Title: The Gentleman Wore Leather - Twisted Spuffy Halloween twist Due June 10 (created 2/19/06)

by Slaymesoftly

Re-write of "Halloween"

Season II

Rated NC17 and contains some sex that could be called non-consensual

Word count – 6900+

Characters and setting by Joss Whedon, I'm just borrowing them to provide a more fun Halloween than he did. Thank yous and smooches to my beta, Always_jbj for her eagle eye. No doubt, I have fiddled with it numerous times since it was completed, so don't blame her if you see something wacky – I probably did it after she saw it for the last time.

The Gentleman Wore Leather

Spike leaned over the cowering figure in front of him, not completely sure what had happened to turn the best Slayer he'd yet come up against into a fearful, helpless girl, but more than willing to take advantage of it. He leered at her, running his eyes over the swell of her small breasts where the corset she was apparently wearing pushed them up to fill the low-cut dress. She blushed from her head as far down as he could see, struggling weakly against the hard hands pinning her own soft ones over her head.

She turned her head away from the lascivious expression on the face of the monster holding her, thereby exposing her bare throat to his hungry gaze. He ran his tongue up the side of her neck, licking a long cool path up the length of her artery and causing her to shiver involuntarily. The delicious scent of her fear, as well as the unmistakable odor of slayer blood pulsing just beneath the skin had him taking the time to nuzzle her neck and enjoy the wonderful scents surrounding him.

He used his greater weight to keep her pressed flat to the stack of wooden pallets onto which he had pushed her. The lithe, athletic body was writhing under him and he shoved a little harder, enjoying the pressure on his cock as it dug into her stomach. Since that first night when he'd seen her dancing with her friends, her enticing combination of beauty and danger had called to his demon and he had little control over his body's reaction to the young Slayer, especially when they fought.

Her little gasp and the slight quiver he felt when his lips caressed the silken skin of her throat brought him awareness of another scent just barely noticeable as it mingled with the fear and anger that were so evident. Underneath the terror, the girl was furious. And turned on. This was going to be delicious… He put his lips back on her neck and prepared to slide his fangs into the hot blood pulsing just under his mouth when suddenly he felt his ear being crushed between blunt human teeth and he jerked back with a surprised snarl.

"What the- You bit me! You bloody stupid bint! What's wrong with you? I'm the vampire. I'll do the biting here."

She glared back at him defiantly, still quivering with fear and rage. Buffy knew she should be ashamed of her unladylike behavior, but since this creature licking her neck was obviously no gentleman, she determined not to worry about it.

"You're a bad man!"

Her angry glare and the pain in his ear gave the vampire pause; he looked at her with newly aware eyes.

"Well, that's more like it! The Slayer may be on walkabout, but there's still a bit of spirit in there somewhere. Isn't that so, luv?"

The pain in his now-bleeding ear, rather than making him angrier, was turning his thoughts away from killing the girl still struggling beneath him. In spite of the old-fashioned dress and her lady-like demeanor, the body underneath his was the same strong feminine one he'd fought against before. He remembered how sweet she had tasted when he licked her sweaty neck and shifted himself to a more comfortable position inside his tight jeans.

"I think maybe we should take this somewhere more…private. What do you say, pet?" he finished rhetorically as he hefted the whimpering girl over his shoulder and turned to leave. Shouts of protest from her friends, as well as a blood-curdling snarl from Angel only made him laugh as he instructed his minions to "Keep them here as long as you can, or until I get back."

He quickly exited the building, running down the alley effortlessly, Buffy's squirming body bouncing on his shoulder as he ran. Her rear end was next to his face and he turned his head to nip at the fleshy cheek, eliciting a yelp and a hard thump on his back with a small fist. He grinned and retaliated with an open-handed smack on her ass, which felt so good under his hand that he did it again.

Angry sputtering, mixed with tears and cries for help, gave evidence of the confused state the Slayer was in. Spike could smell the magic in the air and correctly concluded that a spell of some sort was responsible for the Slayer's inability to recognize him as well as for her uncharacteristically meek and fearful behavior.

When he had moved far enough away that he was sure they hadn't been followed, he began searching for a safe place to take his prize. Although he still planned to make her his third dead slayer before the night was out, his body was encouraging him to take advantage of her condition and enjoy the way he had her at his mercy before killing her. If he was honest with himself, this slayer had made his cock sit up and take notice from the very first and he wasn't going to turn down this chance to indulge his baser instincts.

Once he had found an empty building with an abandoned office that still contained some dusty furniture, he threw the Slayer down onto an old sofa and leered at her, running his eyes over her body from the impractical shoes on her feet, past the white stockings that disappeared under the voluminous skirt which she was trying frantically to push down. Ignoring her attempts to cover her legs, he let his eyes travel up over the nipped in waist to the small, rounded breasts being pushed up by the corset. When he glanced up to her face, he saw that she was glaring at him with a combination of anger and genuine fear.

There was no mistaking the look on his face, nor his intent in bringing her to this room, and Buffy's eyes filled with tears as she accepted her fate. The sight of the Slayer turning her head away and shutting her eyes in resignation somehow irritated Spike all out of proportion and he snarled, roughly grabbing her chin and turning her to face him.

"You're not even going to fight me, then?" he growled. "Where did that spirit go? Is this the best you've got, Slayer?" He gestured to his torn ear.

"What else can a poor, defenseless woman do?" she asked softly, her eyes damp with unshed tears. With another growl, he let go of her chin and began to pace around the room.

"This isn't going to be any fun if you don't fight me," he snarled. "Rapin' defenseless virgins is your boyfriend's gig, not mine."

The bewildered look on the girl's face made him shake his head. "Don' you remember anything, Slayer?" he almost pleaded with her. "You're spoilin' all my fun!"

"S…sorry?" she ventured, frowning in confusion. She didn't know much about rape, but she was pretty sure he couldn't do it from across the room. And all his talk of fighting and calling her "Slayer" was very confusing. Not to mention wondering what a "boyfriend" was and if she really had one.

With a put-upon sigh, he stomped back over to the couch and sat down beside her. She flinched back as far as she could go, certain that he was now going to ravish her. To her surprise, he ran a hand over her cheek and smiled to himself.

"There's more than one way to skin a cat," he murmured, leaning towards her. "If I can't get a fight out of you, let's see if I can get a good shag. I've always thought you looked like a passionate little thing. Let's see if I'm right, yeah?"

"Wha…what are you doing?" she squeaked as he continued to stroke her cheek, gently tipping her head towards him and brushing his lips lightly across hers. Her soft gasp sent warm breath into his mouth and he touched his lips to hers again, gently pressing this time until he felt hers soften under them. With practiced skill, he slowly deepened the kiss until she was tentatively touching his probing tongue with her own.

Surprising himself with his patience, Spike took his time, kissing Buffy until she was limp and moaning in his arms before he allowed his hands to begin exploring her warm flesh. He stroked her arms and exposed shoulders, allowing his hand to dip down to run across the tops of her breasts and elicit more soft gasps from her. Again, he took his time, running his fingers lightly across the warm mounds under his hand, waiting until she was unconsciously pushing them toward his face before slipping the low-cut dress off her shoulders and exposing her nipples. He trailed kisses down her neck, ignoring the tempting blood pounding just below the skin, and took one nipple into his mouth while he gently massaged the other breast with his hand.

Buffy's "ahhhh" of contentment and the way she arched up into his mouth took them both by surprise and he picked his head up to look at her in happy amazement. Immediately, she blushed and tears began to fill her eyes as she blurted, "I am a horrible girl. No better morals than a serving wench. Oh, Mother will be so disappointed in me!" She burst into large, gulping sobs, sending the vampire into complete confusion.

His long-forgotten Victorian upbringing had him reacting instinctively and he immediately let go of her breast and pulled her close, murmuring into her delicate ear.

"There, there, pet. You're not a bad girl. I'm a bad rude man for forcing myself on you like that. Don't cry, luv. Come on, pet. There's a good girl. It will be alright. What's wrong?"

"You kissed me…and then I…and then you…and I don't know you and you touched me and I…I liked it. Surely that means there is something wrong with me!"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Sl- er Buffy. You are just a warm, passionate woman whose body was made to be loved. And I am a man who wants to love you. Will you let me do that, pet? Will you let me love you?"

As he murmured soothing words in her ear, Spike was rubbing small circles on her back, pulling the dress down a bit further with each circle, so that, by the time Buffy had relaxed back into his embrace and allowed him to begin kissing her again, the dress was almost all the way down to her waist leaving both breasts exposed to his gaze where they peeked out of the corset.

As their kisses became deeper and more ardent, Buffy began to whimper and gasp, unclear what was happening to her body, but too immersed in the feelings he was generating to make him stop. One hand was kneading her breast, while the other held her hips pressed into his lower body. Even through the voluminous dress she could feel a rigid object pressing into her thigh and when she inadvertently moved in such a way that her legs parted and it slipped between them to rub against her sex, she moaned and pushed her hips into his, unconsciously rubbing against the protrusion.

Frustrated by the yards of fabric in his way, he ripped the dress and corset up the front and shoved them off the slayer's body to allow himself access to the smooth tanned skin under it. Unfortunately for Spike, removing the dress from her upper body was enough to weaken the spell and he was suddenly pressing himself against a thoroughly aware and angry Slayer.

He immediately felt the change in her body and moved back slightly until he was looking into her furious eyes. His hand was still holding one small breast and his cock was still pressing into her through the fabric of the skirt.

"Bollocks," he said softly, reluctant to move until he had to and knowing he had never been closer to dust than just that second.

"Spike," Buffy said through gritted teeth. "Is there something you'd like to tell me before I add you to the dust on the floor?"

"I don't suppose we can pretend this never happened?" he asked cautiously, still not having moved a muscle since she came back to herself.

"Your hand is still on my boob; so I'm thinking…no!"

He quickly snatched his hand back, doing his best to appear shocked at where it had been.

"Right then. Back to being enemies. I'm right there with you, luv."

Buffy sat up and pushed him away. "Don't call me that!"

"Didn't mean anything," he pouted. "It's just an expression. Don't get your knickers in a twist. You are wearing knickers, aren't you? I didn't actually get to…"

"Do NOT finish that sentence!"

With frightening speed, Buffy realized that she was, in fact, not wearing any underwear – not even the cotton panties she had been wearing when she got dressed. She sent a curious frown towards the torn corset, wondering when and how she had gotten herself into something that uncomfortable; she narrowed her eyes at Spike, sure that it must be, somehow, his fault.

Although Spike had taken his hand off her breast and moved to the other end of the sofa, Buffy was still naked from the waist up and he couldn't keep his eyes off her chest as she breathed in and out in righteous anger.

"Stop ogling me!" she demanded, torn between hiding her breasts from the vampire's admiring eyes and a seemingly irrational fear of putting the dress back on. "What's wrong with you, anyway? I thought you wanted to kill me."

"I wanted to kill a slayer, not a frightened little girl," he growled. "You being like that took all the fun out of it. Where's the accomplishment in killing somethin' that won't fight back?"

"So, you decided what – if you couldn't kill me you'd just humiliate me?"

To Buffy's dismay, her eyes prickled with tears that she blinked back fiercely, determined that he not know how hurt she was by his behavior. Bits and pieces of her experiences while under the spell were coming back to her, and she remembered his "…raping defenseless virgins is your boyfriend's gig." as well as his sympathetic reaction when she had burst into tears at her own passionate response to his kisses.

"I wasn't trying to embarrass you," he growled. "I was trying to…Bloody hell, Slayer. Do you have any idea how desirable you were?"

"Were? I'm not anymore?"

The instant the words left her mouth, Buffy regretted them. The light that appeared in Spike's eyes told her she had just lost the advantage she'd gained by her sudden reappearance and she unconsciously covered herself with her hands.

"You know bloody well you are," he growled, turning his head away so as not to see her dismayed expression. "If you weren't a Slayer I'd have turned you the first time I saw you, just so I could…"

Realizing he had probably revealed much more about his attraction to the petite slayer than he had ever intended, he stopped and said gruffly, "Pull that damn dress up, Slayer. If I can't have the goodies, the least you can do is cover them."

Shocked both by his almost-admission, and her own reaction to it, Buffy grabbed the sides of her dress and pulled them up over her shoulders. Almost instantly, the Slayer was gone and 18th century Buffy was back.

"Wha-? What happened? Where am I? Did I faint?"

"Yes, pet," Spike agreed quickly. The difference in demeanor between the girl wearing the dress and the Slayer was instantly visible and he wasted no time jumping on the suggested excuse for her confusion. "You fainted. I'm sorry about your dress, but I had to loosen your stays and I guess I just got carried away. My apologies, my lady." He had effortlessly dropped into the tones and cadences of his youth, smiling when he saw her relax at his voice.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said shyly, clutching her torn dress around her. "I don't seem to recall your name, or how we know each other…" She looked around at the clearly abandoned building and well-used furniture, frowning in confusion. "I feel as though I should know you – "

"Oh, you do, love, you do. I'm…William. Your fiancée?"

"My fiancée?" For just a second, he thought he saw a glimmer of the Slayer in those hazel eyes and he quickly slid a hand to her shoulder, helping her keep the dress up there.

"Yes, love. Well, perhaps not so much your fiancée any more…do you not remember our elopement?"

She frowned delicately, obviously unwilling to hurt his feelings by telling him she could not remember an engagement, let alone an elopement.

"We're wed then? You are my husband?"

"Yes, darling. We are husband and wife. I was so desperate to make love to you that I'm afraid I chose this completely unsuitable place for the first night of our honeymoon. Please say you forgive me, my pet."

Buffy colored prettily. "I do think I am remembering…we were…oh!" She flushed a deeper red as memories of what they had been doing when she "fainted" began to return.

"I see you are beginning to remember where we were when you became faint," Spike said with a smile, easing even closer to her and gently pressing his lips to hers. Her conscience salved by the knowledge that they were husband and wife, Buffy relaxed back into his arms, allowing him to lay her down and cover her with his body while he kissed her and murmured endearments into her ear.

He buried his face between her breasts, crooning softly as he planted soft kisses around them, working his way gradually towards the rosy tips. While he suckled on one pert nipple, he rolled the other one between his fingers, pulling on it gently to simulate the motions of his mouth. When his other hand crept up under the voluminous skirt to skim the silky skin between the tops of her stockings and her hip, he discovered that, just as the spell had clothed the Slayer in a corset which he was sure she would never have willingly chosen to wear, it had also taken away her underwear, leaving her as naked under her dress as would have been any woman of that era. With a grin, he slipped his hand around and cupped her mound, murmuring reassuringly when she shrieked softly and recoiled.

"Easy, luv," he soothed her, forgetting for the moment his softer accent. He moved his mouth back to hers and brushed his lips against her mouth. "Not going to hurt you. Jus' want to keep my hand here for a bit. You don't mind that, do you, pet?"

Whatever Buffy's answer might have been was swallowed up as he fastened his mouth on hers and once again used his lips and tongue to make her limp with desire. When he could feel moisture beginning to coat his fingers, he slowly began applying pressure until the Slayer was moaning and grinding into his hand. Using his fingers to stretch her tight opening, and his thumb to keep her focused on the sensations he was creating, he managed to slide his other hand down to his jeans and unfasten them.

Without ever taking his hand off her clit, he maneuvered them on the sofa until she was lying under him, her skirt around her waist and his cock pressing against her entrance. He gave her clit one last twist, sending her hips arching off the sofa and allowing him access. While she was still shaking from her first orgasm, he slid into her warm channel, pausing only to murmur, "Sorry, luv," before thrusting through the barrier there.

Her small cry of pain was muffled by his mouth which once again laid claim to hers, pressing multiple small, apologetic kisses as he waited for her to become accustomed to the feel of his cock. He rocked his hips gently, waiting until she was unconsciously squeezing him with her interior muscles before he began to move slowly, gradually increasing his speed as she began to move with him. When her arms and legs came up to wrap around his body, he gave up trying to be gentle and began to thrust harder, reveling in the way she met him thrust for thrust.

As he felt himself approaching his release, he began to twist his hips, hitting a small bundle of nerves near her cervix and causing her to utter small, gasping cries as she clenched around him in ecstasy. With a gasp and a muffled roar, he exploded into her, completely forgetting who she was, knowing only that he had just had one of the best shags of his life.

"Oh, William," Buffy sighed into his neck. "I love you so much."

"Not as much as I do you, my love," he murmured without thinking, nuzzling her warm throat with, at that moment, absolutely no desire to bite the tender flesh beneath his lips. For a brief few seconds, he forgot who and what he was and allowed himself to be immersed in the illusion created by the spell on her dress.

In his eagerness to repeat the incredible experience, he forgot momentarily that he was not really making love to an 18th century gently-raised girl who believed herself married to him, but rather to a deadly enemy who was under an easily broken enchantment. Remaining inside her welcoming warmth and feeling himself swelling quickly, he pushed up onto his arms and impatiently ripped the skirt, shoving the whole thing off her body and gazing down at the exposed skin with admiration.

Still buried inside her, their hips pressed even more firmly together by the way he was propping his upper body on his arms, he was so rapt at the sight below him that he failed to notice the return of Buffy Summers, Vampire Slayer. When he felt her legs tightening around his hips to the point of pain, he glanced up, startled and expecting to see his wife smiling shyly. Instead, a pair of blazing green eyes held his in a fierce glare as she sang out, in a mock-perky voice that fooled neither of them, "Hi, Honey. I'm home."

"Bugger." He made a feeble attempt to move but Buffy's increased pressure told him she would break his hips before she allowed him to talk his way of it this time. "Here, luv, let me help you get dressed. I don't know how this happened, but—" Spike's attempt to get her back into the dress that was clearly the key to having a willing wife underneath him was less than successful. As soon as Buffy felt the sleeves sliding up her arms and the subsequent relaxing of her muscles, she rolled the helpful vampire onto the floor, falling with him and pinning him there. In case he should miss her point, she gripped his upper arms and shook him fiercely, banging his head against the cracked and dirty linoleum underneath them.

It wasn't until her hips landed on his, inadvertently causing his still-hard cock to touch those newly-awakened interior nerves that she remembered why she had her legs around him.

"Get that thing out of me," she hissed, even as she involuntarily squeezed around him.

Spike's eyes rolled back in his head which he was shaking vigorously as he pushed his hips into her.

"Just one more time, Slayer," he pleaded without shame. "Don't leave me like this, luv."

"No," she insisted, her hips betraying her vehemence by moving gently, setting up a friction between her clit and his pubic bone that caused her to moan against her will. Encouraged by his lack of dustiness, as well as by the "oh, oh, oh" coming from her rounded open mouth, he risked resting his hands on her hips and guiding their motions.

The Slayer's grip on his arms never loosened as she gave in to her body's insistence that she continue the motions she had unconsciously begun until they reached their logical conclusion. He was entranced as he stared up at the vision riding him rapidly towards another explosive release. Her eyes shut, head thrown back, once-again blonde hair flying around her face, the Slayer ground into him, hearing but not really absorbing, the muttered endearments and coarse encouragement coming from the vampire's mouth.

When the pressure building inside her had become almost unbearable and she was whimpering with the need for release, Spike used one still-pinioned arm to pull her down toward his chest, while the other pulled her hips against him hard enough to bring her the release she was seeking. As soon as she began to clench around him, he let himself spurt into her, shouting her name as he did so.

They lay together, Spike's hand idly stroking her back as she struggled to get her breath back and to be able to move again. When he felt her body stiffen as Buffy came back to herself and realized who it was that she was resting atop so comfortably, he carefully removed his hand from her back and held very still. Buffy raised her head, avoiding his eyes and looking around the decrepit room, until she spotted a broken chair only a few feet away.

With a shudder, she rolled off his body onto the dirty floor and closer to the only available wood in the room. She tried to ignore his muffled whimper when his softened cock slid out of her, although she didn't move away from the arm he slipped behind her head to keep it off the floor. Side-by-side, they remained quiet and still, neither one quite sure what had happened between them, but knowing something had changed forever.

Buffy's hand crept towards the broken chair, reaching for the nearest piece of it; she was not sure what her intentions were, but she was confident that she needed to have a weapon in hand. Spike's quiet voice took her by surprise.

"Are you plannin' to use that, pet?" he asked, not moving but noticeably tensing beside her.

"If I have to," she answered quietly, bringing the makeshift stake closer to her body. "Are you still planning to bite me?"

He shook his head quickly. "Don't think I want to do that just now, luv. What say we call a truce until we sort this out?"

For reasons she chose not to examine too closely, Buffy believed him immediately, dropping the wood, sitting up and looking around the room for something to wear.

"I have to get back," she said firmly as though he was going to argue. "Your minions are probably eating my friends by now." She rose to her feet, taking the stake with her, but holding it loosely.

"I doubt it, pet," he responded with a shrug. "They aren't very bright or very brave. I expect by now your watcher has shown up, dusted a few of them with a crossbow and the rest have run off. Or the poof has broken loose and kicked enough arses to send the rest of them scurrying."

"Poof? Oh my god, Angel! What have I done? What have you done to me?"

Buffy's hand clenched around the chair leg again as she stared at Spike with devastated eyes. The horror on her face, expressing the emotion that it had been his original intention to evoke, now angered him beyond explanation and he snarled at her.

"Takes two to tango, Slayer. I'd say you took to this like a duck to water."

"You raped me!"

"I seduced you. Not the same thing at all."

"You lied to me. You told me we were married. You took advantage of a spell."

"You weren't under any spell the last time," he growled, before his anger vanished as quickly as it had come. He met her angry eyes and asked softly, "Was it really all that bad, Slayer? "

When the eyes glaring back at him began to fill with tears, tears Buffy was blinking back as hard as she could, he groaned and moved closer to her, touching her gently on one soft cheek.

"I'm sorry, pet. You're right. I took something from you I had no right to."

It was a toss-up which of them was the more astonished by his sincere apology. Buffy gawked at him, taking note of his own obvious surprise and horror at the apology.

"In my defense," he continued quickly, "I couldn't help myself. You were – are – so beautiful, so desirable…." His voice trailed off as his eyes strayed down her still-naked body. Shaking himself vigorously, he forced them back up to hers and continued firmly, "Yes, I took your virginity, but I did it as your husband, as a man who loved you. And you loved me. You could do worse, pet. You could have lost it to some fumbling high school boy who wouldn't have cared about you or been able to show you how good it can be."

"I thought I was in love. You knew you weren't. You knew you were taking something I would never have given you if I was Buffy and not some weak-willed, wimpy…"

"You thought we were in love, pet. You could do worse than to have your first time be with a man who made you feel loved and wanted."

"What would you have done if I had fought back?" She changed the subject abruptly. "Suppose that wimpy girl tried to fight you? Suppose I fought you?"

He grinned at her and said honestly, "Then I would have been hoping that our fights have the same effect on you that they have on me; because I would have wanted it to end the same way."

Telling herself that she should in no way feel flattered because William the Bloody got turned on when he fought with her, Buffy kept the angry glare on her face and said, "Ewwww, Spike! I wish you hadn't told me that!"

"Why's that, luv?" He seemed genuinely puzzled.

"Because now every time we fight I'll be picturing you…How am I supposed to concentrate on slaying you when I know you're thinking about…" She smacked him on the chest with the flat of her hand. "What's wrong with you? I'm the Slayer! You're a vampire."

"Your precious boyfriend is a vampire, too," he growled with another pout.

"Angel has a soul! And he would never—"

Spike's snarl had her reaching for the stake again and she fell into a fighting stance as his eyes changed and fangs dropped. Watching warily, she backed away holding the chair-leg in front of her.

"Angelus would have ripped you open, left you bleeding, and laughed at your tears before he killed you. Don't you ever compare me to that sick wanker. Soul or no soul, he's a self-centered bastard and he's going to hurt you. Sooner or later, Slayer, he's going to rip your heart out. I just hope he doesn't rip your throat out at the same time."

"I don't believe you and anyway… wait a minute. Did you say you hope he doesn't rip my throat out? I thought you hated me."

"I do hate you! I've never had so much trouble with a Slayer." Spike tried very hard to cling to the emotion that up until just a short time ago he would have sworn was true. He looked away from Buffy as she frowned at him uncertainly. "But if anyone is going to kill you, it's going to be me, not some big poof what sneaks in behind a soul he wishes he didn't have."

Buffy decided not to answer him, concentrating instead on the fact that his pants were down around his thighs and his cock was beginning to grow again. She flushed with embarrassment when she realized she'd been staring at it in wonder and she turned away quickly mumbling, "Put that thing away. I don't want to have to look at it any more."

"You didn't have to look at it, Slayer," he said with a leer. "Seemed to me like you were pretty focused on it."

"Don't flatter yourself," she sniffed, then suddenly realized that she was still naked. In a panic, she grabbed the dress off the floor and held it up in front of herself, her eyes frantically searching the room for something to wear. Her eyes fastened on Spike's leather coat, which he had carelessly thrown over the arm of the sofa.

She grabbed it, inserting her arms in the sleeves and pulling it around her body before dropping the torn dress to the floor. The sleeves hung down well past her wrists and the hem fell almost to her ankles, but the buttery soft leather with its masculine smells of tobacco and whiskey along with the silky lining felt decadently luxurious on her naked body.

Spike watched silently as she covered herself, first with the pieces of her dress and then with his coat. He had done as she asked and tucked himself back into his pants, zipping them closed with a sigh. He stared at her, her blonde hair tousled, her face still flushed, holding his coat closed around her with both hands and the automatic complaint he'd been about to make died on his lips.

"Looks good on you, Slayer," he said gruffly.

"Very funny, Spike," she growled, gesturing to the too-long sleeves and the way it covered her legs. "But it will do until I can get home and get some clothes on."

In silent accord, they turned and walked towards the door, Buffy surreptitiously slipping the chair leg into a pocket before she left the room. They walked down the rickety stairs and to the open door of the old building, stopping when they reached the doorway. Buffy eyed the alley in front of her, the broken glass and litter visible in the reflected glare of a street lamp and then looked down at her bare feet.

"Crap! I should have grabbed those stupid shoes," she muttered, turning to go back inside.

"Wait here, luv. I'll get them." Before Buffy could respond to the astonishing offer, Spike was gone, using his vampire speed to go back to the old office. He picked up the shoes, looking fondly at the couch and floor as he did so, and shaking his head at himself.

"Had the bint right where I wanted her and didn't kill her," he muttered. "I must be losing my mind."

As an afterthought, he snatched the torn dress up and carried it downstairs with him, handing it to the astonished Slayer waiting obediently by the door. While Buffy struggled to hold the coat together and hang on to the dress, he gently pushed her against the doorjamb and then knelt at her feet.

"Lift your foot, Slayer," he growled, pushing one of the shoes on as she did so. When she set that foot down and lifted the other dainty, shapely foot, the Victorian man inside him almost groaned out loud. He quickly shoved the other shoe onto her foot and stood up, moving away from her with determination.

"Thank you," she said softly, studying his confused face in the dim light.

"Don't want you bleedin' all over the damn city," he mumbled. "I'd have to follow you all the way home to keep the other vamps away."

Choosing not to wonder why William the Bloody was suddenly so interested in her welfare, Buffy just nodded and started walking down the alley. She'd only gone a short distance when Spike's voice drifted over her.

"Slay – Buffy?"

She stopped and looked over her shoulder, wondering at the look of indecision on his face. He apparently came to a conclusion as he said gruffly, "Don't go near the poof, luv; not until you've showered really well. He'll be able to smell me on you and he'll know what we did."

"How would he-he can smell you on me? That's just… gross."

He grinned and shook his head. "You really don't know much about us, do you, luv? I can hear your heartbeat, smell your fear… or your… never mind. Just don't let him close enough to smell you until you've bathed. After that it won't matter, he'll blame it on the coat."

Buffy nodded and began walking again. "Okay. I won't go near him." She kept walking; her voice drifted back from the end of the alley, "Thank you, William."

""You're welcome, Slayer," he answered softly, not sure if she heard him or not as she disappeared around the corner and headed for Revello Drive.


When Buffy emerged from the bathroom, freshly washed and smelling of nothing but body wash and lotion, she wasn't surprised to find Angel sitting on the roof outside her bedroom. Rather than inviting him in, a courtesy for which he always waited even though the original invitation gave him complete access, she walked slowly toward the window, pausing just out of reach. In spite of Spike's assurance that bathing would take care of any trace of their activities, she was apprehensive about getting too close to the souled vampire.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, his eyes going over her body for signs of damage.

"I'm fine, Angel. A little wigged about going all "Jane Austin Buffy", but I'm okay. Do we know what happened?"

"The guy at the costume shop, a former friend of your Watcher's, put a spell on the costumes from his shop. Everybody turned into their costumes – at least everybody who bought one there did."

"Oh, I guess that explains it…."

"Explains what?"

"Uh… oh, nothing. Just… I took the dress off and I was me again, and then when I put it back on… nevermind."

"So, you figured it out by yourself, then? Well that's good. But how did you get away from Spike to take the dress off?"

She saw Angel's eyes narrow and remembered what Spike had said about being able to hear her heartbeat which she knew had accelerated the instant she realized what he was asking. Deciding that some form of the truth would be better than a lie, she said quickly, "I, uh, I was running away from him and he grabbed my dress and it ripped and then I was me and—"

"So you dusted him, then?"

"Wha-? No, why would you think I dusted him?"

Angel nodded towards her bed. "You have his coat. He wouldn't part with that unless he was dead. It's his favorite trophy."


"He took from the last Slayer he killed."

Buffy's stomach roiled as she remembered how good the coat had felt on her naked body. A slayer. He killed a slayer for that coat. How could I have let myself forget what he is?

"How did you get it from him if he isn't dust?" Angel was staring at her suspiciously and she shook off her dismay, struggling for something to say.

"I just… I just took it. He ripped my dress and I was mad and I… took his coat."

"Without dusting him."

"Yes," her voice took on an edge that surprised him. "Without dusting him. Is that a problem?"

"I can't believe he didn't kill you," Angel said, changing the subject.

"He said he didn't want to kill a scared little girl, he wanted to fight a Slayer."

Buffy remembered what Spike had said about Angelus and girls like her and unconsciously flinched away from the vampire's attempt to take her hand. He nodded with resignation and said sadly, "All right, Buffy. I just wanted to be sure you weren't hurt. I'll leave now and let you get some sleep."

"Thank you, Angel," she answered softly. "I… I'm sorry I'm acting so weird. It was just a strange night, you know? I need to get used to being me again."

"That's all right, Buffy. I'm sure it was a disturbing experience. I'll see you tomorrow night."

She nodded silently and watched him jump off the roof, landing easily and walking off, shoulders hunched and head down. She watched until he was out of sight, then turned back to look at the black leather spread over her bed. She picked the coat up, shuddering briefly as she thought about how Spike had obtained it, but bringing it to her face nevertheless and inhaling the masculine smell of the leather. In spite of what Angel had told her, there was no way she could picture anyone except the bleached blond vampire wearing the soft, worn cowhide.

Walking to the window that Angel had so recently left, she carefully folded the coat and, leaning out, she set it on the edge of the roof, stroking it once before resolutely closing the sash and drawing the drapes. She climbed into her bed and was quickly asleep, exhausted from the events of the evening.

When her mother awakened her the next morning, Buffy quickly opened the drapes and saw that the coat was no longer resting on the shingles. In its place was a single rose.

The end

Back to Main Fics Page

Reviews/feedback pattific