Fic: Under The Influence (1/1)
Cross-posted to lateseasonlove, where - lucky for me - the deadline for this challenge was extended to today. Un-beta'd because I literally just finished it. The challenge was to write a fill-in-the-blank fic for this episode which adheres to canon.
Author: Cindy
Title: Under The Influence
Characters: Spike, Buffy
Rating: R
Length: 1162 words
Setting: Takes place between the scene of Spike and Buffy drinking in his crypt and when they arrive at the demon bar.
It's an age old story: a girl, a boy, and a motorcycle. So the girl happens to be a suicidally depressed slayer, and the boy is an evil vampire. Evil, I tell you. :-)
"Try on my world. See how good it feels."
She gave Spike a doubtful look, but to be honest, so far it was feeling pretty nice. The whiskey hadn't tasted very good, but she did like the way she felt after. The burn in her throat, the warmth in her tummy. And it gave her head a soft, fuzzy feeling that made the bad less bad, and the good...well, there wasn't much good, and it made it easier to forget that.
Spike hopped gracefully off the sarcophagus and held out his hand. She stared at it a moment, amazed at its steadiness, considering how drunk he was. He raised that 'ooh I'm a dangerous yet sexy bad guy' eyebrow. "Come on, then."
Buffy considered her alternatives. She could either go with Spike, go out on patrol, or go home to her friends and family. She imagined their faces, smiling and eager to hear about her day. Alrighty then. Demon bashing with Spike it was.
"I'm coming, I'm coming! Keep your pants on." And that had sounded somewhat less dirty in her head. Or would have, if her head hadn't been filled with cotton candy. Spike's smirk told her it sounded kind of dirty to him, too. She ignored his hand, jumping down off the sarcophagus herself and somehow ending up with her ass on the cold, hard floor.
"See! I told you somebody was messing with me," she said, this time grabbing his offered hand and letting him pull her to her feet.
"Yeah. An' his name is Jack Daniels."
God, he was annoying, but she decided to ignore it for now. She followed Spike outside, stopping to lean against the door and take in deep lungfuls of crisp, fresh air. Her head began to clear, just in time for Spike to pull his motorcycle out from behind the crypt.
"Hop on, Slayer."
"I, uh..." Crap. She'd forgotten all about the motorcycle. Her inner panic must've actually been outer panic, because Spike approached her with a swagger she hadn't seen from him in awhile.
"What's the matter?" he asked, practically toe to toe with her now. "Is the Slayer scared?"
Buffy took a step back, then forced herself to stop. She was so not scared of Spike and his great big...motorcycle.
"Of course not. I...just don't think you should drink and drive, that's all!" Yes! That was it. "All those...mothers might come after you. The ones who are against that. You know. And you don't want a bunch of moms after you, do you?" Good one, Buffy.
"Not if they're anything like yours, I don't. One tough lady, she was. Would do anything for her daughter, wouldn't she?" Her breath caught when he mentioned her mom, his smile warm and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners. Blue flecked with gold, like sunlight on water and oh my God she really was drunk. "But I'm fine," he said, straddling the seat. "Vampire physiology. Apparently we handle our liquor better than slayers, even."
"I don't think so."
"Whatever. Get on the bloody bike."
Buffy climbed on behind him, placing her hands gingerly at his waist and willing the butterflies fluttering in her stomach to please just be still. Actually, they must be something larger than butterflies. Like birds. California Condors, for instance.
He glanced back at her over his shoulder. "You ready?"
Buffy swallowed hard. "Sure. It's just that I haven't ridden on a motorcycle in a long time. It might be...fun."
His grin was downright evil. "Oh, it will be."
She tightened her arms around him as he brought the engine to life, then tighter still as he revved the motor and took off. The bike vibrated beneath her, the sensations traveling through her body, beginning in her groin and blossoming outward. Any attempt to keep some space between his body and hers was a futile effort. As they leaned into a turn, she was pressed up against his solid back, the laws of physics giving her no choice in the matter. It was out of her hands now, and damn if it didn't feel good. Spike turned his wrist, increasing their speed. The world rushed by, just a blur. Nothing for her to think about, to worry about. They were flying.
And the whole thing was kind of...hot. Her breasts were pressed against his back, and only the fabric of their clothing separated her crotch from his ass. Her thighs embraced him, and the two of them responded to each movement of the bike as one body, as if they were one with the bike as well. Fun was not exactly the right word. She couldn't catch her breath, and the vibrations of the bike continued to course and throb throughout her body. Her hands slipped down, and she felt his stomach muscles jump under her touch. And if she just moved her hands down another few inches...
Oh, God. Stupid motorcycle making her think stupid things. Ridiculous things. So very wrong things. It was like a giant vibrator, that's what it was. It had nothing to do with Spike. She tried to think of something else, and not about how broad his shoulders were, or how narrow his waist. Or how she like the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck, his neck that was so close now that she could lean forward and press her mouth against it with hardly any effort at all. She tried not to think about how strong his hands looked as they gripped the handle bars, or how she could see the corded muscles of his thighs even through the denim of his jeans.
The bike roared as Spike opened up the throttle, and Buffy nearly screamed, clinging to him as they sped down the road. Spike threw his head back and laughed, and she could feel his chest rising and falling - he was dead, but he was more alive than she was. She should yell at him. Tell him to slow down. Instead she lay her cheek against his back, imagining that she could absorb some of that life force through the smooth, cool leather of his coat.
Finally, they arrived at the bar. Spike killed the engine, but that didn't stop the throbbing between her legs. He put down the kickstand and dismounted, turning and blinking at her slowly as he once again held out his hand to help her off. She accepted the first time, swinging her leg over the side slowly, hoping to avoid a repeat performance of her crypt collapse. But she must still be a little drunk, because her legs were shaking, and she gripped his hand tightly for support. And all she could think of was how good it would feel to keep going. To slide her arms around his neck, to press her body against his again. And hold on.
She pulled her hand away, and headed toward the entrance to the bar, swaying a little as she did. "Let's go, Spike," she said. "I really need another drink."
Author: Cindy
Title: Under The Influence
Characters: Spike, Buffy
Rating: R
Length: 1162 words
Setting: Takes place between the scene of Spike and Buffy drinking in his crypt and when they arrive at the demon bar.
It's an age old story: a girl, a boy, and a motorcycle. So the girl happens to be a suicidally depressed slayer, and the boy is an evil vampire. Evil, I tell you. :-)
"Try on my world. See how good it feels."
She gave Spike a doubtful look, but to be honest, so far it was feeling pretty nice. The whiskey hadn't tasted very good, but she did like the way she felt after. The burn in her throat, the warmth in her tummy. And it gave her head a soft, fuzzy feeling that made the bad less bad, and the good...well, there wasn't much good, and it made it easier to forget that.
Spike hopped gracefully off the sarcophagus and held out his hand. She stared at it a moment, amazed at its steadiness, considering how drunk he was. He raised that 'ooh I'm a dangerous yet sexy bad guy' eyebrow. "Come on, then."
Buffy considered her alternatives. She could either go with Spike, go out on patrol, or go home to her friends and family. She imagined their faces, smiling and eager to hear about her day. Alrighty then. Demon bashing with Spike it was.
"I'm coming, I'm coming! Keep your pants on." And that had sounded somewhat less dirty in her head. Or would have, if her head hadn't been filled with cotton candy. Spike's smirk told her it sounded kind of dirty to him, too. She ignored his hand, jumping down off the sarcophagus herself and somehow ending up with her ass on the cold, hard floor.
"See! I told you somebody was messing with me," she said, this time grabbing his offered hand and letting him pull her to her feet.
"Yeah. An' his name is Jack Daniels."
God, he was annoying, but she decided to ignore it for now. She followed Spike outside, stopping to lean against the door and take in deep lungfuls of crisp, fresh air. Her head began to clear, just in time for Spike to pull his motorcycle out from behind the crypt.
"Hop on, Slayer."
"I, uh..." Crap. She'd forgotten all about the motorcycle. Her inner panic must've actually been outer panic, because Spike approached her with a swagger she hadn't seen from him in awhile.
"What's the matter?" he asked, practically toe to toe with her now. "Is the Slayer scared?"
Buffy took a step back, then forced herself to stop. She was so not scared of Spike and his great big...motorcycle.
"Of course not. I...just don't think you should drink and drive, that's all!" Yes! That was it. "All those...mothers might come after you. The ones who are against that. You know. And you don't want a bunch of moms after you, do you?" Good one, Buffy.
"Not if they're anything like yours, I don't. One tough lady, she was. Would do anything for her daughter, wouldn't she?" Her breath caught when he mentioned her mom, his smile warm and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corners. Blue flecked with gold, like sunlight on water and oh my God she really was drunk. "But I'm fine," he said, straddling the seat. "Vampire physiology. Apparently we handle our liquor better than slayers, even."
"I don't think so."
"Whatever. Get on the bloody bike."
Buffy climbed on behind him, placing her hands gingerly at his waist and willing the butterflies fluttering in her stomach to please just be still. Actually, they must be something larger than butterflies. Like birds. California Condors, for instance.
He glanced back at her over his shoulder. "You ready?"
Buffy swallowed hard. "Sure. It's just that I haven't ridden on a motorcycle in a long time. It might be...fun."
His grin was downright evil. "Oh, it will be."
She tightened her arms around him as he brought the engine to life, then tighter still as he revved the motor and took off. The bike vibrated beneath her, the sensations traveling through her body, beginning in her groin and blossoming outward. Any attempt to keep some space between his body and hers was a futile effort. As they leaned into a turn, she was pressed up against his solid back, the laws of physics giving her no choice in the matter. It was out of her hands now, and damn if it didn't feel good. Spike turned his wrist, increasing their speed. The world rushed by, just a blur. Nothing for her to think about, to worry about. They were flying.
And the whole thing was kind of...hot. Her breasts were pressed against his back, and only the fabric of their clothing separated her crotch from his ass. Her thighs embraced him, and the two of them responded to each movement of the bike as one body, as if they were one with the bike as well. Fun was not exactly the right word. She couldn't catch her breath, and the vibrations of the bike continued to course and throb throughout her body. Her hands slipped down, and she felt his stomach muscles jump under her touch. And if she just moved her hands down another few inches...
Oh, God. Stupid motorcycle making her think stupid things. Ridiculous things. So very wrong things. It was like a giant vibrator, that's what it was. It had nothing to do with Spike. She tried to think of something else, and not about how broad his shoulders were, or how narrow his waist. Or how she like the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck, his neck that was so close now that she could lean forward and press her mouth against it with hardly any effort at all. She tried not to think about how strong his hands looked as they gripped the handle bars, or how she could see the corded muscles of his thighs even through the denim of his jeans.
The bike roared as Spike opened up the throttle, and Buffy nearly screamed, clinging to him as they sped down the road. Spike threw his head back and laughed, and she could feel his chest rising and falling - he was dead, but he was more alive than she was. She should yell at him. Tell him to slow down. Instead she lay her cheek against his back, imagining that she could absorb some of that life force through the smooth, cool leather of his coat.
Finally, they arrived at the bar. Spike killed the engine, but that didn't stop the throbbing between her legs. He put down the kickstand and dismounted, turning and blinking at her slowly as he once again held out his hand to help her off. She accepted the first time, swinging her leg over the side slowly, hoping to avoid a repeat performance of her crypt collapse. But she must still be a little drunk, because her legs were shaking, and she gripped his hand tightly for support. And all she could think of was how good it would feel to keep going. To slide her arms around his neck, to press her body against his again. And hold on.
She pulled her hand away, and headed toward the entrance to the bar, swaying a little as she did. "Let's go, Spike," she said. "I really need another drink."