TITLE: Don't Happen Twice
DISCLAIMER: This is Joss Whedon's world. I'm just borrowing it.
SPOILERS: Season 5/AU. Just assume Buffy's back already.
SUMMARY: Spike, Buffy, and the DeSoto again. Consider this a sequel to my previous fic, Paradise by the Dashboard Light.
Don't Happen Twice
It was an ordinary night at the Bronze. Loud, pulsating music, mainly covers of popular 80s songs from the college-aged rock band on the stage. About a hundred men and women moving in time to the rhythmic beat, laughing, flirting, touching, kissing. It was a carnival of sexual energy, the kind that is released on a Friday night after a long hard week of work and school.
And Buffy and her friends were in the middle of it all. She'd done an early patrol, then gone to meet the gang for a night of dancing and partying. Since a particularly nasty demon she killed had splattered its gooey insides all over her during patrol, she'd had to go home and change first. On an impulse, she'd dressed up, put on a gold sleeveless top that buttoned up the front and a taupe skirt that skimmed her thighs right above her knees. A pair of matching strappy sandals, a bit of perfume, and a gold drop necklace that dipped just so into her cleavage, and she was ready to go out. The perfect outfit for a night of dancing in a hot, crowded club.
She felt hot, sexy--a big change from her usual jeans and tank tops. If she stopped to analyze why, she would have realized that she'd this way, felt her passionate inner Buffy pushing to the fore, ever since a night two weeks ago with Spike in the front seat of the DeSoto. It was a one-time thing, a fulfillment of a high school fantasy. Afterwards, he hadn't said a thing, hadn't tried to assume it meant more than the one time. It was awkward for a moment when they saw each other the next night, but then they'd fallen back to their usual behavior, a little bit of distrust, a lot of snarky banter, and if she occasionally watched him surreptitiously, reminding herself of the feel of his muscled back under her hands, his smooth chest under her lips, his hips sliding between the sensitive skin of her thighs, well, that was a guilty pleasure no one needed to know about.
But there was no doubt that the interlude had awakened something in her. She felt edgy, restless, as if there were a prickling under her skin, an itch that needed scratching. She hoped this night of dancing at the Bronze would satisfy her. Maybe, just maybe, she'd meet someone. She didn't have to be too emotionally involved, so it wouldn't hurt so much when she eventually scared the guy away. All she needed was a hook-up. A one-time thing. It didn't have to happen twice.
So now she was in the Bronze, dancing with Xander and Anya, Willow and Tara. She could feel the appreciative looks of men as she shimmied to the beat. Once in a while, someone would maneuver himself near her to dance, She enjoyed the dances, the attention, but none of them seemed to be what she wanted, so she moved on.
Then she felt a tingling that had nothing to do with the music or the sexual energy surrounding her. It was the kind of tingling she got when a vampire was nearby. Expertly, her eyes scanned the crowd until she found it--him. His platinum hair made him stand out in the darkness of the crowd on the periphery of the dance floor. He had a beer in his hand and he was watching the dancers--no, make that watching her. For a moment, they locked eyes and, if possible, Buffy felt even warmer. She turned her head back to her dance partner. There was no need to make googly eyes at a vampire across the club when she had a perfectly fine normal human in front of her.
But when the song ended and the band announced they'd be taking a break, she told the guy she was dancing with that she was going back to her friends. Good-naturedly, he got the message and gave her a smile of regret, then turned away to try his luck on the other side of the club.
She was making her way across the room to join the gang, now including Spike, at their table, when she felt another tingle, another feeling of a nearby vampire, except this time it wasn't Spike. She paused, looked around to find the source.
"See something, Slayer?" Spike appeared by her side, his beer forgotten as he helped her scan the crowd. Her eyes lit on a couple nuzzling in the corner. The man was dressed in typical college student garb--polo shirt, chinos. But the woman was dressed like a clone of Madonna in her 80s period. Jangly bracelets and necklaces, a black top that fell off the shoulder, showing her bra straps, hair teased in a feathered style, and was that glitter in her hair? Buffy couldn't understand how she hadn't noticed this woman sooner. She nudged Spike's arm to draw his attention to where she was looking.
"Huh, I know her. Met her a few times when I was with Harm. They were good friends," Spike said. "Name of Melissa. Likes the club scene, especially on 80s night. I thought she'd left town. She's a slippery one."
"Well, she's going to be a dusty one soon enough."
As they watched, Melissa was drawing her conquest towards the nearby door. Buffy and Spike followed, but their progress was slowed by the throngs of people. When they finally got outside, the vampire and her prey had disappeared. As they neared the street, they heard a car start up. They ran to the curb to see a red VW Bug pull away, the glittery hair of Melissa visible in the passenger window.
"Got my car right here, Slayer. We can follow them," Spike said, pointing to the DeSoto across the street.
Without a word, they got into the car and followed in the direction of the VW. Spike kept back far enough so as not to be noticed, while Buffy checked for a stake.
"Damn it!" she said in frustration. "I wasn't exactly dressed for Slaying. My stake is in my purse, back at the Bronze. I don't suppose you have one?"
"Don't exactly keep them around if I can help it. Got a couple of axes in the trunk, though." Spike spared a quick look at Buffy. "We'll figure something out."
The car ahead of them was pulling off onto a road that led to the woody mountainous area on the edge of town. Before he turned, Spike switched off the headlights so the occupants of the Bug wouldn't notice the DeSoto trailing them.
The VW pulled into a parking area and stopped at the farthest end, closest to the woods. Spike pulled up at the other end. As quietly as possible, the vampire and the slayer exited the car and approached the Bug. While Buffy moved into the woods to snap off a branch, Spike rapped on the driver's side window of the VW. He heard a muffled curse before the window rolled down and a pissed-off face appeared, scowling when he realized the interruption was coming not from a cop but from someone else.
"What's your problem, man?"
"Wouldn't mind a word with your friend there," Spike said.
"Fuck off, man. She's with me!" the irate man said.
"Spike, is that you?" the female vampire peered through the window. "Am I poaching your territory? I didn't know you'd switched teams," she chuckled.
The door on her side of the car flew open, and a hand reached in to grab her by the shoulder, the already loosened shirt ripping in two, revealing the black lace bra underneath. Buffy flung the vampire against the side of the car.
"Didn't know he'd switched teams? That's old news, honey." Buffy let loose with a punch to the vampire's face. With a roar, the vampire went into game face, throwing herself at the slayer--only to be stopped short when another hand grabbed her and spun her away.
"Buffy!" Spike shouted, holding up his arm. Buffy flipped him the crude stake she'd made, and with a quick thrust, Spike buried it in Melissa's chest. He jumped back as the vamp disintegrated into dust and glitter.
"What'd you do that for?" The whine came from the would-be suitor, who had exited the car and was standing to the side.
"She wasn't your type," Buffy said wryly. "If I were you, I'd go back to the Bronze and try again, but this time stay away from fashion victims with big hair and bad teeth, 'kay?"
Without a word, the man re-entered the Bug and drove away, tires squealing, leaving Buffy and Spike staring after him.
"Chap wasn't the grateful type, was he?" Spike said, brushing off his leather duster.
"They never are," Buffy said as she started walking back to the DeSoto. But when she reached the car, she paused and looked out over the stone wall edging the parking lot. They were in the hills outside the city, and the view looked out over the twinkling lights of Sunnydale.
"Beautiful view," she said, and with a light jump she sat herself on the hood of the car, crossing her legs modestly at the ankle.
Spike leaned against the wall and faced Buffy. "Yeah, beautiful."
She flushed despite the cool breeze. She could feel the heat from the engine still warming the hood of the car beneath her. Suddenly nervous, she tried to change the subject.
"So, you seemed to have a particular interest in staking that vamp. Old girlfriend or something? Didn't want her to spill your deep dark secrets?" she asked lightly.
"You know all my secrets, luv," he smirked. "Nah, she was nothing. Almost as brain-dead as Harm." He hesitated, then shrugged and looked away. "Just just thought maybe I'd do the dusting so you wouldn't have to mess up your new outfit."
She felt something melt inside her. For an evil dead guy he could be so considerate sometimes. She tried to quash the feeling.
"Oh, and here I was thinking you just wanted a peek at the view. Not often slaying vamps turns into a bit of a striptease."
"Eh," said Spike. "I prefer a little more, you know," He made a cupping motion with his hands near his chest.
"You're a pig, Spike," Buffy said, reaching out her right foot to kick him in the chest.
With a quick movement he caught her foot at the ankle, holding it near his chest. Damn, but she'd forgotten she was wearing a skirt. She felt exposed but also a little excited at the feeling of his cool hands on her ankle and the cool air between her legs. But she didn't move her foot, didn't fight to get free. That edgy feeling she'd had all night came back to her, but instead of feeling frustrated by it, she felt anticipation instead. His eyes darkened as they stared at each other, neither moving, Buffy leaning back on her hands against the hood of the car.
Slowly, his eyes still holding hers, he gently removed her shoe, letting it drop to the ground. He touched his lips to the arch of her foot, and she trembled. Here they were, back in a deserted area, just the two of them. And the promise of something more. She drew in a shaky breath as she considered pulling her foot away. Oh, who was she kidding? The cool breeze, his hot gaze, her flushed skin, the blinking lights below them--she was excited beyond belief. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the sensations, leaning back on her elbows, opening her legs slightly in invitation.
She sensed his smile against her foot, then his lips began trailing up over her ankle and down the inside of her leg. His right hand kept pace, his thumb lightly brushing her skin. She was growing wet, and he hadn't even touched her above the knee yet. She could see his nostrils flare as he sensed her arousal, then he closed his eyes as his lips made even more passionate love to her leg, and his tongue reached out to touch the sensitive area at the joint of her knee. Her breath came faster.
Her skirt had crept up her thighs, and now his hands pushed it up even further. With her feet braced against his black-clad body, he brushed his hands down the soft skin of her inner thighs, then back up again to her knees. His eyes held hers as he repeated the motion several times, his fingertips brushing her panties, until she moaned in frustration. He smiled roguishly and, on his next venture up her thighs, hooked his fingers around the waistband of her panties and pulled them off, stuffing them into the pocket of his duster. The coolness of the air against her was soon replaced by the coolness of his fingers playing over her. He was bent over, now, so that his lips were moving against her inner thigh. The fingers of his left hand slid into her, and she cried out from the exquisite pleasure of it. His cool lips and tongue soon followed, stroking her on the outside while his fingers stroked her from the inside. She arched her hips, pressing against his mouth. He withdrew his fingers, and his tongue slid into her in their place. His hands grabbed her hips as he pulled her closer, his tongue and teeth and lips making magic. With a sound that was half sigh, half scream, she came, her body trembling with the force of it.
Spike withdrew slightly from her, his hands still on her thighs, then straightened to look at her. She pulled herself back up to a sitting position and put her hands on his chest, then reached up to kiss him. His mouth was still wet with her, and the taste inflamed her even more. His hands moved from her legs to her breasts, as he unbuttoned her top for greater access. He paused only when she pushed the duster off his shoulders. Her hands were on the hem of his t-shirt, then under it, as her fingertips glided over the muscles of his back and chest, brushing his sensitive nipples. His lips trailed from her mouth, pausing longingly at her neck, before dipping to her breasts. His fingers investigated, found the front clasp to the bra. She gave a silent thanks for her foresight as the clasp opened, and his lips found the nipple of one breast while his fingers played over the other. His other hand held her hips firmly to his, and she could feel the hardness of his erection in his jeans. She pushed him away.
His eyes sought hers, momentary confusion clouding the desire. She reached for his belt and began unbuckling. His eyes closed briefly, then opened again, hotter than ever. He leaned over to brace his arms on the hood of the car as she unbuttoned his jeans and slipped them down his hips. Her fingers closed round him, stroking him. He reached a hand to her face, his hand flat against her cheek and his thumb stroking her chin. His eyes burned into hers, suddenly vulnerable and questioning.
She knew what he was asking her. They'd already shared passion once, that night a few weeks ago. They'd said nothing about it, treated it as a one-time thing. It wasn't supposed to happen twice.
But it already had, for her. He'd made her come once tonight already, and she was so close again. And she wanted to give him pleasure, too, as he'd given to her.
She turned her face into his hand to kiss his palm, and she let go of him to put her hands on his waist and pull his hips close to hers, her face turning upwards for his kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair as he groaned into her mouth. He bent her back on the car, then raised himself from her, his hands pushing up her skirt once again, this time guiding himself into her slowly, achingly.
She was splayed out against the black hood of the car, a flickering golden flame in the dark of the night. One of his arms was braced against the car and the other held her leg bent at the knee, against her body so he could enter with deep strokes. She could feel the pressure mounting, each movement leading her to the edge. His eyes were open, watching her, devouring her, his gaze so hot she could feel its touch. Her eyes shut as the sensations became more intense, and she could feel his hand move from her leg to where their bodies met, fondling, touching, setting off an orgasm so intense she cried out his name. She opened her eyes to watch him dissolve in his own climax, her name a soft moan on his lips. She pushed herself back up off the car to press her body to his, to bury her face in his neck, to hold him as his trembling ceased.
Slowly, they came back to reality, the cool air around them reminding them they were outdoors in a parking area overlooking Sunnydale. With a sigh, he disentangled himself from her and fastened his jeans. With shaking hands, she hooked her bra, and he came to her and helped her button up her top and smooth down her skirt.
Suddenly shy, she took the hand he offered and let him lead her to the passenger door, like the gentleman he once had been. When he'd seen her into the car, he picked up his duster and went around to the driver's side.
They drove back to the Bronze, pulling up in front of the nightclub. For a moment, he sat there, looking straight ahead as if weighing words.
"That was ," he started.
"Twice," she answered.
He smiled knowingly, "I know."
"No," she said, blushing. "I mean, yes, but that's not what I meant." She took a deep breath, nervous. "Once was, well, it was once. Once in a lifetime. One of a kind. Special. Unique. Never repeatable."
She looked at him. "Twice is something else. Twice is a pattern. Twice is more than once. Twice is, maybe there'll be a third time."
"Maybe?" he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.
She smiled, a Mona Lisa smile of mystery and promise. "Maybe."
"Maybe. Maybe next time we could use a bed, luv."
"Maybe," she said. "Of course, we haven't tried the back seat yet."
The door to the Bronze opened, and Xander, Anya, Willow and Tara poured out onto the sidewalk.
"Buffy!" Willow cried out. "We were wondering what happened to you!"
With one last smile and a gentle touch to his leg, she opened the door and got out.
"We were doing some slaying," he heard her say as the door closed.
He pulled away, stretching his arm behind him to grab the duster. He had a pack of cigarettes somewhere. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a piece of ivory satin and lace. Her panties.
He laughed. At this rate, he could open his own lingerie shop.