Chapter 10: Best Things In Life
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1) Liam = Angel. I would have called him Angel, but it would have confused people, as this is not broody post-gypsy-curse Angel, nor is it sinister Angelus -- it's carousing, ponytailed, Irish accented Liam, albeit an older version. And I think we should all imagine less stringy hair. For everyone's sake.
2) Ines is not from the Buffyverse. Unfortunately there were no fiery Spaniards to choose from. What up Joss???
3) The name of the flamenco song translated here is "A Dibujar esa Rosa (Draw that Rose)". You can hear it at about 2:35 in this clip, though you can watch from the beginning to familiarize yourself with flamenco dance. Which plays a part in this chapter. Strangely, this was the best example I could find of a classic duet. And this is an example of a shirtless, oiled man doing a florid interpretation of a lot of the basic stances and moves of the dance -- ie, a visual aid, if you will.
4) More! More! More of the telling me which parts you like! I love eeet!
Fun.
Buffy was having lots of this. With Spike. And his friends.
The irony was almost too much to bear.
It was hard enough to fathom that he had friends at all. But the people he truly considered friends? She actually liked. A lot. Brilliant bohemian expats who'd sampled just about everything life had to offer, they made her laugh, made her think, and made her look at Spike in a whole new way.
How many dimensions did this man have? And why was this one so appealing? It wasn't until she saw him laugh boisterously at a joke that she was able to pinpoint the reason: he wasn't playing a part. He wasn't calculating or reading or controlling the rotation of the earth. This was him at his most relaxed, his most him. This, it occurred to her, was Spike's natural element.
And if she really thought about it, it was hers, too.
But that would require a level of truth she wasn't ready for yet. Talking good, people fun, beer foamy -- that was the comfiest level she could handle right now.
Avoiding the dread strike three, Buffy sat snugly between the evening's hosts, an Irish artist by the name of Liam, and Lorne, a cabaret singer from the States. They were surrounded by a cast of characters who, though at least fifteen years her senior, were as interested in her views as she was in theirs.
While she, Liam, Lorne and an actress named Jasmine chatted in French, Liam said, "You're slipping, Pratt. This living masterpiece shacks up with your son -- how long ago?"
"Six months," Spike supplied gamely.
"Six months ago! And you haven't stolen her away yet! Or have you?"
"Not even a little," Buffy proclaimed.
"The girl has spurned my every advance," Spike said. "It's disheartening, really."
"The world's gone topsy-turvy," said Lorne. "Honey, you're nothin' but a babe in the woods, why settle for just one guy yet?"
"Why ever settle for just one guy?" Jasmine put forth saucily.
"Exactly," Lorne said, showcasing Jasmine's face and breasts as if she were a Price Is Right prize. "A dish is a terrible thing to waste."
Spike pointed at Buffy with his chin. "She's got principles, this one."
"She's got whatnow?"
"That's a bleedin' shame." Liam clucked his tongue. "Nasty disease, Principles. Never had it meself."
Spike said, "I'm working on a cure."
"Work harder, mate," Liam said, winking at Buffy, "or I'll make a go of it."
Lorne huffed, "Hell, honey, so will I."
As everyone laughed at that, Liam raised his shot glass in toast. "To the elusive Spike Pratt showin' his dumb ugly mug 'round these parts again, and bringin' a lovely, intelligent young lass to make up for it."
"Why thank you, sir," Buffy said, toasted everyone she could reach and knocked back her shot.
Liam nudged Spike. "Are you sure I can't have her?"
"Positive," Spike said.
"Face like that begs to be drawn..."
"That tired line still work for you?"
"Only on you, gorgeous." He grabbed Spike in a headlock and kissed his head. "God, I love this man!"
"I've missed you too, angel face." Spike sent him an air kiss and opened a pack of Gitanes.
"Ten years I don't see this wanker, and he hasn't aged a feckin' day." He took one of Spike's cigs. "Spend all that time in a freezer, mate?"
"In a manner of speaking."
Under a moony glance from Spike, Buffy felt compelled to change the subject. "How did the two of you meet?"
"Orgy," Liam said, and lit his cigarette. "Oh, it was a magical evening. The movie stars were twinkling, the blow was stacked yay high--"
Lorne snapped his fingers. "Hoboken, 1982!"
"Leeds, '83," Liam corrected.
Lorne thought for a second and said, "Nope. Wasn't at that one."
Buffy giggled. Assuming they were joking.
"She's cute when she laughs," Liam said.
With unchecked longing, Spike sighed, "Yeah."
Liam gave him a curious once-over, then snickered to himself. "I see. Well, this is an occasion. Let's have another round, shall we? A good hard liquor can cure any ailment."
"Here, here," said Lorne.
"I'll pass," Buffy said. If she didn't want to be 'cured', she had to space things out.
Spike passed too.
* * *
"Everybody's got their somethin'," Lorne insisted when Buffy said she had no particular talent. "What's your flavor? What's your passion?"
She glanced at Spike, who smiled and said, "Dying sunflowers."
"My kind of girl," Liam said.
Thus began an evolving discussion, first about art, then politics, then law, then art again, that carried them through three clubs, Spike and Buffy locking horns over each changing subject.
She realized she might be enjoying the horn-locking a little too much -- and maybe losing track of her carefully spaced drinking -- when, at a loss for new things to argue about, she disputed Spike's comment that it was starting to rain.
"How do you explain this?" He pointed at the drop of water sliding down his cheek.
"I don't know," she said, aware now that it was, in fact, starting to rain. "Chamberpot fallout? Sadness?"
"This is not a tear, nor nineteenth century piss. It's a raindrop."
"Says you."
"Taste it," Liam suggested. "That'll settle things."
"Ohh no no no," she said, backing away. "I can't touch him. I'm not allowed."
"Why? What happens if you do?"
Her eyes met Spike's. "Apocalypse."
Spike's mouth curled up at the corners. "Revelations."
"So? What's the problem?" When Liam didn't get an answer, he slid his finger over Spike's jaw and held it up to Buffy. "You can touch me, can't you?"
"Touch, yes. Lick, that's where I generally draw the line."
"Fine then. Your loss, my gain." He grabbed Spike's face, licked his cheek, smacked his lips and looked disappointed. "Rain." He cocked his head. "Y flamenco."
"It's raining flamingoes?"
"No, sweet Buffy. It's raining," he slung an arm around her, the other already around Spike, and pointed at a hole in the wall with a Spanish name, "and flamenco will be our shelter."
As Liam placed a hand on her shoulder, she felt a spark of electric tension. It wasn't him -- it was the bridge he'd formed between them. Liam had become an unwitting lightning rod, one that allowed Spike to affect her by proxy.
"You're shivering, love," Liam observed, rubbing her shoulder paternally, not realizing it was causing the shiver. "Need some warm spirits in ye."
The bar was thick with smoke and bodies and raucous noise. "Just one more, and that's it for the night."
"Better make it count then," Liam said. "Ever try the green devil?"
"You mean absinthe? Doesn't that give you hallucinations?"
"Rubbish. It only makes you see what's already there."
"Don't listen to a word this man tells you," Spike said, still caressing her via lightning rod. "You think I'm evil..."
"He learnt from the evillest," Liam said with a wink.
"I'll try it," Buffy said, partly to be contrary, partly to say she had, but mostly to get the tingle-inducing touching to stop.
"That's a girl." Liam patted her on the back and hailed the bartender.
Their connection mercifully broken, Buffy peered at Spike, who was giving her a cryptic smile. "It's just a little shot. Don't get excited."
"I wouldn't dare," he said.
She wondered what was going on in his head. He hadn't made a single move across the chessboard all night, and it was almost one in the morning. What kind of blitz was he planning to unleash, and when?
He couldn't possibly believe that she would cave on her own. That would be a little audacious of him. And wrong.
Liam beckoned from the bar and distributed the glasses to the group.
As Buffy sipped at the diluted concoction, which really didn't taste bad at all, a high-pitched wail sounded from the center of the bar. The wailer, a stunning woman in a flamenco dress, flew into Spike's arms and kissed each side of his face several times.
"Hello, love," he said warmly, and she wailed again, babbled at him in Spanish and kissed him some more.
"I'm here too, Ines," Liam said.
"Escrew you," she said, hugging Spike to her cleavage and mussing his hair. "You took too long to bring him back to me."
The three traded a few words in Spanish, and Spike said, "Ines, this is Buffy. My daughter-in-law."
Buffy might have been pleased that he'd finally gotten her introduction right -- if it wasn't so influenced by the bountiful bosom jiggling before him.
"Ay! Que bonita!" Ines took his hands. "She should see you dance."
"No, love. She should see you dance."
"We dance together. Come, Espike."
"It's been an age, pet; I'm a bit rusty--"
"Rusty. What is rusty? Your blood, she remembers. Make him dance with me, mi ángel."
"Go on," Liam said. "Baila, you old show-off."
"Yes, dance with her," Buffy said curtly, "'Espike'."
Hearing that as a challenge, he took off his jacket and bowed. "If the lady insists."
Ines clapped and hollered at the guitar players, who segued into a dramatic rolling tremolo.
Eyes firm on Ines, Spike untied his tie and held it out to Buffy.
She had no choice but to take it.
He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt, rolled his shoulders, and nodded at Ines.
In one swift motion, Ines grabbed her skirts, twisted at the waist and posed before him, chin high. The music paused, and he responded in kind: at once, he arched his back, puffed out his chest and stamped his feet, arms behind him, body lined like a matador's.
Whoa.
Music returning, Ines curled a hand gracefully through the air to a stop above her head. Spike then curled his own hands, raising them to chest-level. Ines spun away from him, and Spike snapped his fingers as he stalked Ines to the center of the room. There, they began a dance of such intimate pain, Buffy felt like she was intruding.
She'd never paid much mind to flamenco. Before. It was... Well, he was...
"Yeah," Jasmine said, pulling out a stool for Buffy. "You might need to sit down for this."
She almost missed it on the way.
Spike was not rusty. Those joints were well-oiled. The blood, she remembers. Hoo boy, does she remember...
"Olé!" the patrons shouted as the music built into a frenzy. A lay indeed. He was so graceful, but so powerful and masculine and, dare she think it?... hot.
He never once touched Ines, but there was no mistaking his intent to provoke her. Watching him wrench his hips, flick his tongue and contort his mouth as if to say This is what it's like to fuck me, the world eclipsed around Buffy, and for a long, mesmerized moment, she forgot to breathe.
"He is a sexy little rascal, isn't he?" Liam said, and she gasped for air. "Don't look so shocked. You're not the only one in this place wants a ride. I know I would..." he winked and took a drink, "if you were there."
She scoffed, and managed thinly, "I don't want a 'ride'."
"See, when you say 'don't want', I hear 'can't, because it isn't right'." He lowered his head at her. "Am I right?"
Buffy swallowed.
"Morality is a terrible human weakness," Liam said, pouring her more absinthe. "Here, this'll make you stronger."
"No thanks," she said snidely. But then she watched Spike get all forceful and pelvic-thrusty again, and she suddenly changed her mind.
* * *
"Gracias, querida," Spike said, taking back his tie. He slung it over his shoulder, downed another shot of absinthe, and smacked it on the bar. "You all right?"
The question didn't register for a few seconds. "Who? Me?"
"Yes, you." He nodded at a congratulating patron. "Seem a little dazed. Not drinking too much, I hope."
"No," Buffy said, and grasped at whatever excuse she could find. "Just... listening to the singer."
She turned to an old man warbling a flamenco song as if it were his dying words.
"Oh, you understand Spanish?"
She shook her head. "Pretty sure someone killed his puppy, though."
"I'm feeling so confused," he said. "Oh, love of my life."
She tensed, and frowned at him. He nodded at the singer. Oh. Right. Translation.
He stepped up behind her. "And I go over the walls... which lead to your doors..."
Her heart pounded. She bit her lip.
"The poppy in the field said to the wheat, 'I'm not marrying anybody. I don't know about you.'" There was a long pause between the next few lines, but she waited, and so did he. "When I look at her, she cries. I don't know what I should do."
Buffy's eyes fell shut. First the sexy peacock dance, now he was reciting angsty poetry in the vicinity of her ear? He was not playing fair.
"When I look at this lady," he stepped closer, his voice low and raspy, "When she walks around... cinnamon and roses fall to the ground."
She felt lightheaded. "That's pretty."
He stood in silence behind her for too long. She could smell his cologne, his sweat, his desire...
"I have to..." She moved away from him, pointed at the restroom. "Be right back."
* * *
Buffy stood against the bathroom door, chanting to herself.
"I'm going home alone. I'm going home alone. I'm going home alone."
When she emerged, Ines was playfully opening Spike's shirt and feeling him up.
"Definitely going home alone," she resolved, and marched toward the group with new determination and purpose.
Spike noticed her and gently scolded Ines, "Not in front of the children, now."
The children? Sure, they all laughed it off like it was a big joke, but still. If this was his idea of seduction, he needed to take some classes.
"Wanting to go, pet?" he asked Buffy offhandedly. "Liam mentioned an artsy fartsy pub next door."
He turned her way, hair mussed, naked torso exposed, and Buffy broke.
Body of a twenty-two year old? She'd never met a twenty-two year old with a body that defined. Spike had ripply, corded, compact muscles that ran all the way down to his hips, and-- Oh, god, she was staring.
Ines arched a brow at her.
Um...
With a mischievous grin, Liam patted Spike on the back and said, "Change of plans."
* * *
A sex club. That's where Liam's 'change of plans' had led them.
And not just any sex club, but a bondage-themed sex club. Chock full of sadists and masochists and latex and leather and chains -- and did she mention the sex happening everywhere?
Glimpsing a woman whipping a naked man on a wheel, then -- oh god, are they...? yes they are -- Buffy turned to Spike and projected over the thudding music, "Did you put him up to this?"
"I'm just as appalled as you are." Spike was smiling at a couple of naked, writhing girls backlit in blue. "Pretty, aren't they?"
"I don't know," she said snippily, "it's hard to tell from this angle."
The blonde glanced his way and gave them come-hither eyes. "She reminds me of you."
She was five-foot-nine with a little button nose. "Are all blondes just interchangeable pieces of ass in your world?"
He frowned at her. "Are you jealous?"
"No. No, I'm not. I'm thrilled. Fuck her all you want. Make her cling and beg and wake up smiling and whatever else you had planned for me. Please."
He caught her wrist. "Buffy."
"What, Spike? What? I can't--" I can't fight you anymore. "I have to go. Have fun with the pretty lesbians."
"I don't want--!" He breathed out through flared nostrils. "I don't want them."
"Well you can't have me! Okay? I'm not a fucking calculation waiting to happen, I'm not an interchangeable blonde, and I'm not some... joke you can have with your friends! I'm a person, I'm in love with someone else, let me go!"
Buffy slipped away from him and ran into Liam.
"Where are you off to?"
"I um..." She fought back a lump in her throat. "I have to go."
"Go? You just got here. Come with me to the bar. We'll have a drink, you can tell me your troubles."
"She doesn't want another drink, mate," Spike said. "Leave her be."
"Right, I forgot; Spike Pratt, ever the advocate for women's sobriety."
"What did you just say?"
Whoa. She'd never seen him so combative.
"Hey, hey," Lorne said. "Everybody calm down. We're all a little overhappy tonight. I'm sure he didn't mean it about... anyone in particular."
"Oh, I meant it."
Spike lunged at Liam. They were quickly held back by other members of the group.
Buffy didn't stay to find out what they were fighting about or how it ended -- this was her chance to escape. She hurried out of the club, past the bouncer, down the passageway, and to the door.
The rain was coming down hard outside.
"Shit," she said, ducked back inside and took her phone out of her clutch to call a cab.
Three messages from: Lindsey.
Her hands trembling, she clicked the messages.
One hour ago: Guess you're out. Hope you're safe. Call me.
Two hours ago: Trying to call you on cell and at hotel all day. Where are you?
And the first, received during the banquet, when she'd turned off her phone: Hey babe, sorry I missed your calls. I'm gonna try you at hotel. P.S. Don't worry none about Lilah. She's got nothin on you.
She shut her eyes, let the tears spill down her cheeks. Lindsey hadn't done anything wrong, and all this time, she was secretly hoping he had. I'm so sorry, Lindsey...
"Dearest Buffy," she heard Spike say behind her, tone clipped and irate, "can't talk now, too busy shagging slut lawyer. All my love, Linds--"
She turned to slap him, then stopped herself.
"Do it, Buffy," he said, challenging her with a sneer. "Slap me. Touch me. I dare you."
She stared into his eyes, her breath sawing in and out, faster and faster as if she was about to go underwater -- and then she grabbed his head and kissed him.
Their tongues touched, and suddenly he was all over her, pressing against her, hands magnetizing to her spot.
Yes! No. No. No. No!
"Mmnah!" She pushed him off, slapped him as hard as she could, and ran out into the night.
She turned back just once to see him at the open door, eyes dark and predatory. The monster was back -- and would be coming after her, she was sure.
Spike's mouth spread into a grin.
Best things in life start with a slap. If you let them.
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A NOTE ABOUT PLAGIARISM: Don't do it. Call me crazy, but I don't like finding my hard work pasted into other people's stories. If I find out you've plagiarized me or any other author, I will make sure everyone knows it. If you're not clear on what 'plagiarism' means, the definition is here.