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Let's Talk About Sex


Part Twenty-One
Carte Blanche

'Make yourself at home.' Spike grinned wickedly. "Don't mind if I do," he said to himself. He searched the pockets of his duster for his smokes and a lighter. He also had a couple of joints left. This was as good a time as any to smoke 'em.

He went into the bathroom and stepped under the shower, briskly scrubbing off the worst of the dirt and washing the grime and muck out of his hair. Only then did he set about to fix himself a nice hot bath - a rare luxury. He didn't like stepping into the water all filthy, something he had picked up in Japan. He sniffed several bottles before deciding on a coconut scented bubble bath. He poured a liberal amount in and watched the foam build. Yeah, gonna have lotsa bubbles.

Next he gave the apartment a quick search, oblivious of the fact that he was dripping all over the place and leaving wet footprints everywhere. Anya and Xander would have been horrified to see how quickly he found their valuables. In just over a minute he unearthed their wallets, banking slips, checkbooks, Anya's list of computer passwords (which he memorized), jewelry and a small bundle of cash. Plus a dozen photographs of Anya, which Xander wouldn't want to share with the rest of the world. Bonus! Spike's brows rose appreciatively. I wonder if he'd notice if I keep one? But, in the end, he only nicked the spare key to the apartment. S'pose I can always rob'em blind some other time, he told himself. I'm evil, not daft.

'Make yourself at home.'Oh Yeah! The kitchen cupboards were next. He opened each and every one, studying the contents. He helped himself to a bag of chips and emptied them into a bowl, not really bothered when some landed outside the bowl. Then he checked the fridge. He sniffed the contents of a casserole dish. From the smell of it Anya is NOT the world's greatest cook. He pushed it back in and continued his search. Apart from a six pack of beer, and several plastic bags of blood the contents of the fridge were not exactly up his alley.

He snatched two blood bags. "Lucky me!" he muttered, noting the hospital labels. Trust Anya to be able to organize just about anything. He tossed the bags on the kitchen counter and hunted for that Spiderman mug. He heated the first pack and drained it straight away. Bless you, Anya, he thought, as the coppery taste brought his vampire features to the fore. So much better than pig's blood. And so much more expensive. It was hard to believe that Anya hadn't balked at the expense.

He made a mental note to be extra nice to her, at least for a while. Contrary to popular belief Spike was well able to remember if someone did him a good turn. If she was that hospitable, perhaps he should mention hot chocolate and marshmallows some time. He hadn't had any since Joyce passed away. He was momentarily sad at the thought of her, but then he shook the feeling off. Wherever she was now, she was probably a happy camper. Heaven supposedly bein' a nice place and all that.

He checked out the Harris video collection - No porn flics? I wonder where they keep them... - nodded a few times, shook his head just as often and decided to borrow a couple. He briefly considered moving the TV set and VCR into the bathroom. Next time, perhaps. He took the kitchen radio instead and carried it into the bathroom, with his beer and chips. Seeing that the tub was full he turned the water off and cautiously tested the temperature. "Ow!" Too hot.

Well, he could wait a bit for the water to cool and dump his clothes in the washing machine. While he was at it, he could pick up the shirt he had lent Xander. He looked around and spotted the laundry basket. He went through the things in there, found his T-shirt, shrugged and grabbed a few other dark items that felt like cotton to him. He also came across a couple of lace panties and bras in black and burgundy red. Veeery pretty! He'd love to see Anya wearing those some time.

Threesome, ey? He considered the closed bedroom door and the two human lovey doveys behind it. "Should be fun..." But first things first.

Carrying the bundle of dirty laundry under one arm and holding a packet of detergent in the other, a smoking cigarette dangling from his mouth, he left the apartment and wandered nakedly around the building until he found the communal washing machines in the basement of the complex.

He followed all the instructions, then realized he didn't have any coins. The things I have to do. He went back to the apartment, picked up Xander's tools and began to work. Two minutes later he had plenty of coins but no pockets to put them in. He inserted enough to pay for the washing, and hid the rest underneath the machine. He'd need them later for the dryer.

Whistling a jaunty tune he returned to the apartment to find his bath almost perfect. He downed his second mug of warm blood and started on the beer. He turned the radio on and chose a channel that played music of the Sixties and Seventies - quietly, so as not to disturb the humans in their sleep. To the sounds of Jimi Hendrix's "Hey Baby", he finally stepped into the tub, sighing contentedly as the hot water instantly began to chase the coldness of death away.

Spike couldn't remember the last time he had felt so good. There hadn't been a great many good moments in the past few years. And most of them had a big "but" attached to them. Walking in the sun with the ring of Amara on his finger had been good - but a brief pleasure because rather than enjoy it he had concentrated on fighting Buffy and lost the ring to her. Smooching with Buffy had been hot. But only very retrospectively. And proposing to her on his knees, well, that memory still made him cringe. Some of the fights he had gotten into had been fun. His reunion with Dru had felt good, too, because for a brief moment it had filled him with the hope of returning to a simpler kind of existence, but afterwards? What a mess! Seeing Buffy alive again - a good moment. Having her – even better. But the morning after… He pushed the memory of her words away…

Now THIS had been a perfect night so far. Real human blood, even though not straight from the vein, beer, a few joints, a hot bath, good music, a good fight with the odds stacked against him, and some valuable loot, to boot. Oh and did I mention it? I got laid, too! But most of all he had what Hannibal Lecter had called 'a view'. A window instead of a keyhole. A 'make yourself at home' instead of a 'get lost, Spike'.

He opened the second bottle and lit himself a joint.

He let his thoughts wander, but they didn't get very far. In fact they just stopped outside the bedroom door of the apartment. It didn't require a lot of imagination to sense them in his head, all warm and snug, probably in each other’s arms. Breathing slowly, their heartbeats calm and regular, smelling nice. Totally edible. He paused. Or not. Let me rephrase that: totally shaggable.

He could recall very well the first time he had thought of them not so much as Happy Meals but as worth a second thought... or a third.

In Xander's case it had been the night before the Gentlemen came to Sunnydale, when Spike had been forced to spend the night tied to Xander's armchair. Sitting there, inhaling the prey's scent, listening to his heartbeat, watching how rapid eye movement made the human's lashes tremble, bored beyond belief with nothing but his imagination to keep him company, well, Spike had ended up with a bit of a hard-on. Only days later had he realized that by the end of the night his sexual fantasies had far outweighed the murderous ones.

In Anya’s case things had progressed a bit further…

Part Twenty-Two
Where the Demon-y Things Are

1) The first lines of dialogue come out of Season 4 episode "Where the Wild Things Are" which was written by Tracey Forbes.
2) Don't worry, I won't be bothering you with song lyrics all the time, only in scenes that take place at the Bronze, I promise.
3) The sexy screen cap I found at

The Bronze, April 2000

Sitting on a couch at the Bronze, Spike was holding a glass of vodka in his right hand. His left arm was resting along the top of the couch, almost touching Anya. The ex-vengeance demon was unhappily cradling a bottle of beer. Spike had paid for the drinks with Anya's money, because, despite over a thousand years of existence as a vengeance demon, she still wasn't allowed to buy alcohol. A fact that irritated her and cheered the vampire up.

Watching other people in misery was one of the few pleasures left to him. It's only a matter of time, he told himself. Sooner or later I'll get rid of that soddin' chip, and then I am going to paint the town red. Until then he'd bide his time, study the Scoobies or get up their noses and gloat over their petty little problems. Even better than watching 'Passions'.

He realized that Anya had stopped talking. "Yeah, tell me about it," he said, confident that she wouldn't notice that he hadn't really paid much attention to what she was saying. He was almost sure it was something about missing her powers. Instead, he had been listening to the sounds of blood pumping through her warm, delicious body. Not deliberately, mind you. All that blood, and here he was, unable to take it. It was worse than an itch one couldn't scratch; the hunger was a constant dull ache. A knot in his stomach that no amount of bagged plasma could ease.

"A year and a half ago, I could have eviscerated him with my thoughts. Now I can barely hurt his feelings," she sighed. "Things used to be so much simpler."

Simpler? You can say that again, Spike thought, for the first time fully understanding that monkey-boy's little shag toy was just as de-fanged as he was. He nodded wistfully. "You know ... you take the killing for granted." Anya nodded nostalgically. "And then it's gone," he continued. "And you're like, 'I wish I'd appreciated it more.' Stopped and smelled the corpses, you know?"

Anya just stared into empty space. "Yeah. Now everything's complicated."

"It's a terrible thing, love is. Been there myself." Spike paused, thinking of Drusilla. She's not coming back. An' even if she did - what would I tell her? 'Guess what, your big bad dog has been turned into a fluffy puppy?'

He still didn't get it, why she had left him. He still felt as if part of him was inexplicably missing. Like he was adrift, somehow. Not that he'd ever tell little Miss Vengeance 'bout that. Fortunately brawling and killing made that awful emptiness go away - for a while. Worked better than getting drunk - cheaper, too.

Shagging Harm had also helped, but only just. And now he didn't even have that stupid bint for company, anymore. Who'd fall for a neutered vampire, anyway? Not his own kind, that's for sure.

"It ended badly," he concluded, realizing how anti-climactic that sounded.

"Of course it did." Anya said knowingly. "It always does. Seen a thousand relationships. First there's the love, and sex, and then there's nothing left but the vengeance. That's how it works."

Perhaps it was the proximity or her scent, he didn't really care. But he noticed that - without any conscious thought - his body had decided to change gears. He felt himself reacting to her body in an unexpected but not unwelcome way. Spike smiled. His gaze dropped to her lips. Pretty! He gave her a once over. Veeery pretty. What was that question again: 'who'd fall for a neutered vampire?' Hmm. Perhaps an ex-demon might? At least she hadn't always been human.

He smiled and leaned in close, tapping her shoulder with his finger. "You and I... should just go do the vengeance. Both of us! You eviscerate Xander and I'll stake Dru. Like a project."

It would be fun to be part of an evil team again... He studied her intently. Well, well, if she doesn't look tempted. For a moment it seemed like she was going to agree. But then she sighed.

"I don't know. I just can't."

Spike resignedly took his arm down. No money, no blood, no evisceration of Xander, no nice after-torture shag... The thought of an eternity spent chipped made unlife look incredibly bleak.

"You can go do Dru though," Anya said, with a counterfeit cheer.

Spike nodded.  "Yeah. I will," he said, knowing that he wouldn't. He made no move. "Maybe later."

Anya smiled. They sat together quietly, morosely watching those stupid mortal humans dancing and drinking and getting on with their brief pathetic lives.

After a while Spike picked up a quickening of Anya's heartbeat. He followed her gaze. There was a couple on the dance floor that was unashamedly making out, kissing and groping, hands sliding under T-shirts... that sort of thing. He turned his attention back to the ex-demon and realized that her breathing had quickened a bit as well. Her lips were slightly parted and there was a certain longing in her eyes. His manhood hardened some more, now seriously interested. When he saw her unconsciously licking her lips he rose. Spike took her bottle and put it on a side table, together with his own drink, then he took her hands in his to slowly pull her up.

"Let's dance," he merely said.

Surprised, but pleased, she let herself be pulled to her feet, but then her smile was replaced by a look of suspicion. "Why?" she asked bluntly.

"Because dancing keeps everything else at bay," and when he realized that she didn't understand what he meant, he added: "We'll look good together. Let's not stare at them, make them stare at us."

THAT she understood.

Dancing was something Spike enjoyed. Something he was good at. He had only ever danced with Dru and a few times with prey, but he had always been the one to lead, dancing being one of the few instances in which his sire had relinquished control to him. Dru could be old-fashioned at times.

Anya wasn't an experienced dancer but she had an innate grace and a sense of time and space. But most of all she wasn't at odds with her body. Spike held her very firmly, leading her into simple motions, making her sway languidly, circling her with feline grace, gravitating around her. He didn't mind her noticing his arousal, but he didn't purposefully press his erection against her either. She, on the other hand, did not shrink from his embrace but followed his lead without hesitation. They did indeed look stunning together.

When the music stopped, she just stayed in his arms and waited for the next song, her fingers just slightly tightening their grip. He noted her heady scent, the way it was tinged by her increasing arousal, her beautiful brown eyes, her surprisingly strong body. And, of course, her warmth. He felt the mounting desire to bury himself in that heat.

"You are a much better dancer than Xander," she said with her usual directness.

"You learn a lot in over a century," he said suavely. "And not just dancin', either." She didn't react to his double-entendre. She just nodded.

The next song was "Bela Lugosi's Dead", an irony not lost on the vampire. As her confidence grew, Anya's mask of concentration was replaced by a smile. She followed her partner's cues with increasing familiarity.

...The bats have left the bell tower

The victims have been bled

Red velvet lines the black box

Bela Lugosi's dead

Undead undead undead...

Spike smiled. Having come to the conclusion that subtlety was wasted on Anya, he leaned towards her ear, his cheek close enough to feel her warmth basking his skin, but not quite touching her. "Ever been with a vampire before?" he asked her, rubbing his thumb over her palm.

"Yes, but I was still a demon then."

That was not the answer he had expected. "Anyone I know?"

"Count Dracula," Anya smiled proudly. "We dated for a while... I was only 700 then."

"Well, that poncy bugger doesn't count," Spike said, feeling a sudden pang of rivalry. "Bet you discussed the fineries of impaling people, rather than enjoying a good romp, ey?" He pulled her closer, into a spin. She responded willingly. When he pressed himself against her a bit more explicitly she responded in kind. And suddenly her hand was underneath his T-shirt.




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