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Free Cable? by BloodEnvy
 
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CHAPTER SEVEN

Buffy spun around to face the doorway. Spike stood there, hand gripping the handles of a plastic bag. Head cocked, he had that typical balls-and-swagger air about him, but she could see something in his eyes. Uncertainty?

“Hey, Slayer.”

“Spike.” Buffy folded her arms across her chest indignantly. If he was using her so he could feed without getting a pointy stick through his heart, he had another thing coming.

Spike’s eyes flicked downwards as Buffy crossed her arms, appraising her body. She was barefoot, the heels from the other night still tossed in the corner. She was wearing another pair of sinfully tight jeans, and her torso was clad in an extremely tight shirt. His gaze lingered over her chest slightly longer than it should have, but God, they just looked so god damn biteable.

Not the first outfit he would have chosen for her, but it would do for starters. If he played his cards right, he could have her staying for a good long while, and no doubt wearing some of the sexier outfits in the process. Running a tongue over the inside of his teeth, he met her eyes again. She didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm for the clothing.

“What the bloody hell is wrong now?”

“Where have you been?”

“For a smoke.” His brow furrowed, eyes narrowed in confusion. “I... didn’t you see the note?”

“I saw the note.” The note in question was now tucked into her jeans pocket, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “Does it usually take you over an hour?”

“I... OW!” Spike’s defensive explanation was abruptly cut off when Buffy’s fist made contact with his nose. “What the...”

Spike blocked her right jab, answering with his own left hook, knocking the girl back a few steps. Touching her mouth, Buffy glared at Spike. A back handed punch hit his cheek, snapping his head to the side.

“Would...” She delivered a jab to his nose, snapping his head back. Spike’s hand flew to his bleeding nose, before shooting forward to block a right hook.

“You.” He blocked an uppercut.

“Please!” Another left swing hit his cheek.

“STOP!” Spike roared, grabbing Buffy’s arms, pressing them to her sides. He glared down at her, brow wrinkled in anger and confusion. “What the bleedin’ hell is your problem, woman?”

Buffy stared fiercely up at Spike, their faces dangerously close. He was panting, which was kind of unneeded. She breathed deeply, chest heaving in fury, inhaling the smell of cigarettes. She couldn’t smell any blood on him, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any. She had to be sure.

Spike shivered slightly as her hot breath tickled his throat. Seeing that fire in her eyes was beautiful, and that, mixed with the scent of her breath... it was intoxicating. Tongue between teeth, he ducked his head slightly.

Watching Spike lean down, his intentions clear, Buffy let the anger back in. She thrust her knee upward, hitting Spike in the stomach. He released her arms, clutching at his stomach.

Buffy spun around, her foot rising up to kick him. Foot meeting his head, she sent him flying with more force than she had when she’d hit him on the bed. Spike crashed back against the corner where the door meets the wall, the plastic bag dropping from his hand.

“What the... fuck? What the fucking hell is your bloody problem?”

“You were feeding weren’t you? You were killing?” Buffy strode towards him, hands on hips. “That’s where you were, wasn’t it?”

“What... no!” Spike was shocked. She thought he was out there killing? Even after he had left her clothes? How could she...?

“You’re lying.”

“I am not!” Spike wiped the blood from his nose and stood slowly, hands up in surrender. “I haven’t been drinking people... I haven’t fed off a person since... well a week ago.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Check the...” Spike wiped his nose again as the blood began to drip into his mouth. “Check the soddin’ fridge if you don’t believe me.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him briefly before turning to the bar fridge on the opposite side of the room. Walking quickly towards it she jerked the door open.

The fridge was almost completely filled with packets of blood. Grabbing one from the top shelf, she studied the label. They were pig’s blood, the label from the Sunnydale butcher.

Glancing back at the vamp behind her, she shut the fridge and turned to face him. He was still standing, his nose no longer bleeding. He hadn’t moved, either towards or away from her, but his stance was wary, his head cocked to the side. Her next question was quieter, confused.

“You... you’re drinking pigs blood?”

Spike ran a hand through his hair, his demeanour losing its usual swagger.  “Why do you think, Slayer? I haven’t killed anyone in a week. Not since... Not since the bar.” He stepped slowly towards her, shoulders hunched and hands in his coat pockets. “I just... can’t seem to do it, alright? It’s no big bloody deal.”

Buffy took a step towards him. Then another. “No. No big deal.” She shrugged, flinging her arms out. “You just haven’t been killing for the last week, just because of... me?”

Spike looked up at her, his blue eyes searching her green briefly before pushing past her. “Look, just drop it, alright? So, I’m not feeding on people at the moment? Doesn’t make me one of your damn Scoobies.” He yanked the door of the fridge open again and pulled out a bag of blood.

Buffy had stumbled slightly when Spike had shoved past her, and was now staring at Spike, wide eyed. His outburst shocked her, he had never yelled at her like that before. She had never heard him like that before, ever. She stepped towards him, slowly. Could he honestly be trying, despite what he was saying, to be good? For her?

Spike watched, fuming, as Buffy stepped slowly towards him. He was expecting scorn, derision, possibly another blow to the face. She now stood mere inches from him, her scent invading his senses again. Her next words came out husky and sweet.

“I don’t expect you to be.”

Spike’s eyes widened in shock as Buffy stood on her toes, brushing her lips softly against his. His eyes fluttered closed as she hardened the kiss, causing it quickly to become more heady and passionate. His right hand came up to tangle in her hair, while his left gripped her waist. She slid her hands up, brushing them over his abs and chest, to hold his neck, fingers curling around to lightly grasp the nape.

Buffy smiled against his mouth, feeling the way she had caught Spike by surprise. Feeling him relax into it, and his hands move over her body, she parted her lips to push her tongue into his mouth.

Spike slid the hand from her hair to grip the other side of her waist, pulling her up slightly, his kiss becoming increasingly enthusiastic. Tugging lightly on her bottom lip, he let loose a sensual growl rumbling deep in his throat. Which, strangely, was answered by another growl.

Buffy giggled, pulling away from Spike’s mouth, looking down in embarrassment. Spike chuckled, lowering a hand to rest, open palmed, on her stomach.

“Hungry, pet?”

Buffy’s eyes caught on the hand on her belly briefly, the strangely affectionate touch making her both happy and puzzled. Tipping her head back to look up at the owner of said hand, she found herself blushing a little at the intensity of his blue-eyed gaze. He’d asked such a simple question, but he made it seem like it was the most important question in the world.

“A... A little, I guess. I haven’t eaten since I... since I got here.”

“That’s two days, pet. Don’t you humans need to eat, I don’t know... A  lot?” Spike’s question was light, amused. He wasn’t used to being around anybody who had to eat so often.

“Yeah... three square meals a day and all that.” Buffy smiled slightly, humoured by the sheer oddity of the conversation. She was talking to Spike about her eating patterns. “I mean, I’m good with one, but hey! Wouldn’t say no to anything big or small in terms of food right now.”
She glanced at the open fridge, disappointed by the lack of food of the non-blood variety. Frowning, she looked back up at Spike. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cracker or two tucked away in that ice-box of yours, now would ya?”

Spike grinned openly at the Slayer, one hand brushing up and down lightly on her upper arm, the other gesturing behind her. “The bag, love.”

Brow furrowed, Buffy strode to the corner and bent to pick up the plastic bag that lay forgotten on the floor. Peering inside, Buffy’s smile widened into an all out beam.

Spinning around to face Spike, she tossed the bag onto the bed, and all but ran at him. Jumping, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands flying down to catch her by the thighs, and she threw her arms around his neck. Without hesitation, she planted a kiss on the Spike’s bewildered mouth.

“You brought me food!?”
 
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