Sex and Candy

By Sweetprincipale

Set during S. 4 Episode "Who Are You?" and deviates in the midst of it.

Author's Notes: Short, smutty, Spuffy. I do hope you like it, I just needed a little break from my larger projects and thought this would make an interesting distraction.

Direct quotes from songs and shows are obviously not mine but belong to the enormously talented people who created them.

Nothing of Buffy belongs to me, except my sincere admiration. However, this story is all mine.

Part I

Spike nursed his beer in a scowling, sullen mood. The Bronze was like a packed buffet and he was muzzled. And to make it worse, bloody hell, his misery was now complete, the Slayer was there. The "good one", not the rogue one, crazy chic name of Faith. Now, that was the girl he wanted to see. Just 'cause he couldn't do the dirty work himself, didn't mean he couldn't help arrange the slaughter. Maybe watch it. She sounded right vicious, probably wouldn't mind if he drank the Slayer dry, as long as she got the actual kill.

But, no, that was his luck. He got Ms. Holier-than-Thou instead of her dark counterpart. She wasn't with her little friends, she wasn't with Mr. Cornfed, she was on her own. Dancin' her petite arse off, with a crowd of boys. Girl must be drunk. He'd seen her loads of times, but never like that. She didn't have the temperament to flaunt it all.

Oh, hell. And now she was takin' a break, and comin' towards him. Best make a hasty retreat...

Blondie didn't have much in the T&A department, but she got the job done, Faith appraised her sweating, borrowed body. And she was gonna get plenty more done for her tonight. She just needed a quick drink, and then she'd pick the best hunk of beefsteak from her little boy-herd, and have a good time. Maybe pick a couple, she had a few hours to kill, and might as well make use of what she had. She smiled darkly, smug smirk on her face, or rather, what B. had. "Whoops!" A little too much fun already, or maybe it was getting used to these teensy little feet. Faith, in Buffy's frame, surveyed who she'd bumped into.

"Oh, you." Spike frowned, acting surprised to see her. Best not to let Buffy know he'd been watching her.

"And you." Uh-oh. Think like B., think like B. Damn. Who was this guy?

"What, are you keeping tabs on me? You're gonna give me a hard time now?" She was so bloody annoyin' this pint-sized do-gooder. Couldn't she even let him alone when she knew he was harmless? Temporarily harmless, that was.

"Um, do I usually give you a hard time?" Faith stalled. Good-looking guy. A little pale, but nice fashion sense...

"Very funny. Well, you don't have to worry about me drinking. Unless you're here to protect innocent beers." He stalked away. Gotta give her some attitude, he might be harmless but he wasn't neutered.

"You're a vampire." Ah-hah. That must be why B. was riding him. Ha. Girlfriend should really have learned that there was more than one way to give a guy a "hard time." She leaned seductively on the pillar by the pool table, swiveling her hips. Let's see if we can lure this one in, shall we, B.? Oh, God, she really hoped so. Wouldn't that be fun for "Faith" to hear about, locked away in some dank cell in moldy old England?

Spike had a flash of surprise before his words spilled out. Girl was no genius, but she didn't usually go around identifyin' his species in the middle of a conversation. Or banter. Whatever the hell this was. "Was. And as soon as I get this chip out of my head, I'll be a vampire again. But until then, I'm just as helpless as a kitten up a tree. So why don't you sod off?" He itched to slam his bottle through that pretty little stuck-up face. Taunt him, that bitch was-

"Ok." Faith walked off with a flounce. No fun here. Pissy vamp, great if she was lookin' to slay, but she was lookin' to lay. Back to the boy toys on the dance floor.

"Oh, fine! Throw it in my face! 'Spike's not a threat anymore. I'll turn my back. He can't hurt me'." Did she ever, ever stop her prissy little, "I'm so bloody perfect" act?

"Spike?" Ohhh, now I got it, I know that name. "Spike. William the Bloody with a chip in his head. I kind of love this town." She stalked him, making him take a step back.

Why in hell was she sayin' his name like that? "You know why I really hate you, Summers?"

" 'Cause I'm a stuck-up tight-ass with no sense of fun?" She replied with a completely matter of fact tone and bright smile.

That took him aback. "Uh. Well, yeah, that covers a lot of it."

" 'Cause I could do anything I want, and instead, I choose to pout, and whine, and feel the burden of slayerness? I mean, I could be rich, I could be famous, I could have anything. Anyone." Vamp wasn't running, he was staring at her with a confused look on his face. Must not be used to talking to B. like this. Like she actually knew she was a bitchy little self-involved prom queen wannabe. Maybe he was layable after all. Maybe he was layable, and slayable, that'd be a sweet way to end things. Like a praying mantis. They kill after they mate, right?

Spike's eyes widened as she sauntered and swayed back to him. Her hands were on his chest. So hot, so close, her bright red lips, fire engine red, temptress lips, inches from his. What was she playin' at?

"Even you, Spike. I could ride you at a gallop until your legs buckled and your eyes rolled up. I've got muscles you've never even dreamed of. I could squeeze you until you popped like warm champagne, and you'd beg me to hurt you just a little bit more." She took in his face. Melting him down, God, she still had it. But little Miss Sugar 'n' Spice didn't. Gonna have to let the big bad go, or blow your cover early in this game. "And you know why I don't?" Tempting as it was, he wasn't worth it.

He couldn't speak. Why the hell couldn't he speak? They chipped his violent impulses nothing else. And he was suddenly not feeling much of a violent nature to this girl. Unless shagging her into a broken, pouting pulp counted. Prob'ly didn't count if she was asking for it, which, oh, Lord, with that description, she wasn't asking for it, she was bloody begging for it. He twitched his lips once but no sound came out.

"Because it's wrong. Hmm, hmmph." She chuckled, beamed at him, slowly sliding away.

Bloody little cock-tease. "I get this chip out, you and me are gonna have a confrontation." Spike snarled darkly.

"Count on it." Faith pushed Buffy's features into a more serious expression, still gloating inside.

Spike threw his bottle into the wall and swept off in a rage. And then stopped. Oh, there had to be some way, chipped or not. Some way to get her. Take her down a peg. "Oi! Slayer." He pushed after her, watching her eyes suddenly widen and a frightened gleam passed through her green gaze before muting it down to a look of disinterest.

"What is it?" She asked, trying to look bored.

"You're all high an' mighty, but you seem to forget, we've already kissed."

Faith's eyes popped. Go, B., movin' through the hotties, living or dead. "We- well I'm with someone else now." She purred.

"Oh, yes. Your Captain America wannabe. But you wouldn't be out there, dancin' like a cheap trick if you didn't need a little bit of dirt in the skirt."

How the hell did B. let this one go, with the blue eyes and the smoky voice? "I was just loosening up a little. You may not have heard, but I'm celebrating. They caught the girl that was after me. A bad girl. Your type."

"Oh, an' you weren't my type a few weeks ago? Magically induced or not, Luv, you couldn't get enough." He snarled.

"Maybe I do want another taste." Faith flicked her tongue experimentally over her lips. He could be the dry run. Make sure the mouth was still in kissing order. But that was all. No time for more, she'd just seen Willow and some blonde entering the club.

Never in a million years did he expect her to shove her head hard into his, making him stagger back. And even less did he expect her to go at it like a bleedin' animal, sticking her tongue halfway down his throat and biting his lips until they bruised. All of it over in five seconds of violent merging, and then she pushed off with a panting, insincere smile. "Sorry, Spike. Vamps might be hotter, and good girls may like the way bad boys taste, but they always pick the good guys in the end."

What the fuck was that? Spike returned to the bar and ordered something stronger than beer. Somethin' was far, far out of place. But he couldn't think right now. Just had to sit, be calm, watch. Like a good hunter, even if he couldn't kill the prey.

Spike watched Red, Buffy, and some soft lookin' blonde engage in conversation. If you could call it that. It didn't last long, and it certainly didn't seem to fit the usual pattern of the little Scooby gang. Fragmented, uncomfortable, even though he couldn't hear what they were sayin', he could read the body language a mile away.

Somethin' was badly wrong. And as much as he hated all of them, and their sweet little insistence on thwarting his plans, his curiosity was usually stronger. He watched the Slayer leave, come back, talk a bit more, and leave again. The little witch and her pal were leaving as well, but heading in a different direction.

Spike sat and mused for awhile. "Bugger this." Spike followed the twosome, trailing the redhead's scent. They had a good head start, but using his vampiric speed and stealth he managed to race around them, and get past them. He was able to cut them off, appearing from the shadows a few feet in front of them, just before the dorms. The blonde gasped and the redhead took an annoyed step backwards.

"Spike! Don't do that!" Willow admonished. "Tara's already feeling icky, and you and your Prince of Shadows act are not helping!"

"Oh, spare me the lecture." He scoffed. "Look, I had to ask you a quick question, and then we'll all go on our merry ways, right?"

"Okay." Willow said cautiously. Tara nudged her and murmured something. "Oh! Spike, Tara, Tara, Spike. Spike's a vampire, but he's helpless." Tara's extended hand fell back to her side rapidly.

"I'm not soddin' helpless! I'm just- not able to bite anyone at the moment." Spike shrugged defensively.

"Oh." Tara kept her eyes downcast and Spike dismissed her for the moment.

"Look, did the Slayer happen to develop some weird split personality over the last day an' a half?"

Tara's head jerked up and Spike took a step back. "Just askin'."

"Why would you ask that?" Willow pressed, looking between the two of them.

"Well..." Spike's smirk died, replaced by confusion. "Not that I like the girl, but I'm used to her actin' a certain way. Not used to her flirtin' with everything in trousers. Especially not my trousers, if you get my meaning."

"Eww! Eww, Spike!" Willow shoved his shoulder and then stuck out her tongue with a cry of disgust. "Buffy would never, ever be interested in your trousers!"

"I know!" Spike cried, hands raising in mild exasperation. "Was like she was all over every boy in the place, includin' yours truly, and then walked off. An', no stakin' me for this, but your pal is a little uptight and self-righteous."

"Well, around you, maybe." Willow conceded, crossing her arms.

"Ever hear her use the phrase 'I'm a stuck-up tight-ass with no sense of fun', when talkin' about herself?"

"No!" Willow hotly denied.

"Willow!" Tara urgently tugged her friend's sleeve. "Willow, remember that girl you told me about? The 'cleavage-y slut-bomb'? Who hates Buffy?"


"Psycho-slayer." Spike grinned. "Would've liked to meet that piece of work."

"You m-m-might have." Tara stammered, trying to speak too quickly in her agitation. "Th-this is going to sound crazy, but I don't think that was Buffy at the Bronze tonight."

"It was Buffy." Willow and Spike said as one, and exchanged a brief glare.

"Her aura was all dark and prickly. Like it was overlaid with someone else's. Her energy flow- it doesn't feel right." Tara's voice grew stronger as Willow reassuringly rubbed her arm. "Like a stadium light jammed in a little bedside lamp. Too much, all churning out wrong."

"But, Tara," Willow bit her lip, "that was Buffy. No doubt about that, I've known her for four years! Even if she is acting- a whole lot like Faith, she couldn't be Faith. Could she?" Willow asked tentatively, wincing at the thought.

"I think there's a way to tell, a spell. Maybe?" Tara offered.

"It'd make sense, in the screwed up way things make sense around here." Spike leaned back against the brick wall, comfortable with the sudden discomfort in the air. "She didn't kiss like Buffy. Didn't taste like her, either, now I come to think on it."

"She KISSED you?" Willow yanked Tara's hand and broke into a run. "You could have said that at the beginning, saved us some time!"

"Where are you going, then?" Spike shouted after them.

"To find the spell, see what's going on, and fix it!" Willow cried, not even looking back.

"Right!" Spike prepared to follow them. "Wait. What am I doin'? This is bloody priceless, perfect, the good slayer is trapped in the bad slayer's body, likely to get herself stung up by the Watcher goons." Spike turned resolutely in the other direction, away from the campus. The perfect consolation prize in place of him killing her had to be the fact that she'd die at the hands of her precious council. The irony!

Bet she'll protest right to the end. Not that she'll have much room to maneuver, I reckon. Heard about those librarians turned demonologists. They were ruthless about some things. Once they decided to exterminate you, if they caught you, you were done. And a bonus, Faith would probably get killed by the council as well. Since they didn't get it right the first time. Kill the body of one and the soul of another, then do it reverse. Wankers, never did manage to get things right, did they?

The gloating in Spike's head turned down notch by notch the closer he got to Willy's, where he was preparing to have a celebratory drink to commemorate the slayer's imminent death. I'd love to see it. Too good to miss, Slayer trapped in the evil slayer's body, off on her way to being permanently locked up, killed by the wankers who order her to kill others.

And it wasn't fair. Spike shook himself. Where the blazes did the concept of fair come in? Had it been fair that she'd thwarted him at every turn until now he'd never, ever get the sweet satisfaction of tasting her blood?

Wasn't fair on her. Not that he liked her, but she had spunk, and style, that touch of dash that made it fun to hunt her and fight her, back when he'd had the chance. And it was still quite entertaining to annoy her, sometimes even fun to fight alongside her. A little nagging voice inside him kept up an insistent chant, Buffy's too good to go out like that.

Why the hell do I care how she goes, just as long as she goes?, Spike argued back with a grimace. Because. She's my kill. Someday when I'm fixed, she's mine to kill, mine to drink, to taste, to steal her power, and roar over her lifeless body.

Or, as was more likely, knowin' the girl and her irritatin' habit of winnin' all the damn time, he was hers. Hers to kill, and he'd make her work for it, by God. That would be a fitting end, for either of them, either way. But for her to go out, feeling as "chipped" and helpless as he felt? "Not gonna be done down that way."

He strode into Willy's, smacking the first demon he saw square in the face. "Alright. Need some info." He shouted, and the clamor of the noisy bar died instantly. "Anyone know where they're holdin' a rogue slayer?"

"That's not her. That wasn't her!" Willow's voice was a frantic squeak, even though her body was all limp and collapsed on the floor, the spell she'd done exhausting her. "I have to call Giles. We have to get Buffy! We have to get Faith! Oh my God, this is going to be so confusing!" She struggled to sit up, panic fueling her.

Tara calmed her. "We know where the fake Buffy is. I think."

"Oh, God. Riley!"

Faith, in Buffy's body, shook off her haze of confusion, and pushed away from the handsome commando looking tenderly down at her. She shoulda fucked the vampire. Meaningless, rough, hard. Not gentle, loving, and- and ugh, he said he loved her! He loved Buffy, not her. He's something good and clean. He'd never love you, Faith, unless you were wearing this good girl body! Even as he came up to comfort her, soothe her back to bed, taking her in his arms, she whimpered, unable to answer him. "What do you want from her?" She finally whispered. She didn't hear his soft words. She just kept repeating, endlessly, "nothing". This, with him, it was all nothing.

Buffy couldn't waste any more tears on the fact that the bitch had her body, and for all she knew it was halfway to Mexico by now. She had to focus. She had to escape, and get back before Faith hurt her mom, or Giles, or her friends. Oh, God, or Riley. She'd gun for him first, right after her mom. With all the crazy ranting about how she'd killed her for Angel's sake, and now she'd moved on. Hah. As if she'd moved on. As if she'd ever move on. But Riley couldn't get caught in the crossfire because Faith, as usual never knew what she was talking about or getting into.

Outside, Spike deliberately flicked his lighter over the end of his already smoked cigarette, setting it more brightly ablaze. Had to be careful with fire, as a vamp. On the other hand, there was virtually nothing else he could think of to do, bein' forced to lead a life of non-violence as he was. He had to create a distraction serious enough for at least one of the gits holdin' her to come out of the building. And hopefully a fire would be enough to get all of them out, at least long enough for him to slip in and do his own sinister brand of heroics. He snapped the burning butt into a small trail of gasoline at the end of the warehouse and watched it immediately start to engulf the elderly building. Well, that worked. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone, just get them outside for a looksee. No rebounds from the chip. Now, to wait by the door closest to where he could hear one very frantic heartbeat.

"Smithy! Let's go get the girl. The council can't arrange passage. Plan B. And I heard somethin' a minute ago, might be some of her underworld pals. Ricketts, go check it out, will you? Get the stuff ready for the torch." One of her captors ordered the two others.

"I do not have underworld friends!" Buffy screamed, rattling her chains. "I'm Buffy, not Faith! I have regular friends, and a regular family, and thanks to you, they're probably all dead or about to be dead!"

"Then you'll see them all very soon." The leader of her trio of captors stood outside the bars of her cell, large gun in his hand. He began pushing it slowly through the bars, a grimly determined look on his face.

Buffy knew it was going to come down to this, ever since she heard the words "Plan B". She swung her legs up, ankles connecting around the barrel of the gun and yanking with all her slayer strength. The man's head collided with the bars, and he fell back with a groan, unconscious.

"Ricketts!" The remaining captor raced outside with a wild cry. She brought the gun to her hands and started shooting, wincing with each successive bang, blasting her shackles off, and then starting on the door of her cell.

The door swung open on its own, even though she knew she hadn't hit the lock. "Oh, great." She groaned as a pale, smirking face confronted her.

"Nice to see you, too." Spike returned sarcastically.

"God, I'll have to take care of you later, we gotta get out of here!"

"You've got a clear shot, the other end of this warehouse is on fire, thanks to yours truly." Spike flicked his still glowing cigarette away. "Gotta be careful where you throw these things."

Buffy didn't have time to waste on explanations, not for either of them. She and Spike were clambering into the cab of the armored vehicle as quickly as possible. "Uhh. Uh, I'm good at this, I took the course-" She fumbled for the keys, and bumped the steering wheel and gear shift in quick succession, elbow blaring the horn once. "Oh!"

"Scoot over." Spike snapped, and after a split second's hesitation, she did. "Been drivin' a lot longer than you have." He muttered, and revved the engine up, bursting out of the metal garage door.

"Yeah, well, you can just- drop me off- after this wharf!" Buffy cried, jerking around in her seat as he crashed his way over debris.

"I'm takin' you to your Watcher's flat, Buffy." Spike grunted, swerving to avoid hitting one of the flummoxed looking jailers.

"I'm not-" Buffy paused. "Wait. Aren't you helping me because you think I'm Faith? Uh- the bad slayer?"

"I knew it wasn't you soon's as I saw you." Spike bragged.

"You saw me? I mean, the Buffy me?"

"Yeah. Doin' everything but shaggin' an army base on the dance floor at the Bronze."

"You're exaggerating. Please, tell me you're exaggerating." Buffy begged.

"Well, a mite. You weren't doin' anything completely raunchy."

"Then how'd you know-"

"I remember how you taste, how you kiss." Spike threw her a wink.

Buffy shook her head. Blinked. Shook it again. "Excuse me?"

"She might be in your body, Slayer, but she doesn't taste the same, doesn't kiss the same, either."

"She kissed you? She kissed you? She kissed you, using my mouth?" Buffy put her head in her hands and groaned furiously. "She is so dead."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't worry too much about the little tease she gave me, Slayer. That was only a kiss. I shudder to think what she's up to with your Iowa boy." Spike couldn't contain his malicious grin.

"Oh, my God. Oh, my God ! We don't have time to stop at Giles'. Go right to Riley's room!"

"No can do, Pet. Initiative chappies all over that house. Look, your mates always head to Rupert's flat when faced with a crisis, right? So that's the best place to put you."

Buffy sighed deeply, clutching her knees. "Right. Hey, I'm out. I'm not dead. That's good. That's a really good start." She threw Spike a sidelong glance, wincing at the sight of herself in the rearview mirror. "Hey. Why are you helping me? If you don't think I'm Faith? How do I know you're not in on some kind of plot to kill me in some other way?"

"Well, 'cause I can't do the job myself, for one thing, an' I wasn't about to let anyone else have the fun."

"So- you're saving my life, so you can kill me later?"

"Why'd you never stake me, Luv? All the times you had me chained up at Watcher-boy's, or since I've had this little government chip shoved up my frontal lobe?"

"You're helpless. You're not going to hurt anyone. And you tried to help me, a couple times. Of course, you tried to kill me a lot more than you helped me, but..." She trailed off. "I'm sorry, where was this conversation going?"

"You were gonna get shot like a fish in a barrel. You're not my favorite person, Slayer, but you do deserve to go out with some flair. That's all."

"So, if the chip were out, and we were just walking along the street?"

"One of us'd be in a bad way." They exchanged a smile. But Buffy's was quickly fading. "Well, I'm sorry, it's what I do!" Spike exclaimed. Soddin' female, enough was never enough. Save their life a couple times an' they thought you'd never want 'em dead.

"Oh, it's not that. Riley. Worrying feeling in my tummy." She rubbed her stomach.

"Ha! That's a laugh, Buffy. If I could tell you weren't you from one little kiss and watchin' you for ten minutes, your beefy boyfriend oughta be able to tell before anything 'improper' happens."

"Yeah... you're right." Buffy nodded, arms crossed at her chest, comforting herself.

Spike finished the drive in silence, and let the body swapped slayer out at her Watcher's place. " See you round. Hope you get your body back."

"Yeah. Thanks. Me, too." Buffy, as Faith, hopped from the cab of the truck and waved before breaking into a run to Giles' door.

Spike watched her go. He should probably go in and see if everything was in order, all the pieces put back in the proper bodies, all that. But he didn't care all that much. As long as the Slayer was moving under her own power, she was fair game, and all that he needed was to get back to bein' fair game himself, and they could finish this little " on-again-off-again partnership."

He put the van in reverse, wishing it was an actual armored car full of money or gold bars. That'd be nice. As it was, he'd just have to ditch it, far too conspicuous and large.

Speaking of large and conspicuous- Spike shook his head with some kind of unknown pity for his sworn enemy, or maybe it was just a weird feeling of knowing something was out of place. But in the back of his mind, he wondered if he'd been right about the Slayer's oversized G.I. Joe. That kind could be smart, but they did things by the book. If the girl looked like Buffy, sounded like Buffy, and called herself Buffy...

Spike sighed, and sighed again. If there was pain to be inflicted, he ought to be the one inflictin' it.

To be continued...