Part 4

This was a mistake.  A mistake of major, major badness.

Buffy sat ramrod straight in her chair and tried really hard not to look at the screen.  Or at least, the naked body parts on the screen.  The food was good—when it wasn't draped over the naked bits she was avidly avoiding.  And look, snacks.  In the shape of popcorn and soda.  Buffy grabbed her jumbo cup and took the longest swallow of cola she thought she'd ever had and then stuffed her mouth to bursting with popcorn.  Feeling renewed with bravery, she looked up and nearly choked, spraying her popcorn a few rows in front of her as she caught the scene of some Harmony-stacked blonde sucking down Mr. Fruity's purple, engorged cock.

"Oh. God," she gasped, taking another desperate drink of her soda and fought against passing out from shock—and overwhelming lust.  By mutual consent, Angel switched seats and strained as far from Buffy as he could get, but not once did his gaze flicker from the screen.  A fist came up to brush against his mouth, the strain obvious in the bulging muscle in his forearm.

It was...disgusting.  Degrading.  And Buffy's skin was tightening in reaction before she could acknowledge it.  She slammed her back against her seat and gripped the armrests like they were the only thing stopping her from doing something embarrassing or dangerous.  But her eyes...her eyes were fixed and sucking up all the latent education going on and filtering it into her already out-of-control fantasies.  And since when did she have those with her eyes one hundred percent open?

Almost as if she'd summoned one up, she felt the soft brush of fingers on her flesh, tantalising her skin under her clothes, making her want to wriggle and twist.  There was enough left of her commonsense to realise that doing that, and adding in a moan or two, would be so of the bad right now. 

A sweeping touch caressed her arms, sliding lower until Buffy could feel the tips of her fingers buzz with the need to touch...something.  Someone.  There were cool lips at her throat, and a tongue sliding across her pulse making her shiver until her breasts ached.

"Are your nipples a rosy blush like that tart on the screen, Slayer?  Or are they a deep red that'll make me think you'll taste as sweet as blood?"  The husky, suggestive query came seemingly from nowhere, but the questions seeped into Buffy's soul.  Spike—he was imagining her naked and touching her without even a body to do it with.  He either had super-superpowers, or she was cracking up by sitting at her susceptible boyfriend's side watching erotica on a larger-than-life scale.

Buffy tipped her head back, not able to resist the seductive touch of lips on her throat.  She closed her eyes and imagined it happening, imagined a blindingly blond vampire nuzzling her throat and his fingers skimming up her sides until he fanned them out beneath the swell of her breasts.  There was no thought as to why she felt thoroughly naked in a cinema smattered with a handful of patrons.  Only that her breathing became laboured as a roughened thumb slid over the swell of her flesh and rubbed erotically over a diamond hard nub.  Just barely, she kept an exclamation of encouragement from slipping past her lips, but she couldn't help the further relaxation of her body, or the area between her legs from clenching hopefully.

"Hmmmmmm," she murmured, eyes clamped tightly shut against the barrage of sensual feelings that were running her sensitivities to the limit.  Marvelling at how vivid this fantasy of Spike was, Buffy completely forgot about Angel sitting beside her but with a chair in between them—not that she was overly worried about jumping his bones when she was so turned on with thoughts of another.

Fingers pinched both nipples and with a gasp, Buffy felt the wet trail of Spike's mouth as he kissed a path down her body, lavishing attention around her belly button before she felt a soft kiss between her legs.

Slamming her legs together with a jolt, Buffy startled upright and looked desperately down at her lap.  She so did not imagine that Spike was about to get busy—but with the added advantage of actually feeling it for real, rather than just guessing how it would feel.  No blond head was mysteriously positioned there, with agile fingers and tongue teasing her panties.  Heart thumping, Buffy decided a quick exit was the order of the day and began grabbing up her things to get out of there.

A voice full of seduction invaded her head and for the first time Buffy realised that she was either about to go completely mad or Spike had found some way to get into her mind.  And then she realised she could sense him—and he was close.

"That's right, Princess.  Comforting to know how easy it is to get you revved within feet of the big poof."  He chuckled in her head as she swallowed hard, swivelling in her seat to see him just three rows behind, his hands suggestively framing his crotch while he reclined in his chair.

"Spike!"  She couldn't help the outburst of his name and felt her face redden immediately at the answering commands around the theatre to 'hush.'

Angel reacted even more, jumping to his feet and spinning before ducking fast to avoid receiving a handful of angry popcorn in his face.

"Sit down, Peaches.  You're obstructing the screen with your big broody forehead."  Spike tilted his head as if to look at the screen around Angel's substantial bulk and then flicked a look at an embarrassed Buffy.  "This how you ensure you don't make the mistake of opening your legs to the wrong bloke again, Slayer?"

"No!" she denied hotly.  With pink cheeks, Buffy stuttered, "It was an accident.  How was I supposed to know it was going to be all with the...I thought it was about food!" she excused stubbornly and then dropped her head in shame.  She should have known better.  Looked into the rating or an actual description of the movie before she'd dragged Angel in to watch the thing they could never do together again.  All she'd wanted to do was be normal for a change, take her boyfriend to a movie so they could laugh and have some good old-fashioned fun.  She should have known that that wouldn't work for her.  That any attempt to wow Angel with her newly acquired art-house interest in movies was bound to blow up in her face. It had been a little easier for her.  She'd been so eager to rechannel the wrong lusty thoughts of Spike into something far more innocent and acceptable that she hadn't paid attention to what she'd pushed Angel into.

The movie's subject matter was...interesting.  And challenging, to each for different reasons. She'd moved on a teeny little bit with the sexy thoughts about someone else, but Angel still thought about her—and being a guy, he probably thought of her often in that way.  And here she was, blatantly being provocative with the naughty movies and the imaginary simulated sex.

"It is about food, luv.  Right imaginative it is, too." Spike smirked, delighted with Buffy's discomfort and wondered how far he could push.  How far did he want to push? "What they did with that giant zucchini has me thinking of all kinds of...sexy experiments."  He leered at her and Buffy flushed hard, right to the roots of her fake blonde hair.

"You are going to be so dusty when I get out of here," she warned through clenched teeth.

"Why wait?" hinted Angel with misleading calm.  If the movie itself hadn't tied him up in knots, then the lecherous glances Spike shot at Buffy and didn't bother to hide would have more than adequately done the job.

"Ooh, someone's all feisty."  Yet, he was totally unconcerned.  There was no possibility Angel would draw attention to himself in front of a few measly humans.  His precious reputation was too hard to be reclaimed to cause a stir in the middle of a porn movie.

Ignoring Angel, Spike wondered if his imagination had done her justice or if the eventual revelation of her glorious body would blow his imagination out of the park.  He'd had no idea he could project his thoughts onto her—onto anybody really.  He wasn't about to deny that it was a neat trick, but it might have been nice to be in the know about it before now.  Then again, maybe he couldn't.  He was sure it was something Dru would have pointed out to him—that he had a latent power he could use to great effect.

That made his blood ice up.  If it was new, then that couldn't be good.  He hated the implication of a new ability at this stage in his life.  At a time when he'd finally clashed courses again with the Slayer.  It caused a shiver of apprehension to slam its way down his spine and Spike decided his best course of action was to ignore it.  He'd used it, explored the Slayer's body with his mind, and now it was time to tuck it back into a file for sorting much later.  Preferably when she was dead.

But that wouldn't happen before he'd had himself some fun.

A glaze of curiosity crossed his face as he ignored Angel and turned his eyes onto the delectable slayer.  "I wonder, pet.  Does your skin taste of honey or heat?"  He leaned forward, dismissing Angel's stunned gaping expression and turned his full attention to the one girl in all the world chosen to carry on a war against his kind.

"Will your quim shiver for my touch?" he asked, his voice low with a pull Buffy seemed unable to resist as she leaned a little forward into his words.  "Will I hear you scream my name when I make you come, or will you be so overwhelmed with my cock filling you all the way up that you'll only be able to gasp and whimper in mindless pleasure?"

Buffy opened her mouth, appearing like she was actually going to attempt to answer those extremely personal questions with powerful sincerity, but then Angel surged to his feet, fury and death in every move of his body.

"Outside.  Now," he ordered between clenched teeth, his fists flexing in preparation for a fight.

Spike smirked and was gone in a glance, his body effortlessly gliding to the exit while he waited for the inevitable showdown.  If there was one thing he was certain of, if he was going to fuck the Slayer, he had to put the little angelic misery-guts out of commission.

He stood in the middle of the street when Buffy and Angel made it out of the cinema.  His arms were outstretched and Buffy marvelled at the sinister, yet sexy pose he struck even as her mind wrapped around the idea that the two vamps were about to fight like school boys—over her.

And a huge smile blossomed on her shiny rose gloss lips.

Spike allowed his elder the first punch, and Buffy's eyes widened as he licked at the blood from his split lip and then mouthed off some new, rather suggestive insult about where he planned to be buried and Angel couldn't follow.  He laughed and ducked as Angel's fist raced out to connect again, knocking the bigger vampire off balance and enabling Spike to plant his bulky army boot right in the middle of Angel's leather clad back.

In the middle of the scuffle, Faith showed up, her eyes wide as she steadied the stake in her hand.  "Whoa, B.  Give you the night off and you just can't keep your boy in line.  Want me to help him dust Blondie?"

Buffy's eyes widened and she shook her head frantically.  Spike was her painful reminder of failure and she wasn't letting anyone deal with him but her.

"I'm good," she told Faith, feeling reasonably confident with Angel here to help her.  "You finished patrol?"  She raised a perfectly waxed brow in disbelief and Faith grinned.

"Nah.  Was just checkin' the nightlife out.  Looks like it's bitchin'," she admitted admirably as she eyed Spike's sexy coat and even sexier butt.  "Don't worry, B.  I'll leave you to it."  She winked and gave the more seasoned slayer a nudge with her elbow as she passed, then gave chase to a suspicious looking deformed person who was conducting its own pursuit of food.

Buffy returned her attention to the fight—the one that was getting bloodier by the second.

It was confusing, though flattering.  Buffy found herself mystified over who she truly wanted to win; though her head forced her to cheer for the real boyfriend—the one she only vaguely worried about being still too weak for such a confrontation—her heart was rooting for the one who was new at getting her blood to heat at a longing glance.

Spike hunched over and gave every appearance of preparing to ram Angel through the middle, Angel snarling in satisfaction because he was prepared and confident.  Spike started his run up, but at the last minute, instead of connecting with Angel's gut, he threw himself left and slammed both heels into Angel's face.  The brunette stumbled backwards, clutching his nose and moaning sharply as his hands filled with blood. 

Spike didn't mind much that his opponent was preoccupied with his own pain—truth was Angel spent the majority of his day in such a state.  With an even stronger swing of his arm, he caught Angel on the side of the head and knocked him out cold.

Dusting off his bruised hands, Spike stepped away from the mess and turned to leer at a shocked Buffy.  She had moments to process that an evil vampire—primed and motivated purely to drain her of her last drop of blood—had just cleaned the floor with Angel, and that she was very much alone and unprotected, having sent a reluctant Faith off to finish patrol.

One electrifying second and she saw it all again before clashing with Spike's heated demonic eyes, sprinkled with lust and passionate violence.

And gulped hard, spun on her heel and ran like the wind.