CHAPTER SIX

Buffy shivered slightly as the cold air of the bathroom brushed against her naked form, playing across her back and stomach. She paused only slightly before reaching behind her to lock the door. She wasn’t about to give Spike an all-access pass to The-Buffy-in-the-shower-Show.

Tucking hair behind her ear, Buffy stepped into the shower, eyes briefly resting on the wood of the door, checking to make sure Spike hadn’t tried the lock. She shook herself, realizing she was halfway between making sure he hadn’t, and hoping he had.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Buffy raised her face against the spray of burningly refreshing water. Pushing both hair and water out of her eyes, she searched the shower for soap and shampoo, grabbing the complementary packages waiting in a dish next to the towel rack.

Retreating back behind the sliding door, Buffy reveled in the feel of the hot water pounding against her flesh. Rubbing shampoo through her hair, she felt the bubbles slide down her back.

Shower good. Shower REALLY good. God, I needed this. The...shower, not the Spike.... with the... sex. The Spike-sex... The sex with Spike. God, what the hell am I doing?
 

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Hearing the spray of the shower on the tiles through the door, Spike stood, bending down briefly to scoop his jeans from the floor. Pulling them over his legs and buckling the belt, Spike glanced over at the bathroom door for the second time. Shrugging, he strode slowly to the door, resting his hand on the handle. He was tempted to simply break the lock and join her. A simple squeeze of the handle would pop the lock and allow him access.

Images of the Slayer, soaking wet and in the throes of passion played behind his eyes, exciting both his mind and body. Gripping the handle tightly, he rested his forehead on the door, eyes squeezed shut. What the hell was he doing? Trying to rearrange his thoughts, Spike slid his tongue against the inside of his cheek, before jerking himself away from the door.

He was acting like some bloody love-sick prat. This wasn’t his bloody high-school crush, this was his mortal enemy... he just happened to be sleeping with her... fucking her. God, he needed a smoke.

Glancing at the curtains, the light told him it was early evening. Just dark enough for a jaunt outside.

Pulling his shirt over his head, he ran a hand through his hair, flattening it into its usual sitting. He grabbed a duffel bag from under the bed and flung it onto the mattress. Seizing his leather duster from the chair in the corner, he swung it over his shoulders, slipped his arms into the sleeves and headed out the door.
 

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Turning off the shower, Buffy reached behind the curtain for a towel. Wrapping the skimpy cloth around her, she stepped out of the shower, stopping short as she realized her problem. She had no clothes. Her mother had sent all her clothing ahead to her dad’s in L.A., to create less hassle for her. She had intended to stop here shortly to tell Spike to go to Hell, and she hadn’t expected her clothes to be shredded in the process.

And she really wasn’t going to leave here in nothing but a towel.

Unlocking the door, Buffy inhaled deeply to calm herself before re-entering the main room. Glancing around her, her Slayer-senses told her immediately that the room was empty. She also noticed that the hotel obviously had a house-keeping service, because the bed had been made up with fresh sheets and the broken bedside table had been removed. Mints had even been placed on the new pillows.

Buffy blushed at what the cleaner would have thought when they had seen the state of the room, and what they would have thought was going on in the bathroom when they had come in.

Speaking of... where the hell was Spike? He hadn’t run off, had he?
Had he just used her until he was satisfied and left her to pick up the tab? Had he... just gone? Like Angel had? Did he...?

Did she... care? Why did she care?

Glancing pointlessly round the room again, Buffy ran a hand through her hair, eyes falling on the bed. Sitting on the middle of it was a large, black leather bag.

Cocking a curious eyebrow, Buffy gripped the bag’s shoulder strap and pulled it towards her. Looking down at herself, she pushed the towel’s corner into the top of it, allowing her to use both hands in case the contents of the bag happened to be hostile.

Reaching for the zipper, she noticed a worn, crumpled piece of paper tucked into it. Picking it up hesitantly, she turned it over in her hands, brow furrowed. Unfolding it, she noticed unfamiliar scrawl across the page, somewhere between a punk-rocker’s scribble and old fashioned calligraphy. Way to curly.

Thought you might need these. Figured you’d kick my arse if you didn’t have them. Sent the housekeeping up. Gone for a smoke. Be back soon.
S.

Slowly unzipping the leather, she peered inside, eyebrows rising. Spinning the bag upside, she shook the contents onto the bed.

Clothes jumbled out of the bag. Hands absently sorting through the clothes, she pulled out tops, skirts and dresses of different styles... mostly edgier and more daring fashions. Turning them over in her hands, she noticed that they were definitely designed for sexiness rather than comfy-ness. Not really her style.

Sure, she liked to look sexy sometimes, when she went to the Bronze with the gang. But, she never really dressed for that. She usually preferred to dress in cute, colourful outfits... not lace and sheer nettings.

She shrugged. Clothes were clothes. And damn, did she need them. Besides, she kept thinking that she wanted to learn to feel comfortable in her own skin, so to speak, so, hell. Why not try wearing clothes she wouldn’t usually?

Grabbing her bra from the floor, she fastened the clasp behind her back, picking through the clothes for underwear. She scoffed, he hadn’t gotten her any. Probably figured that she wouldn’t need them...

God, he was a pig.

He hadn’t left her much in the way of pants; she rolled her eyes as she slipped on the one pair of jeans he’d left her. A deep blue, they clung to her curves almost impossibly. Fastening the button, she searched for a top. Quickly throwing the more slutty shirts back into the bag, she sorted through them, finally settling on a simple back tee.

Appraising herself in the mirror, she noticed that the top was not as simple as she thought. It hugged her figure tightly and the neckline plunged in a “V” well below her usual comfort zone, and her chest looked absolutely huge! Her cup size looked like it had gone up at least three sizes. Rolling her eyes at her reflection she turned back to the bed, pushing the rest of the clothes into the bag.

Hands stumbling across the note again, she reread it. Gone for a smoke. Be back soon. It was kinda presumptuous of him, expecting her to still be here when he got back. She wasn’t his girlfriend, some lovesick puppy following him around, because she had a thing for vampires.

...Vampires. Gone for a smoke. What if he’d gone out for more than a smoke? He could be out there, feeding off some poor innocent right now! He could be...

The door creaked open.