CHAPTER EIGHT

Spike laughed, still shaken by the Slayer’s abrupt lowering of inhibitions. Securing his hold on her thighs, he planted a soft kiss on her collarbone and another on the base of her throat. “Yeah, pet. Thought you might need it...” His breath tickled her throat. “It’s probably getting cold though.”

Buffy shuddered, confused by what was going on. They were... being affectionate. With each other. “Right. Better get to it then.”

Buffy wriggled slightly in Spike’s arms, pointedly waiting for him to put her down. Glancing at him, she cocked an eyebrow. His gaze was down, his eyes watching her chest and thighs. She rolled her eyes and stopped moving, waiting for his eyes to return to her face. When she’d counted far past ten waiting for him, she punched his arm lightly, playfully.

Spike looked up, startled. He couldn’t help it. She was so close to him again, her body’s scent was overpowering. And having her wriggle against him... it was impossible to ignore. Having her in his arms like that, with her hands around his neck... it was like she was actually comfortable with him. Shaking his head in mock defeat, he lowered her to the ground as she unwrapped her legs gracefully from his waist.

Buffy readjusted her top, suddenly all too aware that her chest was really earning itself a starring role. Covering herself as best she could, she emptied the plastic bag onto the bedcovers.

A burger, a large serve of fries and... Ice-cream. He bought her ice-cream? Throwing a broad smile over her shoulder at Spike, she tossed the bucket his way. “Head’s up.”

Spike caught the bucket easily, turned on his heel and slid it into the freezer. Tearing the corner of the blood bag with his teeth, he sat on the bed, legs laid out in front of him, back leaning against the headboard.

Sitting Indian-style on the opposite side of the bed, Buffy faced him with her knee against the headboard. Throwing Spike another grateful grin, she unwrapped the burger and fries, quickly stuffing three of the latter into her mouth. Muffling an embarrassed giggle with her hand, she glanced up at Spike, who was watching her with an amused smirk. He sat, turned slightly on his side to face her, as she watched him fingering the bag in his hands.

“You... you can eat if you want to. The blood, I mean. It... it won’t bother me.”

Spike’s brow flicked up in slight bemusement, unsure if she really meant it. With a shrug, he raised the bag to her in a mock toast. “Thanks, Slayer. All I needed was your permission.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, but watched in fascination as Spike raised the bag to his mouth, his face morphing halfway through the draught. Chewing on her already half-finished burger, she studied his face as his forehead grew bumpy, his eyes yellow, teeth elongating into fangs. Grabbing a fry, she studied his game face.

Lowering the bag, Spike cocked his head at her stare, confused at her attention. Raising his hand, he touched a hand to forehead, letting out a slight chuckle when he realized he had turned. Raising his eyes to study the girl across from him, he searched her face for her reaction. She wasn’t showing fear or disgust or even anger. He almost reverted to his human face, but he reconsidered. Curiosity got the best of him.

“See something you like, Slayer?” He rotated his hips slightly, readjusting himself, pressing his tongue against a pointed fang.

“What? No!” She scoffed dismissively. “I just... it’s weird.”

“My face is weird?” He joked indignantly.

“Yes. I mean… no! I mean...” Buffy shook her head, biting her tongue. “It’s just… besides from the eternal stuck-in-the-eighties punk-rocker-grunge look... with the black leather, and the biker boots and the bleached hair... and I’m rambling now so I should probably stop before I run out of air.”

“Ah, you’ve uncovered my diabolical plan! To trick you into prattling on ‘til you die from lack of air.” Spike clicked his fingers in an over dramatic show of disappointment, causing Buffy to giggle through a mouthful of burger.

Not the same as the girlish laughter he got from Drusilla, but a sweet, bubbly giggle... that was possibly because Buffy wasn’t completely sack o’ hammers. “So, now that you’ve completely demolished the “cool” of my entire “look”, do you have a point?”

“What, I mean is... Besides the look, which isn’t actually that bad as far as looks go, I guess...  I mean, you look... kinda normal, you know? And...”

Spike ran his tongue over his teeth, his game face slowly reverting back to his normal sardonic smirk. Eyebrow raised expectantly, he returned her gaze. “And what, pet?”

“And... you look... kinda nice. You know for a thirty-year-old-“

“Twenty six! Twenty six! Do I look bloody thirty to you?”

“Ooh, sorry” Buffy grimaced. “For a twenty-six-year-old punk rocker.” Popping another fry in her mouth, she chewed thoughtfully before continuing. “You look nice... and normal. It’s almost possible to forget that you’re a snarly, evil vampire. And you know, as far as vamp faces go... it isn’t that bad.”

Spike almost fell off the bed out of shock. Had she just said that his game face was... attractive? What the bloody hell was she playing at?

...“Playing at”. Why not see how far the girl was willing to take it to prove she actually meant that?

Taking another long pull from the bag, Spike let his game face fall over his features again. Locking his eyes with her, he licked the blood from his upper lip slowly. Watching her drop her gaze to the last of the fries again, he grabbed one, watching her eyes follow his hand to his face.

Popping the fry into his mouth, he took another mouthful of blood, grinning close-mouthed as the Slayer’s eyes widened almost impossibly.

“Oh my god, gross!” Buffy laughed, slapping his hand away as he reached for another fry. Spike waggled his tongue at her over his fangs, a wicked grin spreading across his face. Buffy grabbed a fry and threw it at him, hitting him in the nose. Laughing at his expression of bewilderment, she dodged the return throw, before diving at him, sending them both tumbling off the bed.