan. Don't wanna patrol! Wanna win this bet and get laid! If it doesn't happen soon, I'm not going to be as pleasant as I usually am. Yes, I have a battle plan. Got it all written down on a neat little sheet of paper, too. I call it 'Operation: Win the Damn Bet!!' Two exclamation points. The battles we've fought over this so far have just been little skirmishes. I'm itching for a real good tussle. My uniform consisted of a pair of white sweat pants and a pink cashmere sweater. Soft and silky to touch. He likes that sort of thing. It's not the sexiest thing I own, but it's comfortable and loose fitting, easy for him to get his hand up under or down into. I'd shrugged as casually as I could. "Maybe we should just skip it tonight. Any vamps with half a brain aren't gonna be trotting around in the rain." He'd shot me a look that said "Thanks ever so," but he'd been happy enough to stay in. Then, he'd totally floored me with his next comment. "So...you're looking awfully delectable tonight, little girl." Well! I'd surely liked the sound of that! Then, he'd ruined it. "You look like you're just about ready to cave in and beg. Are you, love? Do you want your Spike to make you scream the house down, right here and now?" Inside, I'd whimpered, "yes...." "Hell, no!" I'd said loudly. "Like I said before...I will always beat you at anything we do. Always. Every...single...time!" He'd tossed his jacket down on the chair and gave me that "you're full of shit" look. "Is that a fact?" "That's a fact, baby. I can out-slay you, out-wait you, out-drink you, and...." "Hang on a second, slaybelle..." Isn't that cute? "...there's no way in hell you will EVER be able to out- drink me. You are the biggest light weight I've ever seen." "Oh yeah?" I'd asked, a little pugnaciously. "Well, I've got nothing better to do tonight. Let's see who's still left standing." He'd laughed....HE'D FUCKING LAUGHED AT ME! Oh, this was SO on! I'd scampered out to the kitchen and came back with the shot glasses and the scotch. A bit of my pride came back when he'd admired my selection, and I'd told him that it was the sort of scotch I always preferred. Problem: I'd never tasted the stuff in my life. My alcohol preferences ran more to fruity tasting drinks with little paper umbrellas and some produce hanging on the rim of the glass. I'd gotten a sniff when I'd opened the bottle, and it nearly made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. Still...desperate times and all that. We'd made ourselves comfortable in the front room. I set the glasses on the coffee table and he'd poured the first shots. 'Through the teeth and over the gums, look out stomach here it comes' I'd chanted in my head, adding my own postscript. 'Please don't send it right back up.' Well, it hadn't...but just barely. ******* "Bleaahhggg." I'd shuddered and shaked from top to toe. He'd smiled at me like I was the cutest thing he'd ever seen, then tossed his shot down without turning a hair. "Another?" he'd asked. "Another," I'd replied, after I'd cleared my throat. He'd refilled the glasses and waited for me. "Bleeaahhggh." It was the foulest tasting thing I'd ever put in my mouth, but I did it. Then, Mr. Smooth tossed his down like it was lemonade. Four more times we'd performed the little ceremony. I started getting a little light headed with the third one. By the time I got to the sixth one, I was flying high! Oh, man did I feel good! So good, I almost forgot my purpose. "You having fun, kitten?" he'd asked, giving me another one of those too cute for words grins. God, I'm nuts about him. "Oh, shiiiiit, yeah!" I'd announced. "I should have tried this a loooooong time ago." "Mm-hmm," he'd said skeptically, refilling my glass. My seventh shot went down pretty smoothly. I was actually proud of myself. Of course, I'd started acting a little silly, but....who fucking cared? "Know what?" I'd said, leaning in close. "What, baby?" "There's something I been meaning to tell you for a reaaallly long time." I'd giggled. "D'ya wanna know what it is? Huh? Do ya?" "If you want to tell me," had been his reply. "You're really cute," I think at this point that I was simpering. "I always thought so....ya know?" Oh, God...the smile on his face just made my head spin. Okay, maybe it was the scotch. "You're really cute, too," he'd said, scooting a little closer to me. My soused brain sensed that victory was at hand. It was time. Time to tell him everything he'd been wanting to hear. I was absolutely ready to do it, to stop all this game playing and pussyfooting around. Time to come clean about my feelings...my love...for him. I'd picked up my glass. "Spike...I got one more thing to tell you," I'd said, then tossed back my eighth shot. I don't remember anything after that. TBC..... Next...Part 10: Dealer Takes All