set in s5
I don't know when this rivalry between us started. It's been going on as long as I can remember.
Although, I suppose it was only natural that Spike and I clashed when he smuggled his way into our group. I was the only one of Buffy's friends that was of the dead persuasion and then suddenly, I wasn't.
I think it's about strength. I was always used to being the strongest, second to Buffy, so when Spike swaggered along, with all his (I hate to admit it) skill and muscle, he was a threat. An annoying threat. I've come to realise he's really not anything to worry about, but the bitterness between us still lingers, like the smell of smoke that follows him wherever he goes.
The bell tinkles, making me jump, and a man slips into The Magic Box just as I'm about to close up. I have half a mind to tell him to get lost - it's been a long day - but I put on my best customer-service smile and look up. My smile flattens.
"Oh, it's you. For a second, I was scared."
"Sod off." he puts two fingers up at me as he approaches the counter that I'm wiping. The door clicks behind him, shutting out the darkened streets and faint noises of sirens and engines. "Did you do something with your hair?"
I stare at him blankly.
"It looks bad." he clarifies.
My eyes almost roll out of my head as I throw the wipe into the bin and get to sweeping the floor. He's creative with the insults, as always.
"You know we close at five thirty."
"Yeah, and I know it's five twenty five. I need some Belladonna."
I pause. Why the hell does he need deadly nightshade? Does Spike even know how to brew a potion without blowing something up? "For what?"
"None of your business," he sniffs. He points to the rows of shelves stacked full of crystals, jars and herbs. "You're the one who chose to be in a consumer service profession. I'm a consumer. Service me."
I want to punch that cocky smile off his face at that, but instead I sigh dramatically and return to behind the counter. I pluck a paper bag from beside the till and shovel two spoonfuls of crushed Belladonna into it. "Twenty bucks." I tell him.
"You're bloody joking."
I shrug.
He mutters something that sounds awfully like a curse as he fishes out the money. He smacks it down on the table.
"Why do you have this job?"
"Why do you need Belladonna?" I fire back the question instantly, but he ignores me like he didn't hear.
He tucks the bag into his pocket and leans forward on the counter, fingers splayed across the glass. I raise an eyebrow as he goes on, "You're a vamp - you can get money. Why keep this shitty, minimum wage job?"
I pick the broom back up and slide past him, my arm brushes against his back. I don't get why he always wears that stupid, bulky leather jacket. Vampires don't get hot or cold - I'm wearing leggings and a tank top even though it's winter. He's so set on keeping up this bad boy persona even though we all know it's a facade. I mentally note that another thing to dislike about Spike is his insecurity.
I start to sweep the floor.
"I don't want to earn money through blackmail, threats and cheating at kitten poker," I tell him, and I can feel him tense indignantly, "And I care about Giles. I know you've probably forgotten what that feels like, but I want to help him run the shop because he's a good person who deserves it."
He scoffs, pulling himself up to sit on the counter which I just cleaned. Annoyance pricks under my skin.
"I've forgotten how to care, eh? Says the girl who hasn't had a boyfriend in a hundred years."
I grit my teeth. "My friends are more important than any guy."
"Yeah, yeah. Excuses." he sings. Have I mentioned that he has a very punchable face?
I concentrate on cleaning up to distract myself, acutely aware that Spike hasn't offered to help as usual. I sweep and sweep, but the glitter that a little kid spilled earlier isn't budging, causing a frown to wrinkle my forehead.
"I think you're doing it wrong."
"I think I'm going to rip your head off in a minute."
"Ooooh..."
"You know what -"
I turn on him and again, he's got that cocky smirk plastered on his face. I point the pointy, wooden end of the broom at him as a silent threat. I'm sick of him existing to purely get on my last nerve. Doesn't he have anything better to do?
"Get out." I sneer.
He doesn't budge.
"I'm serious."
Slowly, with the precision of a prowling panther, he rises and steps over to me. I think for a blissful second that he's going to go past and out the door, but he takes the broom gently from my hands, his unexpectedly soft fingertips brushing mine. He turns it and sweeps the glitter into a neat line. Then, he presses the broom into my hands again.
"You had it the wrong way round." he whispers gleefully.
I don't know what comes over me as I lunge at him. His back slams into the wall and his eyes widen but only ever so slightly. I cage him against the wall, with one balled up fist on his chest, the other grabbing his shoulder.
"You're an insufferable prick, you know that, right?"
"Oh, I know." How is he so at ease all the time? How can he be so self-aware and so ignorant? How does he always know the perfect way to drive me crazy?
Spike looks down at me and I wish, I wish I'd worn high heels. His smirk shrinks into something more subtle and knowing. My hand tightens around his shoulder but he doesn't give any indication if it hurts.
"You really don't like me, do you?"
"Gee, what gave it away?"
"Why?" His head tilts to the side like he actually wants to know.
"Because you're an aggressive, selfish, arrogant dick."
I don't know how much of that is true. Yes, he's dickish, but I can be too - especially towards him. What can I say? He brings it out of me. Our feud is petty, I'll admit, and he has proven a lot of my judgements about him wrong... But it doesn't change the fact that he's an idiot - an idiot who knows what he's doing when he's being a deliberate pain in my neck.
He stares. Eyes big and annoying. All blue and big and annoying.
"Do I make you uncomfortable?"
"No." I lie. I swallow. Usually, he doesn't, he only sparks annoyance, but the way he's shamelessly staring into my eyes like he can see right through me does. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Because I want to kiss you."
We're right in front of each other. This whole time I've had him trapped against the wall, his lips have been in my eye line but I only realise it now. We're inappropriately close. I can smell him for goodness sake - copper, smoke and aftershave. I know I need to move away, yet, somehow, my hand is travelling up to grab his hair. A fistful of it in my hand feels strangely soft and when I tug on it, a sound escapes his throat.
"I violently dislike you." I tell him and something lights up in his eyes. I tug at the hairs at the nape of his neck too harshly.
"Likewise." he mutters and I can't tell if it's true.
I don't know why I'm kissing him, but he tastes like apple cider and I can't get enough. He's bitter and sweet and so incredibly stupid but apparently that doesn't mean a thing as we kiss like it's the end of the world.
"What are we doing?"
"I don't know."
And we're together again, all hands and lips and knowing that we need to stop but not doing it. Teeth knock, nails scratch on skin and fingers pull on hair as the minutes fly past, abandoning us in a timeless void where the only thing that exists is the other. This isn't good - nothing good can come of this - but it's amazing.
We stop when my back's flush against the table in the centre of the room and Spike is pressed on top of me. I kind of freeze up and Spike notices, putting some distance between us. "We don't have to do anything." he says lowly, voice thick. He coughs to adjust it.
"I think we've done enough."
Slowly, almost sheepishly, we get up and sit on the edge of the table, side by side. A moment or so passes.
"Never speak of this again?" I suggest, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.
"Yep." He replies instantly, coughing awkwardly.
So, it's settled. Whatever the hell just happened... never happened.
PART 2 COMING SOON !!