— У меня правильнописание хромает. Оно хорошее, но почему-то хромает...(с) Винни-Пух.
Chapter 17: Watch
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A/N: I was going to wait for the French translation of the note here, but meh, you get the idea. Feel free to translate it for me so I can add it in.
STOP TEXTING ME.
Buffy had spent half her work day trying to figure out how to block Spike's calls to her phone, only to learn that it wasn't possible. Her only option was to beg him to stop -- and hope, somehow, that he would actually listen.
In the meantime, she set his ring to silent and changed his ID tag to 'Will'. That way, at first glance Lindsey would assume it was her cousin Willow, a convenient alibi, being six hours away and hard at work on her master's thesis.
And though I can taste you on my tongue coming from a childhood BFF turned lesbian wicca priestess would be tough to explain in its own right, at least it wasn't coming from his father.
Message from Will:
Start taking my calls.
Her phone vibrated for an incoming call. She pressed ignore.
Message from Will:
That was rude.
She tried again:
DO NOT CALL ME OR TEXT ME. PLEASE.
Some time went by. She felt better. Opened a folder and got to work.
Bzzzzzt.
With a heavy sigh, she looked at her phone.
Message from Will:
I find it so much easier to get my point across in person. Don't you?
She couldn't help but smile at that. Such a jerk...
Nice try. I used to believe that, until
Someone walked by her desk, and she tucked her phone away. What was she doing? Why was she playing along? What exactly did she want from Spike Pratt?
Did she not want him to stop?
* * *
"Oh, crap." Buffy wiped the coffee splash off of her tank top. "Coffee, I love you but we're just not working out lately. We might have to break up."
"What's that, babe?" Lindsey asked from the hallway linen closet, grabbing a fresh towel.
"Huey, no." She intercepted the dog before he licked the floor, and cleaned the mess herself. "Nothing. Coffee spillage."
"You get burned?"
"No, but my comfiest shirt has seen better days."
"Hop in the shower with me," Lindsey said with a wink. "I'll turn that frown upside down."
"Shyeah." Whenever they shared a shower, one of them would always be left in the cold, or suffocated by water, plus the slippery surfaces... The movies totally lied. "You go first. I'm gonna caffeinate and get my Sunday Times on."
"Sexy." He smacked her ass. "Don't finish the crossword without me, smartypants."
"Whatever, Little Man Tate. How old were you when you graduated Stanford Law again? Five?"
"I was twenty-one."
"Same diff. You're a supergenius."
"Am I? Or did I just want to get the fuck out of my father's house? Ask yourself."
Her smile faded as he walked away.
* * *
Perusing the headlines, Buffy heard her phone vibrate on the kitchen counter.
Incoming call from: Will
She glanced at the bathroom door, then at Huey. "Don't judge me." She answered it and hissed, "Why would you call me when you know Lindsey's home?"
"Why did you take my call?"
She sat down on the couch. "He's in the shower."
"How convenient for me." It sounded like he was walking somewhere. "Have you dressed yet?"
"Why?"
"What have you got on?"
"You know, I could get you a few numbers from the back of LA Weekly, they'll play this game with you all day long for a nominal fee."
"But you're the only one I want to talk to, and it's a serious inquiry."
"Fine. If you must know, I am wearing this gnarly old wifebeater I've had since college," she pulled it away from her body to inspect it, "complete with sexy new coffee stains; frumpy gray boycut undies and a butt-ugly pair of brown wool socks. Oh, and I have yet to shower or shave."
There was a pause. "Don't change. I'll be right there."
She chuckled, "Right."
"Eleven oh eight, yeah? I just passed the ninth floor."
She sat up. "You're here? Are you insane? Lindsey's in the shower--"
"How long of a shower does he usually take?"
"No. No, no, no, you can't--"
"How long?"
"I-I don't know, twenty minutes?"
"When did he start?"
"Five minutes or so before you called, but--"
"Don't change a thing, don't fix your hair, don't move except to answer the door."
"This is stupid, Spike. Stupid, and wrong, and--"
"I'm here. Shall I ring the bell, or will you let me in?"
"Don't you dare ring the bell! Just-- wait a second." She herded Huey to the balcony and bounded to the front door.
He looked ...surprising. Instead of a suit, there was a blue cashmere v-neck sweater over a white dress shirt, with the tails showing, and then the little hint of Pavlovian cologne... Buffy had to remind herself that this was an outrage. "What the hell are you doing, hanging around my building? You're acting like a stalker!"
He smirked at her striped wool socks. "They are ugly."
"Okay, fine. You've seen the funny socks. Go home."
"Do your nipples poke out like that normally, or is it only when I'm around?"
With a scoff, she pulled him inside and closed the door. "Can we not discuss my nipples in the hallway?"
"Fine with me," he said, pushed her against the coats, touched her spot and sniffed her neck. Huey started barking from the balcony. "Mmm. Dirty girl."
"Stop... stop... st-ahhh." She pushed him to arm's length and he snickered at her. "This isn't a joke. You have to go!"
"We've got thirteen minutes."
"It could be less, I don't know!" He licked her armpit. "You're disgusting, god, will you stop?"
"No," he said, moved down her body and inhaled heartily at her crotch. Then he sucked her pussy through the briefs, pulled them down to her knees and tongued her.
"Ah! Okay, okay, stop. Seriously, this is so -- hunh..."
He slung one of her feet over his shoulder and went to town.
"Mmnh! Hunh! Unh..." She dug her socked toes into his back, grabbed his head and humped his face.
Race against time, race against time, oh god, oh god...
He stuck a thumb into her ass and rubbed her spot and she was as good as done. Trembling, eyes rolling up in ecstasy, she bit back a yelp and gushed into his mouth.
Spike stood up to give her a rough, heady kiss, then spun her to face the hall mirror. Unzipping his pants, he cupped a hand over her mouth and thrust into her, watching her eyes in the reflection.
"Pull up your shirt," he said, fucking her fast and deep. "Show Daddy your tits."
She shut her eyes, then lifted her shirt.
"Look at me."
His hot, predatory stare and his ragged breath would have totally gotten her off again if they'd had another five, ten minutes to spare. But they didn't, and she was terrified of being caught, so she said, "Come inside me, Daddy."
This worked for him. Really well.
Face contorting, body spasming, he held her fast as he filled her up.
When it was over, he gave her neck a squeeze and whispered, "Dirty hair, ugly socks, I don't bloody care. I want you always."
While she dealt with that declaration, he pressed something into her hand, closed her fingers over it, and kissed her cheek.
"I won't take it back," he said.
A small ribboned box.
By the time it registered that he'd given her a gift, he was gone.
The perfume. It had to be the perfume. Which she would never ever wear. She would sooner smash it, or sell it on eBay and send the proceeds to Spike's most hated charity...
Only it wasn't perfume. It was a stunning gold Cartier watch, lined with diamonds.
Underneath it was a handwritten note: To my favorite not-secretary, for all your hard work in Paris. In French, he added, May you always have the time.
Numbly, she closed the box, shakily pulled her briefs up her legs, and opened the balcony door for the dog.
"You don't have to say it, Huey," Buffy said. "Mommy's a whore."
Read on... >>
P.S. I can has MOAR commentz pleez? *big kittycat eyes*
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.
@темы: Сперто. Без суда и следствия., spuffy, Spike, Buffy&Angel, Art, Crave, NautiBitz, Buffy, fanfiction