Bicep aching and heart pounding, Buffy rushed into the busy midway, her smile fading as reality struck. She could sail up that river in Egypt all she wanted, but deep down inside she knew she had deliberately made that sound and done the whole licky thing to get to him. As if their furious spell-induced necking session from the previous week wasn't enough, she'd decided to test out her feminine wiles sans magical enhancement.
For the record, the wiles were working just fine.
Revolted with herself, Buffy shuddered. She clearly needed psychiatric treatment. Too bad she had a whole college education and regular world save-age gig that sucked up her free time.
“Hell of a tactical maneuver,” Spike purred, announcing his presence at her side.
Possessed. She had to be possessed to have brought that spell up again. Maybe he'd let it go.
“I'll bet you remember a lot of maneuvers that worked on me,” he said, voice dropped to a sultry murmur that made her knees wobble.
Maybe not.
“Shut up before I rip your tongue out!” she snapped.
“Not likely. It's your favorite part,” he goaded, still keeping up with her. “You told me, yourself.”
“Do you want to explore life as a floating particle of filth?” she snarled. “I was under a spell! A spell that I've mostly forgotten, and you need to forget about right now!”
Right. She forgot about his fingers tickling the backs of her knees while he licked the curve of her neck. She also forgot about the way he held his breath when she touched him, which should have been stupid, but was really kind of hot. And most of all, she forgot how he kissed. With his fingers threaded in her hair and his tongue working the kind of magic that even spells couldn't mojo up.
Buffy rubbed her temples vigorously, trying to release the demon that had obviously taken over her brain. Should she call Giles?
Giles, help. I flirted with Spike to win an arm wrestling match and mentally replayed lots of icky make-out scenes from Willow's spell gone wrong.
Okay, going to Giles was out. Buffy looked around. Maybe there was a convenient way to seal up the Hellmouth, dust Spike, and kill herself.
“Admit it, Slayer,” Spike challenged, voice barely audible over the screaming horn of one of the Appalachain rides in the immediate vicinity. “You and I hate each other, yeah?”
“This is something that I need to admit? I was actually thinking about ordering a t-shirt,” she snarked, eager for the bickering to push her hormones into the background.
“Ha bloody ha,” he said, pausing in front of the noisy ride. Buffy's eyes flicked to it with interest, and then back to Spike, who was watching her enigmatically. “But it only proves my point. The world isn't black and white like you want it to be. No matter how much we hate each other,” he continued, “That little bit back at the table proved one thing, pet. You didn't forget that spell any more than I did.”
“We're leaving,” she said. “Now.” Yes, leaving was good. Get out of this crazy carnival before things got any weirder.
“Proof in point,” he said, gesturing at her smugly.
She stopped in her tracks and spun to face him. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think it means?” Spike snarled, marching up until they were toe to toe. “You may have spent half this night threatening to stake me, but you've had a bit of fun, too, and that scares the hell out of you. You say you want to be normal?” He laughed, bitterly. “Sure, you do. The minute you start having a little bit of normal fun, you're back to the Good Little Soldier Girl following her commands.”
“I could never have fun with you,” she ground out, hating him because she knew it wasn't true. And hating Riley for good measure, because he was a soldier and she so didn't need the reminder.
“Oh, yes you could,” Spike said, his eyes flicking over her in a way that made her pulse trip like an over-excited puppy. “Could and did.”
He touched his tongue to his top teeth and her thighs burst into flames. “Want a reminder, luv?”
He issued the words mockingly, but she could see the temptation swirling in his expression. And that same temptation was still doing a hell of a number on her, because she was feeling his words everywhere . Before she could betray anything more than her body's traitorous reaction, she turned her head, focusing on the furious pace of the ride. The carts were flying around the track, in and out of the tunnel while the music drowned out all but the loudest screams.
“Look at you, all pouty lipped and shaking knees,” he taunted. “You say you want normal, but you're scared to death to want anything, aren't you?”
Buffy turned back to him, “Fine! You want to know what I want? I want to ride this.”
Spike gave an incredulous snort, which Buffy pointedly ignored, nodding at the ride. “That's right, you heard me, I want to ride this thing, and since I can't kill you and I can't get rid of you, you're going to ride it with me.”
He shifted on his feet, obviously gritting his teeth at her total shut down. Which, she kind of got, because it sounded a lot like the “la la la…not listening!” routine to her too.
Finally, shoving his hands in his pockets, he sighed. “I used the only tickets I had at the Ferris wheel.”
She refused to reply or acknowledge him in any way. Maybe he'd just go. Just go far away so she could stand here and come to terms with the loss of her mind and dignity in peace and non-quiet.
“Get in line,” he said, with a weary wave. “I'll be back in a minute.”
Buffy nodded absently, her eyes fixed to the blur of cars and lights as they spun past faster and faster, AC/DC wailing out of every speaker. She walked over to the end of the line, body taut with wariness. Since when did her life become the place where normal boys turn into army freaks and psycho archrivals can read right through you? Probably the same time when you stopped caring when the homicidal maniac vampire wandered away with a vague promise to return with ride tickets. Or maybe the time when you forgot that vampires are walking corpses and therefore not appropriate eye candy.
Someone tapping her on the arm jarred Buffy out of her reverie. She turned to find a slim brunette, freshly lip-glossed and dressed to kill, standing behind her.
“Is this the line?”
“Yeah,” she said. “But you can go ahead. I'm waiting on tickets.”
Ms. Don't-you-wish-you-could-be-me laughed pleasantly, “Me too. I love these things.”
Buffy turned back to the line and examined her nails for lack of anything better to do. They looked nice. Granted, the rest of her life was swirling down the toilet bowl, but at least she was freshly manicured.
“Hey, did you get them?” Buffy grimaced as the pretty girl's excitement filtered through the din. Perfect. She was probably with some incredibly hot, yet normal guy that never left town for “the best”, wasn't a secret commando, and didn't believe Clorox was a brand of hair coloring products.
“Yeah, I did,” a male voice replied. A really, really familiar male voice. Buffy's brow furrowed.
She turned slightly sideways only to jerk back the minute she saw him. Great. Of all the lines of all the rides in the world, it would only be fitting that he ended up in hers.
“Buffy, is that you?”
Cursing inwardly, she clenched her fists and turned around to face them. “Parker,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “How have you been?”
With a pleased smirk, he wrapped his arm around his date's waist. “Good, good!” then with a pointed look at the girl, sighed, “Things have been great. And you?”
She wondered if it would be very wrong to stake a human.
“The best,” she gritted out, false smile still in place.
Being a white hat sucked royally.
***
Spike slammed down his money irritably and took the tickets. He'd finally gotten away from her for two minutes and hadn't managed to score so much as a handful of pocket change. People around these places were practically dripping with cash, but he was too busy standing in line to buy tickets to notice. And for what? So he could get sick to his stomach on some spinning ride for the chance to get all scrunched up next to his…his what? His date? His school sweetheart? Hell's sake, she was the fucking Slayer! Bane of his existence and all that.
About time he stopped getting all tight in the trousers over a damned arm wrestling match and started remembering how he really wanted the Slayer. Which was dead. Tickets received, Spike spun to find her in line, his mind eager to focus on the things he hated. Her ridiculous shoes. Her crooked nose. That prim little expression she got whenever she was taking charge and feeling righteous. So, the one she wore every other damned minute. Her damned bouncy hair. Actually, he liked her hair. And that in itself was one more reason she needed to die.
Spotting said head of hair about midway through the line, Spike gritted his teeth and marched past a few game stands. He stopped short as he realized she was having a conversation with a vaguely familiar git. He took in the scene before him, the brunette wrapped around the boy's arm, the boy looking amused and Buffy looking one step from mortified. All in all, it looked like a good time to him.
Where the hell had he seen this kid, anyway? Had he bitten him? Mugged him? Ordered a burger from him at the Beef Shack? Buffy's nervous laugh floated by on a candy apple breeze and his eyes widened as he remembered their meeting. Shouldn't have taken so long since he was one of about four humans he'd seen up close in daylight in the last century or so.
A cruel smile curved his lips as he resumed a lazy stroll towards the line. Brilliant. This was just the thing he needed to put him back in the right mindset. No little sexy murmurs or hints of fruity lip gloss. Just the sweet surrender of Slayer pride as she was humiliated beyond her worst nightmares. All things considered, it wasn't a bad way to kick her ass.
“Mandy dragged me here after dinner,” the boy said, nuzzling her hair.
“I wanted a keychain,” the girl, presumably Mandy, said, shaking her glittery prize while Buffy blinked.
“And how can I say no? So, are you here alone?” the boy continued, a mean edge lacing his sugary tone. Spike cracked his neck and tried to force himself to keep moving. Why the hell wasn't he enjoying this more? And for that matter, why was he hanging back instead of stepping up to rub a bit of salt in the wound?
He tilted his head and watched the Slayer struggle for a response. “Yes and no,” she said evasively, then after another pause, sucked in a deep breath and braved the boy's direct gaze. “Right this second, yes.”
Oh bloody hell, girl, you're the Slayer! Can't you do better than that?
“Oh,” the girlfriend cooed sympathetically, while her beau smirked from behind her. “That stinks. This is more fun for couples.”
Her lip trembled. It was just for a second, just this tiny little quiver before she pushed herself into a good-natured grin and shrugged. Spike rolled his eyes as she shivered and wrapped her arms across herself. God, she was pathetic. Letting the little prick preen about like a rooster while she fought tears and nibbled at her lip. Girl needed to remember exactly who she was.
And he was the one to show her?
Spike stalled, jaw ticking as he tried to sort through the mix of emotions running through him. He should want to kill her. Hell, he knew that. Should want to drape her intestines around like garland. Trouble was, he didn't and truth was, he hadn't in awhile. Ever since he'd come to with her wiggling on top of him, he'd been too damn distracted by the memory of her kisses to remember why he'd been so gung ho on killing her in the first place.
Torn between self-loathing and a twisted desire to play the shining knight, he spun on his heel, duster billowing behind him. He stalked to the nearest game booth and scanned the tawdry prize offerings, his irritation so hot he could feel the itch of his fangs. Finally spotting a perfect choice amongst them, he marched up to the trailer and slapped a dollar on the counter.
“Give me a bloody dart,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, wearily.
“I'll give you three,” the heckler said with a chuckle. “Looks like you've had a rough night.”
As soon as the darts were dropped in his hand, Spike sent them into the dead center of three separate white stars like greased bullets. The carnie's jaw dropped and Spike crossed his arms.
“You have no idea,” he responded bitterly, pointing in abject horror at the fluffy pink bear dangling at the far end of the trailer.
The carnie blinked first, then off Spike's raised eyebrow, remembered to close his mouth as he moved to retrieve the prize. The vampire could feel the man's eyes on his back as he marched back towards Buffy. He tugged off his duster as he went, throwing it over his arm and rearranging his grip on the bear until the stitching protested.
“Looks like we're next,” the boy was saying as Spike came up behind Buffy.
“You can sit with us if you want!” his girl added with a smile that was not entirely unkind.
“Looks like I just made it,” Spike said, approaching Buffy from behind. Before she could react, he wrapped an arm around her waist. Leaning down to murmur in her ear, he brought the bear around and gave it a cheerful wiggle in front of her. “Will that do, pet?”
She stiffened beneath his touch and turned her face. She was so close that he could damn near taste her, and it was sending a trail of fire up his spine. Doing the knight routine wasn't all bad, he supposed.
“You didn't have to do this,” she said awkwardly.
“Like to keep my girl happy,” he said, putting his coat around her shoulders. “And warm.”
“I'm so glad he made it,” Mandy whispered and Spike smirked exultantly.
Buffy nodded awkwardly and managed to slip her arms into the duster, her expression the picture of consternation. She pulled her hair out of the leather collar and Spike moved beside her, watching her tip her head at the now intrigued pillock who'd previously been watching her like a particularly amusing chipmunk. Her lips opened for what Spike guessed would be an introduction. The rider operator chose that exact moment to unchain the path and usher the new riders on.
Spike turned to face the appropriate direction, and moved up the stairs, arm snug around Buffy's waist as they were led to a waiting car. They slipped inside and raised their hands as the bar was pushed over their laps. All the while, Buffy said nothing. Her silence was unnerving. And the crease of her brow did not improve matters. He had a sick feeling that he was about to find himself on the wrong end of a wooden object.
Safety bars clicked all around as the rest of the riders were seated. Spike bit his tongue and considered his options while he stared at the operator's booth. He could run. But where to? He could take his chances. Didn't seem her style to stake him so publicly. Then again, a ride like this moved fast. Lots of things can happen when the music's loud and the lights are low. He opted for reasoning with her.
“Don't get brassed off with me, Slayer. A trained monkey could have done a better job of showing that wanker... ”
“Alright girls and boys, are you ready to get wild?!” the operator rumbled over the loudspeaker. The riders roared eagerly. Well, most of the riders.
“Look, I'm just saying that you were drowning back there! He was strutting around like a complete... ”
“Are you running a little hot tonight?!” he rumbled again and Spike growled at the interruption.
A vaguely familiar rock beat was climbing in the distance as the ride began to move. He turned to find Buffy facing him, her knuckles white on the bar despite them barely moving. There was something desperate about her expression, some arcane need in her eyes that called to him like a siren's song.
“—pillock. Why in the hell does a girl like you put up—“
“Are you read to take your medicine?” the carnie nearly yelled.
That time Spike didn't hear the roars of the crowd. He didn't even feel the surge of the ride moving faster or notice the sudden increase in the music volume. The one thing he could feel was Buffy, her lemon and sugar lips suddenly pressed up against his fiercely, her warm fingers wrapped around his arm. She touched her tongue to the seam of their mouths and he groaned, sucking in a tight breath when she pulled away.
The ride lurched into high speed, sending them both sliding towards the inside of the cart, the fire of her kiss still burning through his skin.
Your love is like bad medicine
Bad medicine is what I need
Spike slammed sideways into her shoulder. He turned to face her, bracing his arms on either side of her body as he struggled against the push of gravity. In and out of the tunnel they went, round and round with her heartbeat and the music pumping furiously in his long dead veins.
First you need
Huddled into the side of the cart, she braved a look at him, her mouth slack and inviting despite the wariness that radiated off of her in waves.
Spike brought one hand back and reached forward, ignoring her token jerk of protest as he brushed his thumb slowly over her lips.
Then you bleed
Unable to resist the rapid hammer of her pulse or the taste of her still lingering in his senses,
Spike leaned in to kiss her. She pulled away, but he could smell her hunger now, could feel it warring
against her judgment. His lips slid to her jawline instead, teeth pressing at the place where her pulse
thundered away.
On your knees
The ride ground to a stop and Buffy shoved him away, her hands coming to rest on her flamed cheeks as the carts reversed, gears churning as they shifted to move backwards. She fought to keep a grip on the handle, squeezing her eyes shut as they moved faster.
The motor whirred into high gear, sending the carts hurtling backwards around the track. Spike spread his arms and let the force slam him into his side of the car. He kept his body turned towards her as much as the seat would allow, a predator lying in wait for his prey. Gravity was a wicked hunter. Even Slayer strength was no match for Mother Nature. This was pure physics and chosen or not, it was only a matter or time.
Buffy gave a strained yelp as her grip on the lap bar began to slip. They hit the downward slope outside of the tunnel and she slid across the seat, her hands scrambling on the seat and finding purchase on his denim covered thigh. She clenched hard, her arms straining to push herself away from him.
And now this boy's addicted 'cause your kiss is the drug
Spike hissed at the feel of her nails through his jeans. He pushed his hands into her hair, moving it clear of her face. One last look and he dove in. Wind howling and music screaming, he kissed her like he'd waited a lifetime for it.
This time she didn't fight long. Just one breath of hesitation then her hands curled over his leg as she whimpered into his mouth. And bugger all if he didn't whimper himself when her lips opened and he could finally truly taste her.
Bad, bad medicine
She tasted of all things forbidden, of sweetness and fire and life. As their tongues danced, Spike dropped his hands to her body, hauling her closer. The feel of her, warm curves and smooth flesh wrapped in his duster. It was driving him wild.
Time passed, or maybe it didn't. It didn't matter. Nothing outside the feel of her lips mattered. The rhythm of their kiss was all that existed, mouths parting only long enough to spare Buffy a ragged gasp of air before they melded together again, fire and ice, right and wrong. His hands were roaming the silky expanse of her bare legs as hers were circling his neck to pull him closer. She took him over, her soft sighs and warm lips sending him on the ride of his unlife.
When they parted again, he nuzzled the column of her neck, eyes closed as he murmured, “Je suis toujours sous ton charme.”
There was a sudden jolt as the ride ground to a halt and Spike lifted his head and blinked in the haze of neon lights. He pulled away from Buffy's hair as the carnie lifted the bar, his gaze focused on her face. Stormswept eyes and lip caught between her teeth, she was torn between two worlds. And hell if he didn't know that story. Could probably hum the theme music.
He took her hand, snatching the bear from the floor as they made their way out of the ride. She stumbled after him, her fingers wrapped tightly around his own as he moved them through the crowds, eyes searching for a place. For any place.
They moved through the throng in silence, two hunters slicing a silent path through a cacophony of giddy fun-seekers.
“Where are you taking me?” she whispered breathlessly, her voice a mix of fear and anticipation.
“Through the looking glass, Alice.” he said raggedly, finally spotting what appeared to be an out of order Fun House in the distance.
A couple of lonely lights dotted the exterior, but looked to be for show. No crowds, no lines and nary a carnival employee in sight. He inhaled deeply, satisfied that no other humans were nearby. It wasn't exactly the comforts of home, but his hands were itching for her skin and at this point an unlocked car would have been just fine.
“What am I doing?” she breathed, sounding panicked as she followed him.
Spike slipped around the back of the structure and released her hand just long enough to snap the sturdy chain holding the service door closed. He eased it open, then reached for her fingers again quickly, pleased that she didn't resist him.
“No. Wait. I can't do this. This is crazy.”
Spike surveyed her casually, his thumb tracing a circle on her wrist. “Yeah? Well, something tells me you could do with a bit of crazy.”
She jerked her hand free, then, her eyes wide and expression uncertain.
He waited for her next move. Had he been forced to guess, he would have wagered a lot of things that she might have said or done in response to that statement. Most were along the lines of staking him or storming off with righteous indignation all aflutter. Walking inside without so much as another word, however, was something he never would have guessed.
Still reeling in surprise, he followed her in, closing the door behind them.
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