Buffy the Vampire Slayer Preferences + imagines/one shots

Spike/The Scoobies Imagine - Roadtrip

As I sit on the edge of the pool, the water still pleasantly warm, I think that maybe life isn't so bad. Aside for the demons (inner and external), my lack of a real family, the constant fighting for my life, maybe I'll be okay. Here, I certainly feel okay. Miles away from Sunnydale, in a clean and sleek hotel, with my favourite people; my chosen family. Sadly, Giles is missing but he can't go a week without a postcard from me... And I can keep telling myself I don't miss Spike but it's getting harder to kid myself. I should stop giving him thought. That's what Willow advised. She said crushes are easier to get over with distractions and I want to trust her word but it's not working. 

"Boo." The voice is flat, non-threatening and familiarly British but I jump out of my skin nevertheless. 

The broadest smirk is plastered across Spike's face when I turn to face him. I raise an accusatory finger, ready to scold him, but I bite my tongue and lower it. 

"How are you even here?"

"I felt left out," he circles the pool, getting closer to where I'm sitting with my toes dipped in the water, "Thought I'd come join the fun."

"It's midnight. There's not much fun happening."

"You're awake, aren't you? And, hey, I couldn't exactly come during the day."

I study him in all his leather-jacketed glory. I hate how cool he looks. I hate that he's here. I don't know how he knew where we went, or why he really made the trip. A shiver runs up my spine at the thought of him tracking one of our scents to locate us. 

"You shouldn't be here. Buffy -"

"Sod Buffy," he interrupts, "She shouldn't have left this at the cemetery, if she didn't want me tagging along." He holds up a pink cardigan.

"Ugh, that's gross, man."

"Gross," he looks offended, standing up a little straighter, "I'm a vampire, love, what did you expect?" He couches down next to me and leans into my neck. I freeze. "Buffy smells like vanilla and grave dirt. You smell like hormones and," he sniggers, "Raspberry sauce."

"I had a Mr Whippy." I mutter.

He kicks off his shoes. "Can I join you?"

"I have an overwhelming feeling you're going to whatever I say."

"Can I?" he asks again. To my surprise, he actually wants an answer. 

"Yeah."

To my even greater shock, he takes off his socks too and rolls up his trousers. The image is so bizarre, I must be staring because Spike lets out a gruff "What?" as he plonks himself down next to me. 

"Nothing." I murmur, kicking the water, sending gentle ripples through it. I spot out of the corner of my eye that Spike is turning a flat stone over in his palm. "What's that?"

"I was going to throw it at your window if no-one was about." he admits before skimming the stone across the pool with practised skill. I watch his hands drop back into his lap, hating myself a little more with every second my gaze lingers on his rings, his veins, his fingers. 

"Impressive." I remark, "But, Spike, why are you really here?" 

"Do you want to swim?" he diverts, taking off his rings, setting them carefully on a nearby table. 

Maybe he gets lonely, but if so, he'd never admit it. Maybe he wants to hang out with me. He's probably just lonely. 

I slip into the pool, my shoulders loosening as I sink deeper and I sigh. I feel a lot more comfortable in front of him this way, my body concealed by the periwinkle water, but he seems at ease himself because, without warning, he's taking off his shirt. He even removes his trousers to reveal black swimming trunks that reach his mid thigh. I have to bite my cheek.