The Slayer and
Her Vampire
Chapter Two
For Ghostgirl13
By the time he collapsed on the stool at Willy's bar, he was struggling
to stay upright. The Slayer had kept her arm around him the whole walk
and had even given a few demons the evil eye as they made moves toward
Spike. What kind of moves she didn't wait to confirm. The first one who
got too close lost an arm. Literally. After that, they stayed back and
just wondered at this strange pairing sitting at the bar. One with
glass after glass of blood chased with several shots of the good stuff,
the other with an uncorrupted can of soda.
Once upon a time—and not so long ago—he would have thought sitting in
companionable silence at a demon bar with his mortal enemy would have
been the stuff of nightmares. Rather it felt peaceful; calm. Almost
natural. As if two supernatural creatures created to destroy one
another were the perfect drinking buddies. Even if it was the aim of
one to not get pissed—or even have the hard tasting liquor pass her
lips.
Once the fire of alcohol seemed a permanent burn down his throat, Spike
felt his muscles relax and his legs go numb. By then, it didn't seem to
make a lick of difference that the girl perched beside him had deadly
stakes stashed all over her body. Spike squinted at a portion of said
body, intent on locating just one of the little buggers, and found
himself leaning over far and landing in her lap with only the slightest
thump against the bar top.
Her lap was nice. Soft and comfy with the most tantalising aroma that
went straight to his goolies. When he felt the velvet softness of her
hand stoking his face and then her fingers tangling in his hair he knew
he was in trouble.
"I think you might have had enough, Spike," she said to him and for a
second his sloshed brain tried to tell him she was singing. Singing
god-awful poetry, sure, but something tinkling and lovely and gleaming.
And bloody hell was her lap the most comfy place he had ever rested his
head. It led to thoughts of other soft bits that might be comfy and in
the shock of that moment, he shot up and hit his nose on the bench in
his upswing.
"Ow," he whined.
"Poor baby," she comforted as she leaned forward and kissed it.
Both sets of eyes became as huge as saucers and immediate freakage took
place.
"That so did not happen," she almost screeched into the dead silence of
Willy's, her voice cracking in sudden fright at her impulsive actions.
"Bloody right it didn't." His eyes bugged even as other parts of him
tingled. Her lips had been nice, felt warm and slippery as if she'd
just licked them. He was hard pressed to keep his hand from swiping her
taste from the tip of his nose onto his finger so he could hold it
against his lips and sample what he felt a great need to.
They stopped and stared, words lost as they scrambled for some foothold
in territory that had suddenly become foreign.
"'M gonna still need that help gettin' out of here, luv. Legs are all
wonky."
That concern shot through her once again, bringing forth slivers of
gold mixed with her calm green that he'd not seen in her eyes before.
Not that he'd ever been this close to her and bothered to look.
"Can you stand?"
She held her hand against his waist as he slipped forward on his stool
to test his weight on one foot. His knee buckled before he could find
purchase against the surface and her brows crinkled in worry. She
seemed frantic to land on a plan, her eyes darting back and forth
between Willy and the numerous evil patrons who would love to take
Spike out of the picture. Something seemed to click and her gaze
settled on the bar owner with a ferocity steeped deep in Slayer legend.
"Clear the place. Now."
Willy jumped; the cold force of her voice sent anxiety tripping along
his veins as his blood pounded through his body.
Within seconds his fear motivated his feet to scuttle around the bar
and he very effectively convinced every patron to leave with only minor
grumbling along the way. He fidgeted in the middle of the room, eyeing
the odd blond couple still perched up at his bar.
"Gimme your keys."
The objection was immediate and without caution.
"Oh no. I've heard about your driving skills—of the 'don't have any'
variety."
"And I've heard how easy it is to crack your skull. Go pull your car
around the front then give me the keys. And Willy?" The weedy little
man stood perfectly still, heart pounding with fear and a little
irritation at being forced to give up his belongings because he was
weaker.
"Yeah?" he asked hesitantly, a tiny shiver taking possession of his
limbs.
"Make sure none of your customers are waiting outside because I will
kill them all. Might be kinda bad for business." She finished on a
smile, catching Spike's fingers in a random show of affection that left
him gasping a breath.
Willy wasted no time leaving and they almost immediately heard the roar
of some presumably ugly old clunker. Buffy felt her belly clench in
worry, knowing that Willy wasn't that far wrong about her driving
skills. Thoughts of wrapping some big tank around an electric pole gave
her icy fingers of dread circling her neck.
When she returned to the present—by virtue of a very yummy squeeze on
her fingers—it was to see Spike's head tilted to the side and a
question in his eye.
"Why haven't you staked me, Slayer? It's why I came looking for you."
She cringed at the reminder, being quite comfortable in forgetting that
she had had him sprawled beneath her body and a stake ready to be
thrust between his ribs. The image was suddenly abhorrent, despite the
cruel jibes and the frightening promises of death. Honestly, she
couldn't answer his question. Nothing was making sense—except that he
couldn't fight back, and that seemed more of a crime than she should be
wanting to consider.
"The night is still young, Spike. Let's move your ass outside and get
you home before I change my mind." And so she filled him up with some
of her empty threats, unknowingly sparking a trend of forgiveness and
tolerance that seemed unexplainable.
He gazed at her in wonder and she shuddered under the intensity of his
consideration. Her tongue seemed suddenly incapable of words and
instead she grabbed his arm, slung it round her shoulders and bared the
majority of his weight as she half-dragged him to the doorway.
Willy practically threw her the keys, caught in the graceful hand of
the evil vampire she had hanging bare centimetres from her exposed
neck.
Their eyes clashed in uncertainty, steps fumbling a little confusion.
Buffy could feel her own body reacting—completely without her
permission. Her fingers gently massaged the wrist of his arm slung
around her neck as if he were someone special—if not her boyfriend. Her
other arm gripped him around the waist, catching on his jutting
hipbone. His thinness and pale colour did little in making her happy to
take him back amongst the monster pit.
"You have to, pet," his voice soothed her secret worry. "They don't
know I've gone an' besides, I've nowhere else to go."
It was on the tip of her tongue to refute that, to offer her own
basement as a nice dark cubbyhole in which to heal—and be available for
whatever reason Slayer's needed evil soulless vamps free in their homes.
Instead she nodded, bundled him far too carefully into the passenger
seat, and contemplated the controls in the car for a full ten minutes
before jerking and sputtering to a laughable roll into the street.
Finally confident she had it worked out, she chanced a quick glance to
the side and nearly screamed at how corpselike Spike looked.
"Jesus, Slayer. Who in the fuck taught you to drive?"
The Slayer just smiled and drove on.