Title: Language Barrier

Author: little_bit

Category: BtVS, Angst

Rating:  NC-17 Baby!  Oh, no wait.  I don't write porn.  I'm a good girl.  So, PG-13.

Summary:  Buffy and Spike have a conversation.  Hey, there's a first time for everything.  I wonder how it will go.  My guess?  Not well.

Disclaimer:  I own everything.  That's right, I'm a freaking god.  Who's your daddy, Joss?  Huh?  Huh?  Oh.  No, I don't have a lawyer.  No, I don't want to be hit over the head by one of Marti's anvils.  Okay.  I said okay, alright!?  Joss is god, blah, blah, blah.  There, happy now? 

Author's Notes: This is what happens when there hasn't been a new episode of Buffy for almost two months and you're spoiled to high hell and mightily pissed off so you decide to watch Angel, pretending for a moment that you like the hulking broody bad actor, but then you just get totally bored when not stunned by Cordelia's craptacular new hair and the complete not caring about the missing but obviously not dead baby.  So, fair warning then.

Dedications:  As always, I bow down to the people in the Bad Buffy fic forum at TWoP.  You are all my inspiration.  Feel the big love darlings. 



The crypt door slams open, flooding the chamber with glorious streams of California daylight that fall across the shirtless vampire's pale, angular features in a potentially deadly manner.  Luckily, this vampire seems to be immune to all forms of direct daylight, as it's the most convenient way to expose his muscular chest to the audience at every available opportunity.

"Bloody hell slayer!  Watch where you bleedin' fling that door!  I coulda bin singed!"  Spike bellowed a completely unnecessary expository explanation at his sexy, extremely petite and decidedly insatiable ex-lover, since we all know he's never going to die by exposure to daylight.  "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Shut up Spike!"  Buffy was huffy.  She hated it when Spike's gorgeous sexy vampire chest reflected the direct sunlight and glistened like hard muscled sexy white waves that in turns blinded her and made her horny as hell.  "We need to talk."


"Don't you think it's time we talked?"


"Can you say more than 'yeah'?"

"Hell yeah!"

Buffy rolled her eyes for the millionth time that day.  Maybe she should see an optometrist about that.

"Look, a few months ago you said you wanted to 'chat things out'.  I thought 'chat' was just some English slang for sex, and I wasn't going to have sex with you in front of the social worker, but I was looking through a dictionary the other day, and there it was: 'chat: easy, familiar talk.'  So yes, I think we need to have an easy familiar talk."

"Is that right?"  Spike lounged back on his armchair, draping an ever-seductive arm across its back curve.  Oh, to be that upholstery! Buffy thought.   "So, tell me, Oprah, what's it to be?  One of Dr. Phil's little interventions?  Or shall we bond over the works of Toni Morrison?"

"Who's Toni Morrison?"  Buffy was genuinely confused, as Dawn's illogical existence had forced her to drop out of her second rate university that employed killer scientists with freaky mother issues.  Remind me again.  Why didn't Buffy go to Northwestern?  Wait, how did Buffy get into Northwestern in the first place?

"Crikey, slayer, did you even go to school?"

"Crikey?  Who are you, the Crocodile Hunter?"

"Now that's a fabulous show.  Always a chance of bloodshed.  Did you see one where he got nipped by the -"


"No, not a spike, some sort of marsupial I think.  Bloody brilliant that was."

"Spike, we're getting away from my point.  We need to discuss our relationship.  It would be of the good."

Spike chuckled that deep animalistic vampire chuckle that bordered on a purr.  Sort of like a kitty.  Aw, nice killer kitty, would you like a saucer of blood?  "Of the good?  Now I know you were cuttin' English class.  Hasn't anyone ever taught you about syntax?"

"Is that the same as sales tax?  Because that is definitely not of the good."  Buffy eyed her exorbitantly priced ensemble, which, while hideously ugly, was supposedly at the height of fashion, and therefore cost more than most peoples mortgages.

"Slayer, can we get to the point?  Footies on the telly in a mo."


"Man U. vs. Ipswich.  Should trounce the wankers, but with Beckham out there's no tellin', and 'course they need the points if they want to win the league."

Buffy stared at Spike with glassy eyes.  She had no idea what he was yammering on about.  So this is what it felt like to be Xander.  Huh.

"Spike, can we not talk about your weird British things?  You're giving me the complete wiggins!"

"I knew it!"  Spike jumped up and stalked towards the tiny slayer.  "I knew you were faking me out.  No one with the resources of an entire television network, even one like UPN, and a contract with Maybelline, would walk around with hair like that when they could have long, glorious, shiny, wavy, Goldilocks-like hair."  Spike grabbed Buffy by the scruff of the neck, because his purring somehow allowed him to channel other cat like qualities.  Maybe it was all the kittens he ate.

"OW, you big undead freak!  What the hell are you doing?"  Buffy tried to push the vampire off, but she liked being manhandled, or vampire-handled.  Whatever, she just liked his smooth powerful, sexy hands.  'Cause Spike's a smooth, powerful, sexy vampire.  In case anyone forgot.

Spike's other hand was now yanking at the crown of Buffy's head.  "Come on.  Come off you stupid wig.  I. HATE. YOU. STUPID. SHORT. STREAKY. HAIR!"  Spike pulled harder on Buffy's fugly hair, as the two jostled around like a couple of cats in heat.  And again with the feline analogy.

"It's not a wig you dumb English jerk.  If anything was a wig it was that itchy synthetic crap you pawed in my kitchen."  Buffy remembered she was the vampire slayer and pushed Spike off her, running a hand through her short hair.  It wasn't ugly, it was adorable.  People magazine so.  So did Celebrity Hair.  And Freddie like it.  But then again, Freddie agreed to make Wing Commander with Shaggy from Scooby Doo.  And Head Over Hells with that perfect-Mary-Sue bitch Sam.  And worst of all Summer Catch with that hulking waste of space Captain Riley Cardboard.  Maybe Freddie wasn't the best person to turn to for advice.

"Like you can talk, Bleach Boy."

"Ooo, another witty rejoinder from the erudite slayer."

"Again with the 'wha'?"

"Seriously slayer, have you thought of going back to school?  Maybe Dawn could help you with remedial English."

"That's it."

Buffy lunged at Spike, her little body toppling his equally lean frame.  They tumbled and rolled and groaned and kicked and punched and moaned and since fight scenes suck ass to read and write I'll cut to the chase.  They fought, equally matched, yada, yada, yada, two halves, can't beat each other, blah, blah, blah, never been better, standstill, fight over.  Thank god.

The two former house-collapsing lovers fell into heaps onto the floor, breathing heavily, even though they hadn't had sex yet.  Because fighting was foreplay to the two ex-enemies.  In fact, they had never hated each other.  All that hate, from the moment they met outside the alley at the Bronze, was pent-up sexual frustration.  No wonder they brought the house down.  Imagine if you denied yourself the greatest sex of your life for four years.  Sam and Diane, Mulder and Scully, all of them have nothing on our Buffy and Spike.

"So what's this sodding about?"

"We're gardening what now?"

"Slayer, have you gone mental again?"

"Seriously.  I have no idea what you're talking about most of the time.  SoddingWankerGit?  Who says these things?"

"Right.  I guess valley girl Buffy and colloquialisms are unmixy things."

"Arghhhh!"  Buffy, frustrated as always, leapt up with one of those amazing back flippy things she does (well, her stunt double anyways), and proceeded to kick the crap out of Spike's meager belongings.  Which was obviously an overreaction, but when's the last time anyone on this show did anything in character?

"Hey, watch it!"  Spike protected his TV with all he was worth.  "I stole this bleedin' stuff right proper.  No far you getting' to bloody well demolish it."

"And what's with all the bloody and bleedin' stuff?  Do English people actually say these things, or is it just because you're a vampire and you like, like blood?"

"Well, no, of course no one bloody wanking bleedin' talks like this, you bint."  Spike looked rather sheepish.  "Truth be told, I have enough trouble keeping the accent straight, so they just continue writing the words that I can say with a barely convincing accent into the script.  It's repetitive, but it seems to work.  Plus, none of the staff writers have ever met a real Englishman except for Giles, and he had to leave all this shite in order to remember what real English sounded like."

Buffy slowly nodded her bobble-head.  "So, can we get back to the conversation now?  Somewhere along the line we really lost the plot."

"Hey, that's one of my lines.  Said in once back in season 2 and now it pops up all the time in fanwanking fics."

"Well, that's another thing.  How came I don't have as many recognizable catch phrases as you do?"  Buffy pouted prettily.

"Oh, pouty…" Spiked leaned in for a sexy kiss, but Buffy held him off with one of her small but powerful slayer hands.

"Because you're the star, luv."

"Oh.  No, wait.  That makes no sense."

"Sure it does.  You do the hero stuff with the witty but disposable one-liners.  I'm a colorful but wildly popular secondary character who is marked by the use of colorful but repetitive catch phrases."

"You know, you're a lot smarter than you look."  Buffy's small but powerful slayer hand was now stoking the hard but powerful muscled abs of the evil bloodsucking fiend.

"If that's a compliment, pet, I'll take it."  Spike swept Buffy into his overpowering but-not-overpowering-to-a-slayer arms and kissed her thoroughly.  "Mmmm, cor, baby, very cor."

"We're mining now?"

"Slayer, the only thing that's getting mined is your hot love tunnel." 

"Eww, Spike, that has got to be the grossest thing ever said about our sex life!"

"Are you serious slayer?  Have you read some of these bloody fics?  This is tame, like a kitten.  Mmmm, kittens."

Buffy pushed Spike off her and tried to stand up, but quickly toppled over into Spike's sexy arms, not realizing that he had already used his supernatural vampire speed to take off most of her clothes, leaving her leather pants caught around her ankles.

"Spike, you're a pig."

"Maybe that's your catch phrase, sweetheart.  You say it enough."

"Oh, just help me out here you mook."

Spike sidled up to his ladylove.  "Sure thing.  Let's just get out of these clothes and Bob's yer uncle."

"Spike, discussing my Uncle Bob is not a turn on.  If anything, he's more of a drunk than Xander's Uncle Rory."

"I didn't mean - "  Spike chuckled again, deep in his manly vampire chest, and it made Buffy smile like a girl who about to get the rodgering of her life.  Repeatedly.  In many different positions.

Several hours later, Buffy regained the power of coherent speech (oh god, oh god, yes, yes, yes, doesn't count).  "Spike, do you remember why I came over today?"

"For some cold comfort?"  He smirked wickedly, as smirking seemed to be one of the few facial expressions he was allowed to have.

"No, I'm pretty sure I wanted to talk about something."

"Luv, when have we ever discussed anything?"  Good point.

"Well, I think we demonstrated how difficult that is for us.  Maybe you should teach me some of that sexy English slang of yours so I can follow a conversation."

"Like what?"

"Well, like knickers and bollocks and blimey and cor and wanker and git and bint."

"Well, knickers are those flimsy little scraps of lace I rip off your body and pocket in a weird fetish-like fashion.  Bollocks are essentially what I give it to ya good with, if you know what I mean."  Spike waggled his sexy scarred brows.  "But it can also mean…"  Spike rambled on like the frustrated English Lit professor that so many people seem to think he is.

Snuggling into her amazing lover's arms and listening to him blather on about things she really didn't care about, Buffy realized that they didn't need words.  Not when they had endless hours of mind-blowing sex.


"Yeah, luv?"

"Shut up and shag me."

"Now you're speaking my language."