Spoilers: Season 5 sort of happened but sort of didn't. No major spoilers.
Summary: Tara has never known the touch of a man. So why the hell did she and Willow think that Spike would make a good candidate? And lots of stuff about hair.
Feedback: First fic so be gentle
Disclaimer: I don't own them. They just accidentally "fell" into my pocket.
Distribution: Asking gets.
Author's note: This is just for fun. I'm not making any comments on people's lifestyle choices, so no offence intended. Repeat, this is just for fun.
It was one of those sleepy, summer mornings in downtown Sunnydale. Tara lazily entwined herself around Willow and stroked the red hair that fanned out on the pillow.
"Your hair's so soft," she said musingly. When you're in love even the most banal comments about hair texture are infused with significant meaning.
Willow smiled and wound a strand of Tara's honey blonde locks around a finger. "So's your's. Girls' hair is so much nicer than boys' hair."
Tara murmured her agreement. Her favourite feeling in the world was the soft brushing of Willow's hair against her face as they kissed.
"Like Oz's hair," continued Willow. "OK, he was adventurous when it came to dye but I so didn't love the colour damage and as for the product build up... Sheesh."
Tara wondered whether she felt uneasy and threatened by Willow's casual reference to the half-man/half rabid dog who'd been the former heir to Willow's heart, but decided to let it go in favour of the curious thought that popped ready formed from her mouth.
"What's it like... I mean, with a man?"
Willow pondered the question. "It was nice," was the best she could come up with.
Tara nibbled at her bottom lip in such an adorable way that Willow began to wonder just how long they had before their ironic Barbie alarm clock signalled wake-up time with an annoying, "I'm Barbie, let's have some fun."
Then Tara did that wounded-but-trying-to-put-a-brave-face-on-it thing with her eyebrows and Willow was racked with guilt at the knowledge that her previously heterosexual lifestyle caused her girlfriend some distress.
"Not that nice," she backtracked.
"I love what we do, with the kissing and the touching and stuff but I wonder sometimes what it would be like with a penis," commented Tara in a breathless rush almost as if she was frightened to put a voice to the thoughts she's been a'thunking.
"Maybe we could use some mojo to give me a mojo," Willow suggested but Tara put a finger to her lips to silence her.
"Honey, I was just saying that I thought about it. I don't necessarily want to do it. It's just a fantasy. And I have other fantasies that we could try that may have less disturbing side effects if the spell goes wrong," Tara smiled coquettishly and let her hand wander down Willow's side and hooked her leg over Willow's until they were lying flush against each other.
Willow arched up, once, twice, three times, so her pelvis rocked against Tara. There's was a soft, nurturing love and no nasty, veiny penis could ever come between them.
But as Willow painstakingly took notes in her Great Philosophers course, using her colour coded collection of 2b pencils that she'd painstakingly sharpened to the optimum pointiness, she couldn't help but replay the events of the morning. No, not the bit when Tara had gently licked her to orgasm, but the bit when Tara had expressed definite interest in penises. Willow got momentarily side-tracked trying to decide if the plural of penis should really be penii but got back to the matter in hand. As it were. What if Tara left her because her curiosity about the penis became too much? And what if Tara tried a penis and liked it so much that she'd spurn Willow's skill with fingers and tongue in favour of a good six inches attached to a man who didn't love Tara one squillionth as much as Willow did? There was only one course of action.
"You have to have sex with a man," she told Tara that night as she re-sharpened her pencils.
"I have to what with a what?" said Tara looking up from where she was embroidering velvet yin yangs on one of Willow's t-shirts.
"You have to have sex with a man," repeated Willow. "Just to see what it's like. In controlled laboratory conditions but really not a laboratory because I want you to enjoy it. And then we can carry on as normal. Possibly with some larger um, toys."
Tara looked about as pissy as it was humanly possible for her to look. "Are you nuts?"
"Not nuts," said Willow, reaching out and stroking Tara's hand. "Just worried that you'll always be thinking that something's missing."
"You're all that I want," insisted Tara.
"And you can honestly say that you've never, ever been tempted to find out what it's like with a man 'cause believe me it's different. They smell different and they have stubble which is itchy and mouths that are harder and longer fingers..."
"Longer fingers?" Tara couldn't help the note of something close to intrigue that crept into her voice. "How much longer?"
Willow sat down on the bed next to Tara so she could put a reassuring hand on her knee. "Y'see that's it. You've never even kissed a boy and some boy/girl bed stuff is of the good."
"I don't know," wavered Tara. "If I did it and I'm only saying if, you'd be there 'cause you could be part of it and it would be like he was just part of our love-making instead of it being about the two of us, like, me and him it would be about us, like you and me and he would be the one who wasn't..." She tailed off. Tara wished that she and Willow didn't witter quite so much.
Sometimes it could take half a day just to decide what movie they wanted to see.
"So you'll do it? That's great!," squeaked Willow. "Not great that you're going to have sex with someone who isn't me but great that you're open to new experiences and it..."
"Honey I said if," reminded Tara but Willow turned to her with an statement that Tara dreaded.
"Resolve face," announced Willow, flaring her nostrils, beetling her brow and sticking out her bottom lip.
Tara sighed. She knew when she was beaten. Well, not literally beaten because she and Willow thought that sado-masochistic sex games were nothing more than a patriarchal power game as well as being distinctly euwwww.
"So who da man?" Willow asked, getting to her feet and looking up contacts on her Palm Pilot. Apart from her dad, there were only three possible candidates with the right equipment.
Giles? Too tweedy.
Xander? Too deeply involved in a committed relationship with an ex vengeance demon.
"But he's all grrr," Tara said unhappily.
"He's only occasionally grrrr," argued Willow trying to put a positive spin on the situation. "He's practically on the ninth step of his twelve step Bloodsuckers Anonymous programme. Plus, hey, into Buffy so no big worries about him thinking this is anything more than a fiscal relationship."
"We're going to pay him to sleep with me?!"
"Yeah, this is just a business transaction."
"I don't know honey," muttered Tara." I can't get past the "bumpy forehead, I was an evil vampire."
Willow was not listening. "Oh, oh, oh, 126 years of experience. Plus I've read about those vampy sex seshes in those books ... the ones that Giles thinks we don't know where he keeps them and I've got to tell you those vamps get up to all sorts of jiggery pokery."
"You want to re-phrase that?"
Willow turned her resolve face right up to 11. "Spike is perfect."
"That's a sentence I never thought I'd hear anyone say," mumbled Tara. She considered the completely-stupid-with-added-bits-of-stupidity idea. Then she considered it again.
"Well if he tries anything funny I'm going to magic some pustulating sores on his penis," she said finally. "The really oozy ones."
Willow beamed and did a modified version of Xander's Snoopy dance. "This will be great. What could possibly go wrong?"
There was little time to put the scheme into place. What with the Lesbian Wiccans Cookies and Casting Evening that they were hosting for the first time and University stuff, Tara began to hope that Willow had forgotten all about Spike and his vampiric penis.
But a week later Sunnydale was on the business end of a particularly virulent demon's hissy-fit. Tara was vague about the details but they seemed to involve the usual mass dismemberment and icky green goo that particularly virulent demons liked to trail in their wake like a little family of fluffy ducks. There was nothing for it but an all-night Scooby research sesh chez Buffy.
Strictly speaking, research sessions were meant to be held at the Magic Box but Buffy had sofas and comfy chairs and microwave popcorn. And The Magic Box had none of these things, just lots of books about demons and all the chicken feet you could eat. There was no contest really.
Willow and Tara commandeered one of the sofas, making sure that Spike was directly opposite them. Willow wanted to gauge his mood before they put their proposition to him and Tara wanted to check out how sharp Spike's teeth were when he was in non-grrrr mode.
During a particularly boring lull in the research proceedings while Giles pontificated on the exact magical properties of the virulent demon's green goo and Anya pontificated on how the virulent demon's green goo was the exact same shade of green as her and Xander's apple-scented massage balm, Willow and Tara were able to study Spike in a discreet way.
"I've had a few looks and he doesn't seem that big," hissed Willow. "I could do a little spell so I can see through his clothes. Should I do that?"
"No," whispered Tara, appalled. "It's a violation of his privacy. Could we get him to speak or open his mouth really wide 'cause I'd really like to get a good look at his molars."
"He is kinda quiet tonight. He's probably thinking deep thoughts because he's sensitive. Sometimes he has to be sensitive, right?"
Spike was in a rather pensive mood, it was true. How did Buffy get that exact shade of honey blondeness to her hair, he thought? And could he stand to go down a few notches on the Clairol colour chart? At least one of the good things about being undead was that he never had to worry about his roots coming through. Being not alive his hair follicles never did anything annoying like drop out or grow. Mind you, there were a lot of good things about being undead but while he was chippily challenged, the hair deal was as good as it got.
Spike was broken out of his reverie by the sudden realisation that the two witches were giving him odd looks and having a heated whispered debate. He contemplated giving them the finger but thought better of it. When Tara gave him one of her "you punched my nose" looks, it often reminded him of Dru and how upset she'd get when a pint-sized Happy Meal would try to wriggle and get away. Ah, those were happy days.
But then Giles had one of his Eureka moments and as Buffy made preparations to go out and slice and dice and possibly stake and bake and even aim and maim and Willow and Tara stopped their discussion and their staring. And Spike's trip down memory lane was curtailed by the thought of some bloody (or possibly green gooey) violence before bedtime.
A few hours later when Spike sauntered through the door of his well-appointed crypt with nothing more on his mind than whether the virulent demon's green goo would have a corrosive effect on his leather duster, he found a note resting where the welcome mat would be if he wasn't a former bloodsucking fiend who didn't do welcome mats.
He picked up the note and wondered who he could possibly know who'd use lavender writing paper with moon and stars decorative borders. He soon found out.
We noticed that you seemed a bit down tonight. Possibly as a result of not being able to drain the blood of innocent virgins and stuff, not that we're judging you in any way. There's a special Passions all nighter on cable tonight and we would love it if you could some over to watch it with us. No special reason but if a couple of girls can't reach out a hand of friendship to someone going through a difficult time then what is the world coming to?We will lay on those spicy Doritos you like but if you want liquid refreshment (blood/bourbon) please being your own.
Looking forward to seeing you
Tara and Willow
PS: Any time after sundown is good for is. Except possibly before nine because Willow has a 19th century literature pop test and she needs to revise.
Spike's expression went from bemusement to disgust (why did Willow put a smiley face over the I in her name?) to evil glee. His eyebrow arched so far up his forehead that it seemed as if surgery would be the only thing to restore it to its former position. So the Sapphis sorceresses though old Spike could benefit from their Former Fiends outreach programme, did they? Well, they were in for a hell of a surprise. Plus a Passions all-nighter - added bonus.
At precisely 21.01 hours, Spike strode along the corridor of Stevenson Hall towards Willow and Tara's room. His black leather duster billowed out behind him like a black, evil thing but rather ruining the picture was one of those flimsy red striped plastic bags that the butcher's shop put his blood in. At least the liquor shop had the decency to put his two bottles of Jack Daniels in one of those badass brown paper bags.
As he raised a hand to knock on the door, it swung open to reveal Willow and Tara who were on the verge of peering out to see if Spike had taken the bait. They giggled nervously in stereo as they realised Spike was standing in front of them and William formerly The Bloody wondered if a Passions all nighter was going to make up for permanent perforation of his ear canal.
"Warm the blood and chill the bourbon," he ordered tersely, shoving his bags at Willow and pushing past both of them to stalk into the room and flop down on the couch.
"Um, Spike could you not put your feet on the coffee table?", Willow nervously requested, two hours into the Passions marathon. "Or you could take the boots off. It's just I polished it this morning and scuff marks can..."
Spike swung his legs off the coffee table and shifted himself into the corner of the couch so he could prop his legs over the arm.
"Better?" he asked with a smirk, knowing that it wasn't.
Willow had to sit on her hands to prevent them disappearing into the bathroom of their own accord and fetching a towel to place under Spike's boots. Instead she stood up and cleared her throat.
"Um, Tara can I have a word?", she hissed and scampered into the kitchen.
Tara edged around Spike so there was at least two feet between them at all times and followed Willow.
Spike lay back and took a ruminative swig of his bourbon. He'd never realised that wicca-baiting could be such fun. Those Initiative chappies had overlooked the causing-mental-anguish part of his cerebral cortex and he'd almost given Willow and Tara several apoplexys already. Once by digging a hand between the cushions of the couch and pulling out a pair of tie-dyed panties and enquiring casually as to whether the dye ran if Willow ever got caught short on patrolling duties when there were no public conveniences nearby. Then there was that odd occurrence right at the beginning of the evening when Tara had practically sat on his lap. Not that Spike minded the touch of some warm woman-shaped thing but it wasn't like a card carrying lesbian was going to be doing much touching. Willow had sat opposite and kept placing her hand on her thigh and waggling her eyebrows first at Tara and then at Spike. Was it one of her half-baked spells? Was Spike going to wake up tomorrow evening with a fat Elvis rhinestone costume on which was what had happened the last time he got caught up in one of Willow's misguided magic-making attempts? Instead he'd wrapped an arm round Tara's tense shoulders and said wolfishly, "If I didn't know any better, poodle, I'd think you were telling your girlie lover to put her hand on my leg." The effect of his words had been nothing short of magnificent. Tara had shot off the sofa and onto the floor as if she had itching powder in her knickers and Willow had blushed so hard it looked as if she was going to pop some blood vessels.
"Just unbutton the first two."
"He'll think I'm cheap and we haven't even talked money," Tara squeaked.
Thanks to his super-duper vampiric hearing, Spike caught the end of Willow and Tara's conversation. He'd have caught the beginning too if he hadn't been distracted by the sight of a "Wiccans do it sky clad" sticker on the window. Spike hadn't been around for 126 odd years without knowing when someone had impure intentions about his big, bad self. OK, he hadn't looked in a mirror for a century plus change but you didn't forget about cheekbones like his in a hurry. He wasn't quite so arrogant as to think that Willow and Tara were so overcome with lust that they'd forget about their alternative sexualities and ravish him though. It must be a witch thing, Spike decided. They want my semen for a spell and they can bloody well have it if they pay me first.
He turned his attention back to Passions as Timmy was doing something obscene to a Polly Pocket and waited for Tara and Willow to re-emerge. He didn't have long to wait. They scuttled back in and sat opposite him, their whole demeanour screaming, "Pay attention to us."
Spike waited for one of them to speak or even chuck down a plastic cup, a couple of porno mags and some written directions to the bathroom on the coffee table but ten minutes passed and they were still staring at him and occasionally nudging each other. Spike felt magnanimous. After all he was going to have a wank and get paid for it. Besides, Passions was on and he could still fit some quality wicca-baiting time in. He decided to help them by dropping a few subtle hints.
"So how's the whole lesbian thing working out for you two?" was his opening gambit.
Willow did a particularly amusing jazz hands movement. "Glad you asked," she burst out. "It's great. I feel like I'm finally in a loving, supportive relationship without having to pander to the inherent patriarchal, mainstream society."
Spike made no attempt to hide his grin. "That's nice, pet."
Tara sat there and desperately tried to think of something to say that would indicate that while she was happy in her relationship with Willow she also wanted to feel the touch of Spike's cold, dead member within her most feminine flesh. She settled for a non-committal, "I agree with what she said."
Willow smiled encouragingly. "Cause I've had the other type of relationship, with a man, well with Oz, and I don't miss it. Nope, Don't miss it all."
Ignoring Willow's "no-smoking unless it's coming from my mini cauldron" house rule, Spike pulled out a crumpled packet of Dunhill International (the cosmopolitan cigarette) and proceeded to light up. The witches were going to take all night on the sperm request and he was losing serious smoking time.
"But I guess there are some useful side effects to boinking the unfairer sex," Spike commented helpfully, figuring that it would be sun-up in six hours and he needed to leave before then. "Like semen and stuff. There's some spells that really get an added kick from some fresh man juice."
Willow and Tara assumed matching "huh?" expressions and Spike could bear it no longer.
"I've got a bloody unlife to get on with," he howled, jumping to his feet. "Tell me where to squirt it and give me some sodding money!"
Tara opened and shut her mouth a couple of times and then gave up. It was left to Willow to try and make sense of Spike's statement. Oh dear.
"We do want your sperm, no, well, sort of," she began.
Spike growled warningly. "Nothing in the taking care of your chip manual that said I couldn't call 1-800-burnthewitches."
Willow scrambled up from the sofa. "Now you listen to me Mr Ooooh Take Pity On Me Because I Can't Rape And Pillage And Kick Puppies Anymore, we want you to fuck Tara. For money. And because Giles is too much of a paternal signifier and Xander, well Xander would have to tell Anya and she'd probably want to stand guard and then she'd tell us that we weren't doing it pr..."
Willow tailed off as she realised that Spike had collapsed onto the couch and was clutching his head and crying. Not in pain but in laughter. And not good laughter either. But evil, "look at that poor defenceless school bus get involved in a head-on collision with a petrol tanker" sort of laughter.
Tara folded her arms and pouted. "I don't want to have sex with Spike anymore," she announced timidly.
Willow had just about had enough of both of them. "You will have sex with him and you'll like it," she told Tara furiously. "And you will accept our money and you will have sex with Tara and if you hurt her or make any sarcastic remarks I'll summon up a teleportation spell which will dump you in Iceland which is currently enjoying 23 hours of perpetual daylight at this time of year," she added at Spike, who sat up and looked hurt.
"No need to get personal," he sniffed.
"Ssssshh," snarled Willow. Spike ssshhhhed. Seemed like Red was finally able to articulate herself in fully joined-up sentences and this was good enough to miss Passions for.
"Tara needs to have sex with a man so she can learn from the experience and move on," Willow continued, while Tara sat there and wondered why she felt the same way as she had when her mother had called out to her dad "Tara's become a woman" on the day she'd started her periods. "You are the obvious candidate for three reasons."
"But..." Spike spluttered but Willow did some witchy thing with her hand and the only thing that came out of his mouth was his undead non-breath.
"Reason one, you're in love with Buffy so this can be a mess-free sitch on the emotional side of things," Willow explained.
"Reason two, you have lots of experience as you're a very, very, very old man. And reason three we'll pay you $200. $100 on successful penetration and $100 on completion of Tara's orgasm." Willow did the witchy hand thing again, which made her look a bit like Eminem.
Spike pursed his lips and considered the two girls. Willow was looking pleased with herself while Tara was giving a good impression of a clubbed seal cub. He had no problem with the shagging side of things but did Willow have to treat him in such a demeaning manner? He was the Big Fuckin' Bad, not some geriatric, lovesick stud for hire.
He stood up and glared at Willow before stalking towards her and dropping the TV remote control on the floor. "Well, love, what can I say? Now I'm all chipped up, deflowering virgins just doesn't really do it for me." He turned to leave and thought better of it. "Actually I can say more than that. Just 'cause he's a vampire doesn't mean a fella hasn't got feelings," he muttered. "Would've fucked your girl too if you'd asked nicely but you had to get all hostile. So I think I'll be going now."
And with that he prepared to sweep majestically out of the door. And he was almost there when he was suddenly submerged in a cloud of patchouli oil and witches as Willow and Tara enveloped him in a girly clutch.
"Spike, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," Willow cried. "But there's no rules on how to proposition men to have sex with your girlfriend."
"And I think you'd be a very nice person to have sex with," Tara mumbled, trying to stroke the hair back from his face and getting her fingers stuck.
"And I'm sorry about bringing Buffy into it."
"And I'm sorry that we implied you were mercenary."
"And I'm sorry..."
With a witch hanging off both arms, Spike shuffled along and down so that the three of them were sitting on the sofa. He was going to tell them to stop making half-moon marks with their nails on his duster but Tara's breasts were pressing against him and he could see right down Willow's purple peasant top so he thought better of it.
"OK, poodles," he said when the sobs had subsided. "You want me to shag Tara?"
"But in a nice way," added Tara.
"And you'll pay me?"
Willow nodded and smiled tremulously in a way that she'd been told was very attractive.
Spike gently disengaged each girl and turned to look at Tara. He started at the tips of her clear varnished toes, attractively presented in a pair of Birkenstocks, and didn't stop until he'd reached her parting where he was interested to note she was showing at least quarter of an inch of roots. In between the toes and the parting, he'd noted the soft curves that seemed to tremble under his gaze.
He touched her chin with his hand. "Well, pet, at least I won't have to worry about having trouble performing," he drawled.
Willow leaned over and grabbed Tara's hand. "See he wants to! And for Spike that was a compliment."
Tara tried to look pleased. As pleased as a girl can look when she's just been told by a member of the grateful undead that she'll be able to give him a hard-on.
"I'll go get more blood," she said, getting up and removing herself from Spike's roving gaze which had fixated on her breasts and showed no sign of getting bored.
Spike sat back and raised his eyebrows at Willow. "OK, Red, now that the lady's left the room, let's talk conditions."Willow rested her hands on her knees and went for a semi-resolve face. "OK."
"$150 all in," Spike purred. "Because I'm not saying I can be bought but a fella needs his smokes. And upfront. Not having the girl get an attack of maidenly virtue at the last moment and sliding out."
Willow made a minor adjustment to the resolve face. Spike was giving them a $50 reduction. What a pussy.
"Oh and Red?"
"A little side deal, I want you there to act as a fluffer," Spike said softly.
"As a whatter?" Willow squeaked.
"You ever seen a porn movie?"
"No, well, yes but it wasn't porn, it was erotica and it was really a sexual jour..."
Spike made a mental note to ask Willow whether she still had the tape at a later date. "A simple yes would have done, Red," he smirked. "Well they use fluffer girls to blow the blokes so they're all big and hard before their big scenes..."
"I am so not going anywhere near you penis," hissed Willow.
Spike wagged a pale white finger in Willow's furious face. "Now, now, now, Will, you're getting ahead of yourself. Truth is I want you to work on shy girl so she's all wet and welcoming for the Big Bad."
"Euwwwww! That's so euwwww!," spat Willow as if she'd just been forced to ingest dried goat intestines.
"Think about it, you get to be the one who ensures she has a good time," Spike pointed out with a leer. "I'd hate to go in dry."
"You're such a booger brain, Spike!"
"Sticks and stones may break my undead bones but only staking, beheading and direct sunlight will really harm me. We got a deal?"
Willow glanced up at Tara who was standing at the doorway. They stared at each other for a moment but being witches and soul-mates and lesbian lovers, they already knew what the other one was thinking.
"OK, Spike, we've got a deal."
Tara looked at herself in the mirror and made a face. It was hard to find exactly the right outfit to wear when a) You had really bad taste in clothes, b) You were getting yourself ready to be shagged by Spike and c) You weren't going to be keeping them on for very long.
In the end she settled on a black velvet smocky affair that was modest enough to ensure that Spike wouldn't become enflamed with lust and try to rip it off and sexy enough to subtly whisper, "Oh do me, you black clad bloodsucker."
Willow crept up behind her and wound her arms around Tara's waist.
"You look nice," she whispered.
Tara smiled half-heartedly. "I think I'm going to keep my knickers on," she confided to Willow's reflection. "And if I get under the covers and pull the sheets up, he won't have to look at my body."
Willow squeezed Tara tighter. "But I love your body and I'll be naked too," she protested. "It'll be just like going to the doctor for a smear, except the doctor has a penis instead of a speculum and likes to make offensive, personal remarks and, oooh, cold hands."
Tara wriggled out of Willow's embrace. "Not really helping, honey."
Willow was wearing a white slip that had escaped the great tie-dye purge of late 1999 but had been decorated with embroidered suns and moons so it wouldn't feel out of place. There was a sharp knock on the door and the two witches jumped.
"We could pretend we weren't here," Tara suggested but Willow made her resolve face (which was getting really tired at this point) and said, "Open" in a commanding voice.
"So turning a doorknob's not good enough for you," announced Spike, sauntering into the room, with his hands behind his back. He looked over at Tara and Willow and whistled. "Is that the latest in wicca seduction wear? You both look adorable."
Spike was looking well, Spike-like. So no surprises there. With the air of a really bad conjurer, Spike produced a slightly bedraggled bunch of flowers and thrust them at Willow.
"There you go, cutie," he said. "For the loan of the girl."
"Er, thanks, I think," Willow muttered and scampered off to find a vase.
Tara shifted nervously. "Shall I, um, get on the bbbbbed?"
Spike assumed a shocked statement. "Now, now, I can't have you thinking that old Spike's a wham, bam kind of guy, can I?"
"But I thought..."
The scarred eyebrow raised itself half an inch and Spike's lips arranged themselves into a smirk as he pulled the other hand from behind his back and waved a bottle of Stolichnaya at Tara.
"Vodka," he stated. "And not the cheap stuff, mind. Nothing but the best for my favourite, spell-casting little virgin."
Tara looked doubtfully at the bottle and then back at Spike. "I don't really drink much. My dad say's it leads straight to hell."
"Well you're probably going there anyway thanks to the mojo and the muff-diving," Spike pointed out. "Can't see that some vodka's going to make much difference."
"Besides you're not food, you're a get-a-happy meal..."
"So that makes a difference?" asked Tara, following Spike over to the couch.
Spike sighed. "In the old days I'd fuck 'em, fang 'em and forget 'em. Well, drain their blood until they were dead. But figured I might as well make the fucking count for something. So you drink that and get yourself all oiled up and we'll get Will to do the rest of the oiling and then the Big Bad here can take care of everything else."
Half an hour later the vodka was three quarters gone, along with Tara's black velvet dress. Strangely, she felt quite comfortable lying against Spike on the sofa in just her underwear. He'd been really nice in an evil, undead kind of way and when she'd got all shy about taking her dress off, Spike had put her at ease by telling her that he'd shagged Dru for over a century and was looking forward to getting his hands on a girl with a bit of flesh on her.
Willow had had a bottle of the Bull's Blood wine they kept for cooking and casting emergencies and was also pretty far gone.
"But if you can get an erection, how come your roots never grow out?" she was asking Spike in a perplexed voice, as she slumped against him.
Spike patted his crotch. "Not getting much of an erection right now," he reminded her. "You going to honour your fluffing obligation?"
Willow and Tara leant across Spike's lap and kissed each other softly as Spike sat back to enjoy the show. Five minutes later, Spike Jr had yet to put in an appearance.
"Listen ladies, " he growled. "Give it some tongue and stop the girly stuff."
Five minutes later, Willow and Tara were licking and slurping as Spike stroked a hand down each of their backs and embarked on a simultaneous undoing of the bra straps that would have won him an Olympic gold medal if they had a special category for simultaneous undoing of the bra straps.
Five minutes after that, Spike was watching with interest and lightly stroking himself as Willow trailed a hand up Tara's leg and cupped her mound. Part of him registered that Willow's technique was all over the place as she began to stroke Tara in a random way and the other part of him (the part that wasn't all primed and ready to go) was feeling a bit nostalgic for the bad old days when he used to watch Darla and Dru fuck ten shades of hell out of each other.
Five minutes later and Willow's fingers were still on walkabout and Tara was wriggling. Not in a good way either.
"Sorry honey, I've got a cramp," she murmured, trying to stand up to shake her leg and retain some vestige of modesty given that she was only wearing a pair of purple briefs.
Willow looked up from where she'd been kneeling on the floor to find Spike watching her with a slightly disapproving statement.
"What?" she asked defensively.
"Have to say Red, never thought you'd be so sloppy," he said in a critical voice. "You're not going to get the girl off by all that tickly stuff with the fingers everywhere but where she wants it."
"Tara likes it when I'm gentle," snapped Willow and looked to Tara for support.
"I do," nodded Tara, as she sat down on the sofa with a cushion firmly clutched to her body. "Gentle is good."
Spike snorted derisively. "Gentle's for little fluffy puppies, children. We're talking about fucking here. And fucking isn't about being gentle. It's about teasing and tasting and touching so that the blood's roaring in your head and racing through your body until you're consumed by it. And the other person is your god and your demon and all colours in between. Until you don't know where they start and where you bloody well begin."
The temperature in the room seemed to crank up a couple of notches and both girls felt hot as Spike's deep voice curled around them.
He stood up and held out his hand to Tara who scrambled off the couch and let Spike tug her towards the bed. He pushed her down and turned to Willow who was squirming where she knelt.
"Get over here, Red," he commanded. "And lose the clothes."
Willow was going to point out that her and Tara were in control here but one look at Tara laying on the bed where Spike had put her, kind of nixed that theory.
Spike grabbed a pillow and advanced on Tara who bit her lip nervously. "You can't begin to lose yourself when you've still get your knickers on, pet," he told her softly with a significant look at Willow who climbed on the bed and tugged away the offending under garments.
Spike tossed the pillow at Willow. "Put that under her hips."
Willow did as she was told and looked at Spike for the next instruction. Spike rolled his eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed, next to the two girls.
"OK, time for a little anatomy lesson, ladies," he said. "Please tell me you know where and what the clitoris is."
"Of course we do!" said Willow. "It's a little nub of flesh at the top of the labia..."
Spike raised his eyebrows and cocked his head in the direction of Tara.
"Show and tell, Will, with the emphasis on the show."
Willow teased a finger between Tara's lips and wiggled it around until she hit paydirt. Tara let out a sigh.
"OK, that's more like it," said Spike with a leer. "Now concentrate on the clit. You can tease around it but don't forget about it. When her hips start doing that, increase the pressure slightly. Go on, circle it and rub it..."
Spike quickly pulled the t-shirt over his head as Willow followed his orders. At the back of her mind was the niggling thought that she knew this stuff and she didn't need some super-annuated bleach victim to tell her but the way that Tara was rolling her hips and arching her back in a way that she never had before and the way that the sound of Spike's voice seemed to start this itch right in the pit of her stomach made her mindlessly follow his lead.
"Now put a finger inside her," Spike continued as he crouched down at the side of the bed so her could get a grandstand view of Tara clamping down on Willow's digit. "See how she likes that. Now another one and don't just hold it there for a count of three, touch her bloody g-spot."
That did it. Still with two fingers embedded inside Tara, Willow glared at Spike. "The g-spot does not exist," she began angrily. "Vaginal orgasms are just a myth perpetrated by a patriarchal imperative to make women feel guilty. Clitoral orgasms are..."
Spike looked bored. "Oh come on," he drawled. "This is about fucking sweetheart, remember? It is not about what your bloody sixties throwback mother taught you or your Feminism 101 textbook."
Willow gasped in outrage. How did Spike know that her facts of life talk with her mother had consisted of an hour long diatribe about men who didn't pay any attention to the clitoris?
"Anyway, modern feminist writing on sex fully validates the existence of vaginal orgasms," Spike said with the tone of someone who'd once thought about turning Camille Paglia. Just for the hell of it. But Dru had put the mockers on that idea.
"How would you know that?" Willow sniped, feeling guilty that she'd only completed the 1960's portion of her reading list.
"I read a lot," Spike confessed. "When there's not much on telly, mind."
"Um, guys," whispered Tara who'd been forgotten during the heated debate.
Spike shook his head to clear his thoughts and inched closer to Willow.
"Give me your hand," he told her as she withdrew from Tara.
Spike pulled Willow's glistening fingers towards his mouth and licked Tara's juices from them. As Spike's cool mouth engulfed her fingers and she felt him suck down hard, Willow shuddered.
Spike smirked. "Oh no, Red, this is about Tara."
He pulled Willow's fingers out of his mouth, nipping the ends playfully before clasping her hand and entwining their index fingers.
He advanced towards Tara, who was feeling more and more like a biology experiment, and slowly pushed his and Willow's fingers into her and rubbed lightly at a particular spot. Tara let out a cry and jerked upwards.
"And that, ducks, is the g-spot," Spike announced smugly. Willow was mesmerised by the way Tara's body shuddered and shook as her finger stroked the little bump that Spike had found. She didn't even notice Spike remove his finger, as she experimentally flicked Tara's clit with her thumb and was rewarded by Tara writhing against her hand.
"Don't let her come," Spike said somewhere behind her as he unzipped his jeans. And then Willow felt Spike push her out of the way and Tara whimpered as all of a sudden there was nothing where there had been everything. Then Spike was leaning over her and running his hands down the back of her calves and lifting her so her legs were resting on his shoulders and when he slid into her she felt full again.
"That's right pet, that's how you do it," he muttered as she clamped down hard on his cold cock which instead of cooling her just made the itchy heat start all over again. But as Spike pressed further and further into her relentlessly, Tara felt an agonising pain as Spike surged further into her than Willow's fingers could ever go.
"Ow, ow, OW!" she shrieked.
Spike suddenly pulled out of her and clutched at his head as his body was racked with waves of white-hot pain as his government approved chip voiced its protest.
"Oh fucking hell," he howled just before he collapsed in a heap at the bottom of the bed.
When Spike finally came round from the huge electrical shock he was wary of what new surprises his after-unlife was going to provide. He gingerly opened one eye and then the other to find two pairs of breasts staring right back at him. This had to be heaven. His eyes shut again as he became aware of something warm and gentle lightly touching his cock.
"And see how it jerks when you do that," he heard Willow say.
"It's so weird that he's technically dead but everything works and it's not rotting," Tara commented.
"And I wonder why he still has sperm," Willow added. "That's pre-cum right there, it's like..."
The warm, gentle thing experimentally dabbed the wet head of Spike's cock and he gritted his teeth.
"Honey, I know what pre-ejaculatory fluid is," Tara said. "It tastes like salty nothingness."
Spike arched off the bed as someone ran the tip of their tongue along his shaft.
"Bloody hell," he exclaimed hoarsely, opening his eyes to see Tara's licking him while Willow watched. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"Oh, you're awake," Tara mumbled, looking embarrassed. "I was just..."
"I know what you were just doing, witch," Spike growled. "Don't stop."
He suddenly realised that while he'd been unconscious Willow and Tara had taken off his boots and jeans and put a pillow under his head. Then taken advantage of his comatose body. "Bloke can't even pass out without being molested," he grumbled good-naturedly as Tara experimentally sucked on the end of his dick.
"Spike," Willow said, resting her head on his chest. "How come you're not cold? I mean, I thought all vamps were cold."
Spike rolled his eyes. "That's one of those bleedin' Anne Rice myths," he bit out. "We... room temperature... you've got the central heating... on... oooon... oooooooon." With a groan, he came.
Tara raised her head. "Do you think it's rude that I didn't swallow, Will? I mean that stuff has been in him for over a hundred years."
"Euwwwww!," grimaced Willow.
Tara crawled up the bed and snuggled against Spike, so he had a witch on either side.
Spike absentmindedly patted their heads and wondered whether the last few hours had been a flashback from the LSD-tainted blood he'd fed on during Woodstock.
"I should get going," he said finally, making no move to shift either girl. "It'll be sun up soon."
"It was sunrise a couple of hours ago," Tara pointed out.
"Yeah, when you went all 'aaaaargh, my chip' so we closed the curtains," added Willow. "I guess you're stuck here."
"Oh yeah, sorry about that whole virginity thing," Spike drawled, turning his head towards Tara. "Didn't mean to hurt you. Not that I'm going soft, mind, just wasn't part of the deal is all."
"You didn't really hurt me," protested Tara. "I mean it hurt but it was starting to not hurt and feel nice and then you fainted."
"I did not faint," insisted Spike. "I'm a badass vampire, we don't faint. I had a soddingly huge electric current in my head is what happened."
"Whatever," agreed Tara happily. "We could try again and Will was thinking..."
"Oooh, you could do the finger thing on me, to find the g-spot," Willow burst out. "Not that I'm saying there is a g-spot but I think, strictly as a controlled experiment, that maybe you should because you have the longer fingers or if you had to have the sex with me that would be alright too."
Spike smirked. "I don't know if I feel like it. I feel weak. In fact, I might not be able to do anything..."
Both girls' faces crumpled as if their whole world had turned to broken biscuit.
"Of course if I could get some blood that might make me feel better," Spike mused.
Willow sat up. "I think there's some left in the fridge."
"Not pig's blood," Spike said casually. "I need the good stuff. O negative, AB... I'm not fussy."
"Spiiike," said Willow warningly. "You wouldn't be taking advantage of two powerful Wiccas just 'cause you thought they were driven half crazy by the thought of..."
"No, I'm just saying I had a buggering big chip attack and I need the vamp equivalent of chicken soup."
"But you can't bite us," said Tara.
"I know I can't bite you, cutie," Spike replied with an edge of exasperation to his voice. "But I'm pretty sure that if you made some cuts I could have a good suck without the chip going off."
Willow jumped off the bed. "Oh, I've had an idea," she giggled and proving that Wiccans did indeed do it skyclad, she ran naked to the fridge. "We keep this for spells," she said pulling out a pint jug of blood. "It's human. We do a monthly blood drive at our Cookies And Casting group."
Spike ruefully smiled. "Guess it will do," he said, taking the container from Willow. "Although fresh would be better."
"Or we could just tell Buffy that you have trouble performing," offered Tara innocently to the surprise of both Spike and Willow.
"Well the longer he mucks around with the whole blood thing, the longer it is before, y'know, we can do stuff," Tara said defensively.
Spike shot Willow an amused look. "She's an insatiable little chit, isn't she?" He pulled the lid off the jug and took a long, deep drink, draining the blood within seconds.
"That's more like it?" he announced, wiping a hand over his mouth. "Now I'm going to clean my teeth 'cause I'm guessing you girls are a bit squeamish when it comes to getting platelets stuck between your teeth and while I'm gone you can decide who's going to be first."
When Spike had finished rinsing out his mouth and turned off the tap, he heard the low murmur of voices from the bedroom."And it was really sweet when he was telling you what to do to me, like he wanted me to enjoy it," Tara whispered.
"Oh and don't forget when he bought me flowers and the whole getting-us-drunk so we wouldn't nervous," Willow added softly.
"I was scared even when he first got here but he seems like a different person when he's not doing the black clothes although I don't like it when he shouts."
"But you have to admit it is kinda sexy when he gets all ...Oh my God, this is Spike that we're talking about. He's tried to kill me on at least two different occasions," Willow suddenly yelped.
Spike nodded to himself. Yeah he was kinda sexy. And just 'cause he was a cold (well room temperature) blooded killer didn't mean that he could slack off when it came to seducing the ladies. Oh, he was bad, alright.
"Tell me about it," Tara encouraged.
"Well one time he sniffed my neck but the second time there was definite straddling..."
"You're so lucky," said Tara wistfully.
"Yeah, apart from the fact that he was intent on sucking every last drop of blood from me but in a good way," Willow decided. "He did offer to turn me."
"What can I say, Red? I'm all heart," Spike purred from the doorway. "Well, actually the heart doesn't work too well but..." Spike shrugged and slunk towards the bed, unconcerned that he was naked. He climbed onto the bed and rested on his hands."So where do I go from here?" He looked at Tara. "Do we finish what we started?" He turned to Willow. "Or do I start something new?"
There was a moment's silence. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the ironic Barbie alarm clock. Spike's steady gaze seemed to immobilise both girls. And then both girls launched themselves at him and Spike was kissing Tara, driving his tongue into her willing mouth while Willow wound her arms round his waist and nipped the back of his neck with her blunt teeth.
And then Spike was hovering over Willow, two fingers moving inside of her while she clutched at his arm and begged him for something that couldn't even find words for her.
"Have you been a good enough girl for three fingers or a bad enough girl for four?" he'd asked before pushing her relentlessly to a climax with three fingers buried deep inside her and his thumb worrying her clit.
Then he was moving inside Tara, and kissing Willow. At some stage Spike remembered telling Tara to get on top so he could position Willow over his mouth and as he took Willow's clit between his teeth, he felt Tara suddenly tighten around him so his cock was clutched tight and then he was coming hard as Willow collapsed sobbing on his chest.
And after that there had been a shower although the three of them were too languid to do anything other than feebly splash water at each other and then they'd curled up on the sofa, Spike's arms around each of them as they watched The Bold And The Beautiful. But the sun was going down and all this fucking had left Spike with a taste for some really vile demon slaughter to take the feeling of soft, fluffy Wicca love out of his system. That and a side order of spicy buffalo wings.
He slipped on his black leather duster and kissed each girl gently on the forehead. "Remember, nobody finds out about this," he reminded them menacingly. "You tell anyone that I was nice to you and when I get this chip out of my head you two are first on my 'things to brutally kill' list."
Tara looked hurt that Spike could be so matter of fact about the time they'd shared. She'd read about how boys went all cold and distant once they'd had their way with a girl. But Willow just smiled mysteriously and mock-punched Spike on the arm.
"I guess we'll see you around," was all she said. "At a research session or something."
And with one last deep, penetrating look from his cerulean blue eyes and a raising of one pale hand in salute, Spike was gone out of the room, down the corridor and into the darkness. Where a creature of the night like him belonged. But the vampiric vision that he created with his leather duster sweeping out behind the lean panther-like grace of his body was ruined somewhat by the shit-eating grin that distorted the taut lines of his face.
Chip or no chip, it had been a fucking great way to earn $150.
Rating: R-ish (This part contains language that some people may find offensive.)
Spoilers: Season 5 sort of happened but sort of didn't. No major spoilers.
Summary: Sequel to Bizarre Love Triangle. Willow and Tara two to go cold turkey re: sex with Spike. Spike drinks lots of Wild Turkey. Wackiness ensues.
Disclaimer: Nothing to do with me. Oh no.
Distribution: Asking gets.
Authors note: This is just for fun. I'm not making any comments on people's lifestyle choices, so no offence intended. Repeat, this is just for fun.
Willow bucked as Tara's fingers unerringly found the spot that was the source of all pain and all pleasure.
"Oooooh, right there," she squealed. "Harder!"
"OK, Willow?" murmured Tara. "I can't do it any more, I'm getting finger cramps."
Willow rolled over onto her back and experimentally flexed her shoulder. "I think the tension lumps have gone now. You wanna have smoochies with a side order of wild monkey sex now?" she asked hopefully.
Tara shrugged. "I s'pose. I was just... wondering."
Willow inwardly rolled her eyes. She didn't actually roll her eyes inward because they would be freaky, she just did it metaphorically. "Wondering what Spike's doing now," she said, finishing Tara's sentence."Look, Spike isn't here, he's probably mooning after Buffy or re-unliving his glory days or stalking menacingly around his crypt with his t-shirt off so the moonlight plays along the smooth muscles of his marble chest... alright, I miss him too."
"I don't miss him," pointed out Tara unhappily. "And the sex has been good without him but not as good."
"Oh God, we're slaves to the penis!," cried Willow. "An undead penis belonging to a soulless, bloodsucking creature of the night."
"You don't have to say it like it's a bad thing."
"But it is!"
There had been a lot of conversations like this over the last month. Ever since the thing with Spike. The sex thing with Spike. The sex thing with Spike that they'd dared not give a name to. And it wasn't like they were obsessed with him. It was more that once you've tasted vamp, you can never go back.
Luckily (or unuckily, depending on your politics), life on the hellmouth was quiet. Unnaturally quiet which meant that Giles was insisting that they all enjoyed the peace while it lasted and took this time to kick back... As if! Giles had become, as Xander had so quaintly put it, a research nazi and insisted that the Scoobies were on a Code Orange, which was a bit like a Code Red but without lots of sirens blaring and people rushing around and screaming, "Oh my God, we've got another one down! Where's a medic?"
No, Code Orange meant sitting round the Magic Box looking at a load of dusty books while Giles studied obscure astronomic texts to discover if the stars would reveal any clues as to why there was a distinct link of demonic activity in little, old Sunnydale. In actual fact, there was no sinister trouble a'brewin'. OK, there was a little nest of baby Tarris demons coming to a slow boil in one of the caves near the beach but most of the nasties were currently at Demonapalooza which happened in Buttfuck, Idaho every fifty years or so.
But what all this research meant was that Willow and Tara were spending more time with Spike than their collective girl hormones could currently handle. There were times when he got an attack of the Big Bads and refused to help them with their "poxy research" and there were times when Willow and Tara managed to wriggle out of another dusty book sesh by pretending they were doing some skyclad ritual when really they were watching Pretty Woman for the umpteenth time on the vague pretext that there were re-claiming it as a feminist text but really because they liked the bit when Julia Roberts sang the Prince song in the jacuzzi. But there were other times when they were in the same room as Spike and they were not happy times. Spike would either a) stare longingly at Buffy, b) make veiled references to their threesome and smirk at their discomfort or c) ignore them and indulge in a spot of Xander-baiting (which isn't as rude as it sounds.)
"Do you... I mean...Would it be so bad if we did it with him again," Tara muttered. "Y'know, just for old time's sake."
"No!," squealed Willow. "We don't need him, our sex life is great and we are in a loving, committed relationship and he has been a complete pig ever since it happened."
"But he's really good at talking dirty and finger sex and other sex," Tara said wistfully. "You could make love with him this time."
"Oh that's so sweet... No, Tara, I know that you have these feelings and I have them too but they'll pass. One day. Maybe. I miss Spike," Willow finished on a wail.
"I miss him too," agreed Tara, sitting down next to Willow and stroking her arm. "Maybe his semen has magical, addictive properties and that's why we're jonesing for him."
"We have to be strong," said Willow, through gritted teeth. "No more Spike smoochies."
"I guess," Tara sighed, with a doubtful look on her face.
The object of their affection was only two blocks away, in the Sunnydale Bubble-o-matic laundromat, doing a dark wash. The Bubble-o-matic was deserted as Spike stared morosely at his seven black t-shirts (one for each night of the week) and three pairs of black jeans (one on, one off, one spare) spinning round and hoped that no-one he knew was going to come in. It wasn't that he felt like a clothes-cleaning pansy ass, Spike thought as he took a swig from his third bottle of Wild Turkey. And it wasn't as if the Bubble-o-matic was a demon-free zone. When Demonapalooza wasn't on, it was usually full of vamps waiting patiently in line for the dryers and the odd Polgara demon asking for change to buy soap powder. Willy's Bar had nothing on this place. It was just all of Spike's black stuff was in the wash and he was sitting in broad moonlight in a pair of blue jeans (OK, at least they were indigo blue) and a red bowling shirt with the name "Marvin" embroidered on the breast pocket that he'd had since the 50's and never got round to throwing out. His wash-night wardrobe made him feel all out of sorts.
But it wasn't just that. Spike was nursing a major grudge against the Wiccas.
Gave them two orgasms a piece, he thought. And do they mention it to Buffy? Do they tell her that old Spike isn't just a demon but a demon in the sack too? Do they fuck! You do two inept lesbians a favour and this is how they repay you.
Spike drained the bottle, debated throwing it against the wall in a fit of pique and thought better of it. He didn't want to get barred from the Bubble-o-matic. Then he'd have to go to Wishee Washee on the other side of town and their spin dryers were distinctly sub-standard.
I should go round there, he thought, and really give their girly selves a good seeing to. When they can't walk straight, then they'll have something to tell Buffy. Yeah, that's what I should do.The dryer buzzed and Spike gave a resigned sigh, got to his feet and opened the door. He sniffed a t-shirt contentedly. Next to the scent of blood dripping from the gash in a virgin's neck, newly laundered cotton was one of his favourite smells. He folded up his clean clothes and shoved them into his canvas hold-all before stomping out into the street.
As he walked down Marchmont Street towards the cemetary, he reached the block where Willow and Tara lived and couldn't help but look up and notice that their light was still on. Probably sucking each other and using all the tricks I taught them to get themselves off, he thought savagely. Bloody Glinda and her little gal pal. And I'm not drunk. Just angry. Yeah, I got a right to be angry. Think they can use me then throw me away.
Spike was drunk. Three bottles of Wild Turkey on a stomach used to a one-bag-of-blood-a-day diet has quite an effect on a vampire's constitution. Plus a bad attack of the wash day blues. Not a good combination. Which explained why Spike stood under the witches' window for another moment and then opened the door of their apartment building and purposefully padded towards the stairs.
Willow and Tara had just settled down to watch The Craft and sneer at its false representation of wiccan traditions when there was a steady banging on the door.
"Put the security chain on," warned Willow as Tara went to open it.
"Bloody well let me in," came a muffled voice as Tara got nearer.
"It's Spike," said Tara, trying to keep her voice expressionless. She fumbled with the door latch and Spike practically fell through the doorway, his fist still pounding away.
"Oh this is cosy," he sneered, dropping his hold-all and surveying the candle-strewn apartment. It did look cosy but, without the aid of a props department, it had taken the two girls an hour to light the bag of 100 nightlights they'd got on special offer from IKEA.
"Spike," said Willow, scrambling to her feet. "You're here and... you're wearing clothes that aren't black."
Spike swayed unsteadily. "Got invited to a fancy dress party; thought I'd go as a nice boy."
Tara, unable to stop herself, touched his breast pocket lightly and traced the embroidered name. "I like your shirt," she murmured.
"Belonged to a bloke...", Spike shook his head angrily. "See, didn't come here to swap fashion tips not with people as sartorially challenged as you two. Got a bone to pick with you and if I didn't have this fucking chip I'd be picking them for real and having a grand old time of it."
Willow looked at Tara who winked at her and then back at Spike.
"You have a bone to pick with us?", she asked knowingly. "Oh come on, we know what you really want."
Spike cocked an eyebrow. "Think you can play games with me? Poodle, I've been fucking with people's heads for over a century and you two are strictly little league."
He turned to Tara who was still standing nearer to him than was strictly necessary. She'd been debating whether Spike would find it strange if she gave in to her baser instincts and buried her head in the place where his shoulder met his neck and inhaled great whiffs of Spikiness.
Spike narrowed his eyes. "I can smell you, little witch', he hissed. 'And, Will, I can smell you from here. It's like salt and the sea and wild strawberries and the faintest hint of cinnamon."
"Well, I've been trying these new essential oils, Willow began and as Tara added, "We could mix you up something, maybe in the citrus family..." Spike smashed the empty bottle of Wild Turkey that he'd still been clutching against the wall. Tara almost jumped out of her twitching skin and sidled over to Willow who clutched her hand comfortingly.
"Shut up," he snarled, stalking towards them. "I'm not talking about your foofy potions, I'm talking about how you reek of sex and want and how I put that smell there. With my fingers and my mouth and my cock."
Spike stopped. He was so close to them that he could see the tiny baby hairs that rested against Tara's temples and the stray eyelash on Willow's cheek. Deliberately he put a finger to his mouth and swiped at the tip with his tongue before pressing it against Willow's cheek.
"You going to make a wish, witch?" he asked, showing her the lash.
Willow could feel that mad, bad ache begin right at the pit of her stomach. All she could think about was the pink, moist sweep of Spike's tongue and the havoc it could cause to her central nervous system. Well, that and getting a dustpan and brush and clearing up the broken glass before someone cut themselves.
"What should I wish for?" she said in a voice that seemed to have got awfully husky.
Tara squirmed restlessly next to her. "Um, what do you want, Spike?" she questioned hopefully, eagerly anticipating the list of demands and insinuations that Spike would deliver that would end with the three of them pressed skin-to-skin-to-skin against each other.
Spike stepped back. OK, he'd had alcohol and his logic was kinda cloudy but the witches didn't seem to be grasping exactly how mightily pissed off with them he was. In fact, the scent of their arousal seemed to be getting stronger, almost as if they were turned on by his anger. You never could trust a witch. They were sneaky, sly...
"So, Spike," Tara tugged at his sleeve, impressed with her own daring and couldn't help they way her hand curled around his bicep.
Spike looked at the offending hand. He'd forgotten how soft... "Are you doing some weird mojo on me?" he snapped, pulling his arm free from Tara's caress. "Think you can blind side me and get me all soft and soul-having so I'll donate my gizzards for one of your rituals."
"I don't think you actually have gizzards," Willow said helpfully.
"Turkeys have them and you have drank a lot of Wild Turkey but not enough to give you a gizzard."
"Oh for crying out bloody loud," whimpered Spike, running a hand through his hair. "I come round here to have things out with you and we end up taking a turn around the fucking back roads."
He stalked over to the telephone, picked it up and thrust it at Willow.
"You want buffalo wings, bourbon, blood? I don't think there's an all-night butcher, well not one that would deliver."
"Phone the Slayer," demanded Spike.
"I don't think she keeps a supply," Willow said.
"Are you completely stupid?" Spike said venomously. "I want you to tell Buffy that I was an animal in the sack. But in a good way. I want you to tell her how many times I made you both come and about the g-spot and that I was nice but not poofy nice, and, oh yeah, that I kept the fangs to myself."
The atmosphere immediately stopped being all hot and heavy and went down to chill-compartment temperature.
"You came round here all snarly and semi-grrr because we didn't give Buffy a report?" said Tara in disbelief.
Willow threw the phone on the couch. "Hey, Spike, you sure you don't want us to go round to her house and draw her some diagrams too?"
Spike thought about it for a moment. "Nah, the phone call should do it."
Willow's lips tightened and she folded her arms. Tara put an arm round her shoulders and shot Spike a reproachful look.
"We're not telling Buffy anything," she announced before Willow could speak. "We want you to leave before you make us mad enough to forget our Wiccan oaths."
Spike put his hands up as if to ward off any stray spell that could disfigure him.
"I do you a favour. A huge favour. I give you a good time. Show you how to give each other gargantuan happies and you won't make one poxy phone call," Spike spat. "Christ I hate this fucking town. I hate my fucking life. I hate this chip. And I hate wash day. And you know what I really hate?"
He was pacing now, his hands twisting about in agitation as Willow and Tara stood there trying to maintain a stern countenance.
"I hate being the Slayer's lap dog. I hate that you think I'm your desginated fuck boy. Two years ago I'd have ripped out your spines and then gone to watch the dog racing. But not now! Oh no, now Spike gets paid to service two selfish little girls who like to play around with a Fisher Price My First Cauldron and think they're witches."
He bent down to pick up the hold-all.
"So that night meant nothing to you?" Willow asked in a small voice.
Spike didn't turn round but carried on walking towards the door. "It meant something," he muttered. "But it was just fucking. It was skin and blood and sticky but I've got a dead heart that only beats for her."
As he reached for the door handle, he heard the faint rhythmic beeping as Willow pressed 1 on her speed dial. He stopped and idly wondered if he should tell her that he didn't need the benefits of a speaker phone when he had undead-enhanced hearing.
"Hey Wills, you done with being wicca girl for the night?"
"Buffy, I have something to tell you and you're not going to like it but don't judge me or Tara, it was just we were thinking and it seemed like a good idea..."
"OK, Wills, did one of your spells go wrong? Oh God, you haven't turned Anya into a shrimp, have you? 'Cause it wasn't funny the first three times you did it and Xander is starting to get majorly pissed off."
"Buffy, Tara and I had sex with Spike."
"You had what with what?"
"Sex. S.E.X. Don't ask me why 'cause I'm still trying to figure that one out but..."
"You had sex with Spike?"
"Well, technically no, Tara did. But I did other things with him and had two orgasms and Tara had three. Are you mad at me?"
"Wills what have I told you about this?"
"Er, I don't think we ever had a talk about sex with Spike, did we?"
"OK, I know that you and Tara think that I think those stinky old herbs are just for spells but admit it Wills, you've been smoking the waccy baccy."
"Jazz cigarettes, mary joanna, pot. I'm not mad at you Wills but it's late and I've got an early class and next time you're stoned, can you phone Xander instead?"
Spike slowly turned around. Willow shrugged. "I tried. Um, she didn't seem to..."
"I heard," Spike said flatly.
"We have phoned her up a couple of times when we've been stoned," Tara admitted. "Sometimes you have to use marijauna in spells."
Spike gave her a look that said, "I've been around long enough to see right through that one, sweetheart."
Tara blushed. "Well, it was worth a try."
"I'm going," Spike said. "Shouldn't have bothered you. I'm not the Big Bad, I'm the big bitch. As if the Slayer would even care if I gave orgasms to everyone in Sunnyhell."
"Spike," said Willow softly. "Don't leave like this. You're all sad and your shoulders have gone all droopy."
"And I'm still frightened of you," Tara offered. "Not so much since we had sex but I don't like it when you wear the coat and you go all game face."
Spike pulled a face. "Ah, you're just saying that."
Tara shook her head vigorously. "When Giles asked for his Kiss The Librarian mug back and your eyes flashed, my stomach got all knotted."
Spike slumped against the door and slid, until he was sitting on the floor with his knees against his chest and his head in his hands.
Tara knelt in front of him and stroked the top of his head.
"Don't be miserable Spike," she pleaded. "C'mon, you're a badass."
"And you're trying to humour me," Spike said. "You know, I don't like people touching me unless they're trying to kill me or fuck me."
Tara's hand stilled.
Spike looked up. "I didn't say you had to stop though, ducks, did I?"
Willow walked over to them with her hands behind her back.
"Hey, this is quite the pity party," she said lightly.
"And what of it?" mumbled Spike, who all of a sudden wasn't so sure if he had enough energy to deal with Willow. Tara was a lot easier on the ears.
"Hey, if you're going to be like that I'm not going to give you a party favour," Willow said disapprovingly. "Pick a hand."
Spike sighed and Tara giggled, nudging him. "Go on."
"Left," said Spike resignedly. Was the primo head-stroking worth putting up with Willow's wittering?
"That was the correct answer," said Willow, pulling out her left hand from behind her back and dangling a baggie full of the finest skunkweed right in front of Spike's face.
Spliff on top of three bottles of whiskey will make the most badass vampire to ever stalk a cemetery do silly, un-bitey things. Spike was no exception.
"I fucking told you I could do it," he insisted to Willow and Tara's feet.
"And we're impressed, " Tara giggled, taking another drag on the joint before passing it to Willow who was laying next to her on the floor. "That has to be five minutes but isn't all the blood rushing to your head making you feel dizzy?"
"Nah, another benefit of being undead," bragged Spike, who'd been standing on his head with his legs propped against the wall.
"Spikey, stop now, I'm getting a crick in my neck trying to talk to you," Willow moaned. "The blood thing is so weird. Because, like your heart isn't beating so there's nothing to pump the blood round your body so why doesn't the blood just slosh about? And how come you haven't decomposed? Are your cells still alive?"
Spike attempted to right himself and ended up crashing to the floor in an ungainly heap.
"What can I tell you, Will? I'm a fucking medical miracle is what I am. I am undead boy... Hey, Glinda 2, don't bogart the joint."
Spike crawled across the floor and collapsed next to Tara who was attempting to stick three cigarette papers together...
"It's depressing," she announced. "I can summon a temporal fold but I can't seem to roll any more joints."
Willow leaned across her and took over. "This is the last of the weed," she said plaintively as she expertly rolled the paper and licked the end.
"We could phone up Brock," Tara suggested. "He'd deliver." She pulled her hand away from Spike's mouth where he'd been happily nibbling the tips of her fingers.
"I'm hungry," he said defensively. "I've got the munchies and if I don't get something to eat soon, I'm going to..."
"Lick us to death?" both Willow and Tara finished hopefully.
Spike looked at them from heavily lidded eyes. "Now, now, now," he snapped playfully. "I might have room for a little witch or two afterwards but right now I want, hmmm, ice cream."
"Oh, I'd like ice-cream too," added Tara.
"We have ice-cream... except we don't," Willow groaned. "We finished it last time we got stoned and then we didn't get anymore because we thought that if we didn't have munchies, we wouldn't be tempted to get stoned."
"I think we have some frozen yoghurt," Tara said.
"I'm a fucking creature of the night, I'm evil, I don't fucking do frozen yoghurt," Spike reminded them.
"Oh so the hot chocolate with the marshmallows is alright because really it's evil hot chocolate with bad marshmallows?" Willow snorted.
Spike was feeling far to mellow to even think about ripping Willow's throat out. He just smiled softly. "I guess I'm a paradox," he said, shrugging and stretched his arms lazily. "So no ice-cream? Don't suppose we could phone Xander..."
"No," yelped Willow.
"I bet Chubs has got ice-cream," Spike continued. "He's probably coating demon girl in Phish food as we speak and then licking it off her as she demands orgasms."
"I like orgasms, Xander, give me more of them," said Tara, in an uncanny impersonation of Anya. "I like orgasms a lot though not as much as money which I can use to purchase sex toys which can give me even more orgasms."
"She can do a good Buffy as well," Willow told Spike proudly, propping herself up on her elbows. "Do Buffy, Tara."
Tara tried to look apologetic. "It's the grass," she said to Spike. "Makes me do these things."
Spike nodded understandingly. "Go on, do Buffy," he encouraged, sitting up and leaning forward.
"Hi, I'm Buffy," said Tara. "I don't want to but I have to save the world, it's in my job description."
Spike grinned as an idea began to penetrate the skunk-infested recesses of his mind.
"I'll be Angel, you be Buffy," he said, jumping to his feet and reaching out a hand to pull up Tara.
"Oh, yeah, you be Angel," squealed Willow, clapping her hands in glee.
Spike tugged at his hair so it was all tufty and furrowed his brow. "I am Angel," he said in a theatrical voice. "Don't touch me Buffy for I fear things may go too far and I will lose my soul."
"But Angel, you're the only thing that makes me forget the burden of my slayerhood..." Tara paused. "I do like Buffy, you know that? I'm just very, very stoned."
Spike squeezed her hand and then slid his arms round Tara's waist so he could jerk her hard against his body. "Go with it," he advised.
"Angel, no we mustn't," pouted Tara, making her eyes go wide.
"Buffy, I know that all I do all day is sit and brood and generally act like a great, big poof but you make me feel like a man."
"Oh, oh, oh, do Angel when he goes all grrrr," cried Willow.
Spike arched an eyebrow and slid his hands down so he was cupping Tara's ass. Tara sighed softly and tilted her head back as Spike slid his leg between his thighs.
"C'mon, lover," Spike drawled, letting his hands dig into her buttocks. "Daddy's going to make you scream."
Spike shifted his features into gameface setting and slowly trailed the tip of a fang down Tara's neck.
"Oh, Angelus, this is wrong, bbbbad," Tara stuttered. Spike took a small section of skin between his teeth and began to suck hard, being careful not to draw blood. Tara shuddered and rubbed against his leg.
Willow stared open-mouthed at Spike shoved Tara towards the bed and flung her down.
Tara began to pull off her shirt as Spike growled, yanked her legs apart and fell on top of her.
"You want this, Buff," he purred.
"I do, I do," babbled Tara.
Spike pushed Tara's skirt out of the way of his exploring hands as he traced a path up her thighs with the edge of his nails. And he'd been so caught up in pretending that Tara was Buffy that it wasn't until Tara actually whispered, "Spike" under her breath that he realised she wasn't the Slayer. And then it occurred to him that he didn't really mind. He had a warm willing girl splayed out in front of him and another warm, willing girl frantically getting rid of her clothes as a naked Willow suddenly pressed herself against him.
"I don't want ice-cream any more," Willow hissed in Spike's ear.
"Oh yeah, what do you want?" Spike muttered, reaching out a hand so he could stroke one of her legs which was wrapped around his hips.
"Well, I want you and Tara and Tara and you and then you again and then Tara and you, Tara, Tara, Tara, you..." Willow continued dreamily as Spike crawled up the bed with Willow still clinging to his back.
"Sounds ambitious, Red," Spike said silkily. "Think you two have got the stamina?"
"We've been practising," Tara confessed, tugging Willow off Spike so she could pull the redhead down on top of her.
Spike started stripping his detested wash day clothes off as Willow and Tara entwined themselves around each other, hands slipping between legs into damp, welcoming places.
Spike made a note to himself that the girly, fluffy love seemed to have been replaced by the hard thrusting of three fingers a piece as the girls rocked against each other. He knelt before them, stroking his cock with hard, fast motions as Tara suddenly grabbed Willow's wrist and screamed as she came.
Spike pulled Willow off Tara and before she could even protest that hadn't had her happy yet, plunged into her.
Willow felt different to Tara who was all curves and soft, yielding flesh. Willow was angles and planes and, in a saner, less likely to gauge holes in his skin way, more like his beloved Drusilla.
"Oh, you're a pretty thing, pet," he murmured as he felt Willow's hands sink into his hair as she pulled his mouth down to her's.
"Kiss me," she demanded and Spike bent his head so he could tease Willow's lips open.
Later, Tara would remark to Willow how obliging Spike could be when there was something in it for him. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them once he realised that he didn't actively dislike this odd little threesome he'd found himself in. He'd massaged Tara's legs when she got cramp, happily licked the previously disdained frozen yoghurt from Willow's navel and even let them make him up to look like a (very ugly) girl so they could pretend that he was Julia Roberts and fuck him.
"You'd kill us if you didn't have the chip, wouldn't you?" Willow remarked after they'd finally exhausted themselves after a series of permutations and combinations that had lasted hours. Spike lay with Tara nestled against him, Willow half sprawled on top of both of them.
Spike took a drag of the post-coital cigarette, Willow had deigned to let him smoke. "Probably," he mused. "Though the blood lust isn't so strong these days. I might not though," he added as he saw Willow's face fall. "Might just keep you as pets. Mark you, chain you up and fuck the living daylights out of you."
"Buffy would kick you ass," Tara said drowsily.
Spike tensed. "Don't talk about her," he grimaced. "About before... you're not a substitute for her. I'm not sure what you are but we'll have a hell of a time while we work that one out."
"Oh, you're so sweet, Spike," Willow cooed. "Be careful where you flick the cigarette though, I don't want ash on my comforter."
"I'm not sweet," Spike insisted through gritted teeth. "I'm a goddamn predator, why won't you two bints remember that?"
Tara and Willow just groaned and snuggled against Spike and he carried on smoking and they thought about going to sleep when someone pounded on the door with great force.
"Willow!," shouted someone who sounded exactly like one Buffy Summers. "Open up! Code Orange has just been upgraded."
The three occupants of the bed froze. There was so many thoughts to be thunked. Spike momentarily wondered whether he should do that vampiric moving-faster-than-the-speed-of-light thing towards the door so the Slayer could see exactly what had been going on and wonder exactly what he had to offer two comitted lesbians. But he dismissed the idea as bloody stupid. Two witches in the hand were better than a Slayer who wasn't interested.
Willow briefly considered a teleportation spell to get Spike off the premises but couldn't risk a butt naked Spike suddenly plummeting to the earth outside the local biker bar. Plus, hello icky nosebleed and crushing headache.
And Tara's thoughts went, Buffy! Spike! Naked Spike! Oh, Buffy! Door!
"Are you having an intimate moment,?" bellowed The Slayer tactfully. "'Cause you have to let me in now."
"I'm not hiding in a bloody cupboard," muttered Spike, as Tara scrambled out of bed, dragging the comforter with her to hide her naked bits.
She opened the door a crack and prayed that Buffy hadn't worked up enough momentum to charge in.
"Bbbbbuffy," she stammered. "Um, we're in the middle of something."
Buffy looked unimpressed. "Code Orange is now Code Light Red, you and Will have to come to the magic shop."
Tara hitched up the comforter which was starting a downwards slide and tried to play for time. "Where's Xander?"
"Well he was having wild monkey sex with Anya but now he's on the way to Giles. He's picking up Spike en route."
"Sp, sp, spike?"
"Emergency!," Buffy reminded her, trying to peer over her shoulder. "I mean I can do without Spike whining about being fangless but there's a nest of baby Tarris demons who are just about to hit their growth spurt. Is Will there?"
"Hey, it's Buffy!," said Willow excitedly, somewhere behind Tara.
"Buffy, who's here! Outside."
"OK, you two are acting majorly weird, you doing the sex magick thing? With you being all air clad and all?"
"Skyclad", Willow and Tara corrected automatically.
"We were asleep," Willow supplied. "'Cause we were tired. But you can come in now, um, I think."
Buffy stepped into the room and turned to the two witches. "C'mon people, clothes, stinky herbs, pointy wooden things!', she urged. "Why is my panic not contagious?"
Tara closed the door and nervously looked back into the room.
Spike was nowhere to be found. She was guessing window-ledge and hanging -by-his-fingernails as they were four flights up but when she looked at Willow all she got was a blank gaze in return.
The two girls scurried about pulling clothes on and getting magic supplies while Buffy paced impatiently and tried not to watch. She was down with the whole lesbian thing but the less details she had to process the better.
Willow was tying the laces of her sneakers when Buffy suddenly froze and whirled round.
"There's something in here," she hissed. "My spider sense is tingling. You haven't invited in any members of the walking undead, have you?"
Tara could feel the blood draining from her face but Willow calmly picked up her backpack. "We've been working on some pretty dark mojo lately," she explained airily. "Why don't you go downstairs and we'll follow you out once we've found our dried essence of bull's pizzle. It's very good with Tarris demons, takes the ouch right out of their sting."
Buffy nodded and wiggled her arms. "OK, no offence but this apartment is wigging me out."
As the door closed, Willow proclaimed, "Apparus!" and a naked vampire materialised on the bed.
"Nice work, Will," Spike said admiringly. "Felt like I was in sodding Star Trek."
"It was a simple glamour," Willow explained to a bemused Tara.
She turned to Spike: "You stay here while we leave and then catch us up on the way to The Magic Box."
Spike began to pull on his jeans. "Stupid Slayer bint," he muttered, as Willow and Tara exited stage right. "I'm not fangless and I don't whine and the silly cow didn't even notice my laundry bag."
"Oh, they're cute," Willow whispered as the Scoobies gazed at the nest of sleeping demon babies. "Are you sure they're all evil and bad 'cause I'm thinking housepet."
"Yes, let's all take a Tarris demon home and let it suck out our entrails through our ears," hissed Giles tartly.
Willow glared at him. "I was just saying."
Giles ignored her and carried on mixing the dried ingredients that would decimate the infant demons into a pile of mildly radioactive gloop.
"You sure I can't just take their heads off?" Buffy asked hopefully, brandishing her second favourite sword. Her favourite sword was currently acting as a temporary clothes rail.
"I don't want to risk them waking up," Giles pointed out. "If they ake up, the mother will sense their distress and I for one could do without a very angry, seven foot Tarris demon complete with poisonous, projectile breast milk thundering in here and trying to kill me."
"Tarris demons have breasts?" Tara said.
"I'll say it once, euwwwww!"
"Don't see why you had to drag me out of my cosy crypt just to watch you Scoobies doing the chemistry set thing," grumbled Spike, pulling his cigarettes out of his breast pocket. He searched for his lighter and...
"Don't light that thing...!," Giles shouted, just as Spike ignited the flame and the nine baby Tarris demons all woke up and let out a high-pitched shrieking.
Giles had the presence of mind to throw his supernatural sand at the nest just before Mummy and Daddy Tarris demon lumbered into the cave with all 17 of their breasts set on stun. Willow and Tara quickly performed a protection spell while Buffy and Spike charged into battle with a sword, an axe and Anya shouting advice from the wings. It was strictly lunge and plunge all the way until finally the Tarris family were scattered in bite-sized pieces over the cave floor.
"Never get tired of a decent bout of violence before bedtime," announced Spike as the Scoobies made their way back to the cliff where they'd parked Giles' studmobile and Xander's van.Buffy slapped him sharply on his bleached head.
"Hey, what was that for?" Spike demanded. "I was a good little boy scout, wasn't I?"
"I guess I missed that bit, gee it must've been when I was fighting for my life," snapped Buffy. "Someone remind me why I haven't staked you yet?"
Spike smirked and was about to make some innuendo filled remark about his dead yet devilishly attractive body when Anya piped up: "Because the Initiative put a chip in his head which means he's unable to harm humans and so strictly speaking is not a vampire. Plus he will work for blood and snacks and is therefore cheap labour."
"Well, thanks for that, Orgasm girl," Spike said flatly.
"It's my pleasure," beamed Anya. "Xander, do we have to give people a lift because I want to go straight home and celebrate our victory with lots of sex and possibly dessert wine afterwards when we're pleasantly satiated?"
"You want a lift, Wills, Tara?" Xander asked as they reached the clifftop.
"Oh yeah, I'm pooped," Willow said. Tara yawned her agreement.
"I hope you two are exercising caution in your casting," Giles commented as he unlocked his car door. "You shouldn't be so exhausted from one minor protection spell."
Spike smirked. "Maybe they've been working up a sweat some other way."
"Yes, lots of orgasms can be very draining," Anya added.
Willow glared at the assembled gang. "I have classes and extra credit classes and non-syllabus reading and I'm perfectly entitled to be tired and it doesn't mean that I've been doing things I shouldn't with people I shouldn't. It just means that..."
"Honey, maybe we should go home and get some sleep..." Tara interrupted gently. "And the sun's coming up."
"Oh bloody hell," Spike muttered. "Put me in the back of the van, Chubs, before I get sunburn."
"And I care because?"
"Spike'll never make it back to the crypt in time," Giles pointed out. "I suppose you could stay with me but I am not watching Passions."
"Actually I'll go with Glindas 1 and 2," Spike decided. "Need to talk to them about erm, a nasty, badass warlock type been threatening small kiddies."
"So you'd probably have to stay all day until the sun goes down," Tara said wonderingly.
Spike shrugged and sighed theatrically. "Guess so. S'pose we can think of something to do to pass the time."
Xander knew when he was beaten. "Get in junior," he muttered, opening the van door. "And try not to explode into a pile of dust over my circular saw."
"Willow's being weird," Buffy commented sagely, as Giles drive her home.
"Granted she seemed a little jumpy tonight," The Watcher conceded. "But, as she said, she does have a rather full schedule."
"It's more than that," Buffy insisted. "I think I interrupted some serious dark mojo when I went round there. I could sense something. Something I didn't like."
"Hmmm, Willow is becoming a very powerful witch," Giles agreed. "But I think Tara acts as a ballast and curbs her more wild flights of fancy."
"Yeah, Tara would make sure that Willow doesn't go all Wicked Witch Of The West..."
"Spike! Willow wants you to be punished," giggled Tara, brandishing Spike's leather duster like a matador's cape.
"'Cause you were rude."
Spike stalked towards Willow, who was hiding behind Tara and wearing nothing more than a witch's hat that Xander had brought her as a Chanukah present.
"I am rude," he purred. "What are you going to do about it? Turn me into a toad. Or a rat. Or a wolf." On the last word, he growled and pounced at the two girls, grabbing Willow and tickling her until she was a squirming, wriggling mass of girl flesh.
"Smoochies first," she decided. "Then maybe I'll punish you."
"Y'know, after a while all these crypts start to look the same," Tara decided as she and Willow hurried through the cemetery for an evening spent chez Spike.
"Usually he materialises with a swagger and some cocky statement before you have to start knocking on mausoleum doors," Willow added.
"Yeah, always with the cocky statement."
The two witches pondered this thought for a brief moment and then carried on walking.
"I don't know why he couldn't hang an empty blood bag from the foliage," Willow grumbled. "Should I do a homing spell?"
Tara pulled a face. "But then you'll be all tired and stuff. Can't you just ring him on his cell phone?"
"Sometimes I forget we're in the 21st century," Willow confessed, as she scrolled through her phone's address book until she found Spike's number listed under "Big Bad."
"Spike? We're lost. We're by the Shaw family crypt, the one with the aesthetically challenged gargoyles. Yeah. So we take a right by the unmarked, paupers' graves, then straight on, past the set of graves in that hokey new rust-coloured granite and you're first on the left? Got it!"
Spike was slouched nonchalantly against the door jamb of his crypt, smoking, as Willow and Tara finally appeared.
"Glindas!," he exclaimed, stubbing the cigarette out. "Just as well you're better on the old spell casting than you are at directions.""Once you've seen one crypt, you've pretty much seen 'em all," Willow commented. "Don't see why you can't just get a small, one-bedroomed apartment in town."
Spike shrugged. "And pay for it how? Can't exactly see myself waiting tables at the local Piggly Wiggly."
"Well, no, that's a point," Willow said.
"Maybe you could do some freelance book-keeping," Tara suggested.
Willow and Spike just looked at her.
"So, we brought stuff," Tara suddenly remembered, holding out a bulging plastic bag.
Spike looked inside at the container of blood, the two bottles of vodka and a tub of Ben & Jerry's Cool Britannia.
"You two are so sodding adorable, then if I didn't have this buggering chip in my head, I'd eat you all up," he murmured. He stepped to one side and threw out an arm. "Come in ladies, mi crypt, es tu crypt."
Willow and Tara walked into the crypt and looked around. There were a couple of stone slabs, a beaten-up armchair, a television and a tiny fridge.
"It's er, nice," Tara said. "Minimalist."
"Sort of, um, Urban Outfitters meets early Gothic," Willow added.
Spike grimaced. "It's a dive, is what it is. But I used my fang discount to get some stuff from Bed, Bath And Beyond." He walked over to the corner and pulled out some bags. "Cushions and throws, so you don't well, get chafed in any uncomfortable places."
"That's so sweet," Tara said.
"Very thoughtful," Willow.
"You wanna go back to your place, don't you?" Spike asked.
"Oh yeah," they both said.
Spike didn't look too put out. "I'll get my coat. You put the central heating on before you left, didn't you?"
"And we could stop at the video place on the way back."
Spike pulled on his duster and then stopped. "You sure you're not up for a bit of hard fucking in a crypt? Be all dangerous and dark."
Tara looked pointedly at the dustballs that were gathering under Spike's armchair.
"Maybe I've hung round to many places where there are dead bodies but doing it in a cemetery doesn't really work for me," Willow tried to explain while shuffling towards the door.
"Well, can't blame a bloke for trying," Spike muttered, wrapping an arm round each of them and guiding them out into the graveyard.
"So we got Night Nurses' Dildo Gangbang, Pearl Necklace Harbour and The Fuck Club," Spike said, as he looked at the videos Willow and Tara had selected. "You sure you don't want to get a light-hearted romantic comedy for post-shagging?"
"Did you want to get something?" Tara asked mildly. "If you wanted to see a nice period film like The Age Of Innocence so you could re-live your un-undead days that..."
"Witch," growled Spike warningly.
"Yeah, The Remains Of The Day must be, like, your equivalent of The Breakfast Club," Willow teased.
Spike glared at them. "Sod off," he grumbled. "You got no respect for me. Have to do something about that."
Willow smirked. "I'm going to go and pay for these here films and then we should go back to our's and work on your trust issues."
"Yeah and you should be thinking of a safety word," Spike called after her. He turned to Tara.
"As for you," he purred. "You're a very bad little Wicca, aren't you?"
"I guess so," Tara agreed happily. "Can we hold hands?"
Spike stepped towards her so she was trapped against him and the 'ex-rental copies" sale bin. He swooped down and captured her mouth in a hard, passionate kiss.
"Open your mouth," he insisted. "Open your mouth and kiss me properly."
Tara complied and almost swooned as Spike's tongue swept into her mouth and his hands gripped tightly at her arms.
"Hey Deadboy Jr, your girlfriend know that you... ? Oh sweet Jesus, it's Tara!"
Spike and Tara stilled. Spike kept his back to Xander and tried to shield the shaking Tara from view.
"It's not Tara, it's just some co-ed I picked up at The Bronze," he improvised. "Now sod off."
"No, it's definitely Tara," said Anya, coming at them from the other side. "Why did you have Spike's tongue in your mouth? Are you having orgasms together?"
Xander grabbed hold of Spike's arms and pulled him away from Tara.
"OK you and me outside, chip boy," he snarled. "No-one puts the moves on my best friend's girlfriend."
"Xander, honey, I think that Tara was letting him, there was ass cuppage going on, like I do when you kiss me and I just want to get straight to the sex," Anya explained. "Oh, but what about Willow..."
"Hi guys," said Willow. "So, um, here we all are in the video shop. Where we rent videos for Spike because he can't get a membership card on account of him being dead and all."
"Yeah," Spike agreed, shrugging Xander's hand off his arm and grabbing the bag from Willow. "Forced the girls to rent me some bad, nasty porn 'cause I'm a bad, nasty vampire."
"Let me look in there," hissed Xander, grabbing the bag. "Night Nurses euwwww, Pearl...The Fuck...... euwwww, euwwww and once again, euwwww! And Yentl?"
"So I like a bit of Barbra with my porn, not a crime, mate," Spike said defensively but Xander was gazing at Willow with a look of horror on his face.
"Yentl is like your favourite film, ever Will!", he spluttered. "And the Tara/Spike kissing. What's going on?"
"Nothing is going on," Willow insisted. "Hello, does the word "lesbian" mean anything to you people?"
"But Tara and Spike! And again I have to mention the kissing with his tongue forcefully thrusting in her mouth!" Xander spluttered.
Anya nudged him. "Over-sharing, honey."
Spike looked pointedly at the witches. They were the ones with the dark mojo at their disposal. Couldn't they just do some memory lapse spell to stop Chubs opening and shutting his mouth like a mentally challenged goldfish? But Willow was flapping her hands behind Xander's back and mouthing something at him. Spike frowned.
"It was a bell?" he said in a questioning voice.
"A spell," Willow hissed.
"A spell," echoed Tara. "To, um, m,m,make me irresistible to vampires?"
"Why would you do a spell like that?" Anya wanted to know. "Are you a fang groupie? I met one of them once. It was quite funny really she wanted vengeance on this master vampire who wouldn't turn her and so I..."
Xander turned to the love of his life. "An, not now. Y'know I love to hear stories from the days when you exacted gruesome revenge on all my kind but now is not the time. So, yeah, why the hell would anyone want to make out with Chips Ahoy here!"
"Hey watch it," Spike snarled. "Rather be chipped than an ex-demon whipped tosser."
"With your words you're really wounding me," taunted Xander, trying and failing miserably to come back with a witty riposte. "So the spell?"
"Er, vampire bait!", announced Willow triumphantly.
"Yeah!," smirked Spike, catching on. "Glinda 2 here is giving off this smell of blood and virgin's sweat and I couldn't help myself. Had to dive right in. And very nice it was too!" Tara beamed.
"And if he'd been a 'grrrrr' vampire, Buffy could've staked him while he was kissing Tara," Willow finished.
Xander thought about it for a moment and was just on the verge of mentioning the ass cuppage when Anya grabbed his hand.
"Xander seeing Spike and Tara kissing has made me want to have many orgasms with you," she said simply. "Let's go to the park and have sex spiced with the slight danger that someone might see us."
Spike leered at Xander. "Off you go Chubs, it's rude to keep a lady waiting."
Xander weighed up the odds. He could stay and taunt Spike about being fang impaired or he could have sex. There was no contest really.
"Wills, love you to death but you might wanna rethink the vampire bait thing," he managed to get out as Anya pulled him out of the door.
"That was close," Tara remarked as the door closed behind Xander and Anya.
"We should think of a cover story," Spike suggested as they walked towards Marchmont Street. "So the other Scoobies don't get all suspicious and end up driving the business end of a stake through my heart. Something that doesn't involve lame excuses about spells."
"Well I didn't hear you coming up with anything," Willow snapped.
"Yeah, well thanks to you demon girl will probably tell everyone that I like Barbra Streisand," Spike grumbled. "If I was de-chipped, I wouldn't even waste time ripping her throat out."
"So cover story?", prompted Tara, trying to avert one of Willow's garbled soliloquies about how under-rated Babs was and how I Never Promised You A Rose Garden was actually a metaphor for the feminist struggle against a patriarchal power base.
"A cover story sort of suggests that this is a regular thing," Willow said in a tiny voice as the three of them entered their apartment building. "A thing that is not just a thing to make Buffy jealous or pass the time while someone's bloodlust has become less bloody and more lusty."
"I don't love you," Spike said gruffly. "Not that you aren't appealing. I mean, you've got the girl-loving wicca stuff going on and any small crumbs you wanna throw the way of the Big Bad then it'd be rude to throw them right back. Not sure what the deal is with me and The Slayer either. But this thing between us it's real. It's not going away, is it?"
"And you say I babble," Willow muttered, as she unlocked the door.
Spike took off his coat and hung it on the hat stand before going into the kitchen to put his blood in the microwave.
"I don't say you babble, Glinda 1," he corrected. "I say you've got verbal bloody diarrhoea."
"Anyway historically vampires and witches have always had a bond," Tara pointed out, as she got Spike's Kiss The Librarian (that they'd "liberated" from Giles' kitchen) mug out of the cupboard. "For magick rituals."
"And fucking," Spike added indignantly. "It's the stuff of legends. Would be bad manners not to carry on the tradition." He tipped a splash of vodka into his blood and handed the bottle back to Tara who poured out measures for her and Willow.
"So what are we drinking to?" Willow asked.
"The vampire/witch bond?"
"Both. Here's to the vampire/witch bond and the shagging that goes with it," Willow said, clinking her glass first with Tara and then with Spike.
"So shall we strengthen the bond right now?" Spike drawled, arching an eyebrow and nudging Tara with his hip. "I'm thinking a little porn, a little grope here and there, maybe a few new positions that you could never, ever tell your lesbian mates about?"
"OK," agreed Tara.
"Sounds cool," added Willow.
"Right then," Spike said. "I'll go get the restraints. Are they still in the third drawer down?"
And the three of them lived happily ever after. Or at least for the next fortnight, but that's a whole other story.
Spoilers: Season 5 sort of happened but sort of didn't. No major spoilers.
Summary: Sequel to Bizarre Love Triangle and Girl A, Girl B, Vamp C. That whole blood-sucking thing never works out well.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I just take 'em out, get 'em drunk and forget to walk 'em home.
Distribution: Asking gets.
Dedication: This is for the people who wanted to know what happened next.
It was a rainy night on the Hellmouth. The kind of incessant drizzle that's too pansy ass to descend into an honest-to-goodness downpour but just wet enough to frizz your hair and make the ground of the Restfield Cemetery squelch underfoot.
Willow and Tara, accompanied by Xander and a very malcontent Anya, trooped between the gravestones on a desultory patrol. So far they'd dusted one newly-risen geriatric fledgling (who'd been turned by her grandson because she made the best oatmeal and raisin cookies this side of the State line) and had an unpleasant altercation with something they thought was a Yeltum demon but was actually an abandoned Furby.
"Xander, I'm cold and wet and bored," Anya announced for the 47th time. "Why Buffy can't do her own patrols? She's the chosen one and that doesn't mean she can choose not to go on patrol."
"An, we've been through this before. We're Buffy's friends..." Xander began placatingly only to be interrupted.
"I'm not Buffy's friend," Anya pointed out. "She's often amusing and dresses well but these are not strong enough qualities to make me risk my life doing her job. And when you get cold, you want to go home and have a bath and then you're all sleepy and don't want sex unless I've bathed you erotically..."
"Euuuw, over-sharing," Willow muttered under her breath. "Why don't we all go home? There's a distinct lack of vamp action."
Tara dug her hands even deeper into the pockets of her purple corduroy jacket and nodded her agreement.
Anya beamed. "Thank you, Willow. Though you're often wrong, especially when you're attempting magicks, in this case you're right. Well done."
"Yeah, yay you Wills," Xander said as they made their way to the cemetery gates. "Excellent leadership skills and a sound sense of judgement. You want a lift?"
To a casual observer it looked like Willow and Tara gave Xander's offer careful consideration before muttering something about needing earth from a freshly dug grave for a new project. But then, what do casual observers know?
"Do you think Xander and Anya have begun to wonder why we never want rides home anymore?" Tara asked Willow as they retraced their steps back through the graves to the patch of gravel by the groundsman's hut.
"No," replied Willow instantly. "All they ever think about is junk food and orgasms and occasional world save-age. And money."
"Once I thought Anya was thinking about goldfish," Tara murmured with a smile. "But, no, it was money."
"Capitalist, orgasm-obsessed, ex-vengeance demon," grumbled Willow, describing Anya rather than insulting her.
As they got nearer to the hut, the two girls swung a right to a patch of gravel where a car was parked with the engine running. As cars go, it was what experts might call a dilapidated heap of junk.
Leaning against the dilapidated heap of junk was a pale man with serious bleach issues and a leather duster that would have screamed Gucci if it hadn't had all the life force bashed out of it from several years of being worn by one William, formerly, The Bloody.
"Glindas," he drawled in greeting. "Was going to come and help you out a while back. Looked touch and go but you got the better of that pesky Furby, damn its hide."
"Well, Yeltum demons have purple fur too," said Willow defensively. "How did your patrol go? Buffy didn't stake you, so I'm thinking it went OK."
"Bloody slayer," muttered Spike, somewhat predictably. "Why would she stake me when she can make my unlife an endless torment by punching me on the nose and whining on about what a burden her slayerhood is?"
"Can we go?" mumbled Tara. "I'm getting wet."
Spike threw her the sort of look that should have had a parental advisory sticker on it. "Getting wet, you say? I'll have to do something about that," he said in a silky voice that was all broken glass and promises. "In you hop." He opened the door of the De Soto so Willow and Tara could climb in.
Back at chez Glinda, Spike, Willow and Tara fell into a pattern that was getting as comfy as one of Willow's voluminous mohair jumpers. Spike kicked off his boots so he didn't dirty the furniture while Tara went into the kitchenette to heat up some blood in the microwave and Willow did a small modification to her "ball of light" spell so hundreds of tiny stars sparkled down from the midnight blue ceiling.
It was while he was watching Willow wriggle out of her faux cowboy shirt that she'd borrowed from Buffy while she also tried to pull off her socks that Spike felt an uncomfortable twinge low down in the pit of his stomach. It had nothing to do with the new batch of cow blood from the butcher's that may or may not have been imported from a farm, which used a demon-run abbatoir. And the twinge turned into a swift, sharp pang of gut-churning fear as Spike noticed the dreamy way Tara gazed in the mirror as she began to take off her make-up.
Since when had he got so house-trained? Here he was with his ass-kicker boots cooling by the door so he wouldn't get mud on the soft furnishings while two barely-legal witches got on with their going-to-bed rituals and he sat waiting patiently to shag the living daylights out of them. Or the living fairylights, them being able to make little twinkling stars appear out of nowhere and all. He was going soft. Worse than that, he was getting considerate.
"Spike, are you OK?" said Tara's voice from somewhere behind him. "You've gone pale. I mean, you're always pale 'cause you can't go out during the day but you're really, really pale."
"I'm fine," snapped Spike. "Anyone would look anaemic under these sodding, poofy lights." He jumped to his feet, his hands balling into fists and scowled. "OK, are we going to fuck or what? I do have an unlife to get on with."
Willow looked up from where she was investigating some slight chippage of the polish on her toenails. "Spikey...?" she began in a hesitant voice.
Spike turned on her furiously. "It's Spike. It's a noun," he hissed. "Spikey is an adjective and something that stupid bint Harmony used to call me. Spikey is a name you give a bleeding puppy."
Tara smiled at him like he'd just told her a really long joke and buggered up the punchline and went on cleaning her teeth and Willow rolled her eyes. "Oh not that again!" she groaned. "We know you're evil, you being dead and a vampire and wearing the black leather. Now do you want to clean your teeth after Tara or shall I go next?"
I'm wicca whipped, Spike thought as he cleaned his teeth with the spare pink toothbrush that had become his. And as Tara came up behind him and nuzzled his shoulder Spike knew he was turning into a bigger wuss than Paingel, his soul-having sire, because he wasn't exiting stage left. Vanilla-flavoured sex was better than no sex at all.
When all teeth and body parts were fragrant fresh, Spike lay down in the middle of Willow and Tara's bed and watched through hooded eyes as Tara shuddered and moaned while Willow worked her fingers ruthlessly in and out of her girlfriend's cunt. His cock might have been twitching and jerking like a kite let loose on a windy day but his heart (or the non-beating mass of muscle that did for him these days) just wasn't in it. Even as Tara collapsed onto the pillows next to him and Willow crawled up the bed to gently impale herself on his aching shaft, Spike lay there and let Willow work herself up and down with increasingly frenzied movements. She was wet and warm and willing but the fear had him tight by the balls and wouldn't let go.
"Wow, you're like stamina guy tonight," Willow finally gasped as she disentangled herself from Spike's unreceptive limbs and sat back on the rumpled quilt. "Want us to make you come?"
"I'd rather have a smoke," Spike muttered, although his treacherous cock had other ideas as Tara leant over and blew little baby breaths over the head.
"You've been broody boy all night," Willow commented, giving Spike a careful look. "You jonesing for something. Or someone? Is it Buffy 'cause you should tell us if..."
"It's not Buffy," said Spike flatly.
"Did we do something wrong?" enquired Tara running the tip of her index finger along his penis.
"This is wrong," Spike managed to get out. "It's fucking obscene is what it is." He pushed Tara away firmly enough to hurt her feelings but not enough to send the chip into cause-Spike-immense-inner-head-hurt mode. "I'm a vampire, ladies," he snarled. "And, OK, I've got chip issues but I'm still a vampire. And you two are just hoping that the whole "grrrr, nasty" side of me doesn't really exist so I can give you full-on fucking without having to deal with any of the other stuff that goes with it."
"Like emotional stuff?" asked Tara hesitantly.
Spike snorted. "Oh, please! Vampire, pet! I know you both think it's hilarious when poor old Spike bitches and moans about his blood-sucking glory days but that's what I am. For over a hundred years I was a predator. I caused worlds of pain and I fed on warm flesh and felt the blood singing through every inch of me. This, this... doesn't even come close." He finished with a sigh, more for effect than for any need to exhale air from lungs that didn't work anymore.
Tara nibbled nervously on a fingernail while Willow stared intently at Spike.
"So you enjoy the sex but it's like empty without the whole blood-sucking thang?" she said eventually.
"And the prize goes to the redhead on the end of the bed," Spike sneered.
Willow scrambled off the bed and pulled Tara with her. For such a skinny little girl she was wicked strong sometimes.
Spike realised that maybe he'd been hasty. His hard-on was slowly deflating and it looked like the fluffy wicca love was off the menu for the rest of the night. Never look a gift horse in the mouth and tell it you don't want a shag.
Spike slowly stood up and began to dress. He was just buttoning his jeans when Tara and Willow emerged from the kitchen where they'd obviously been discussing the best way to summon up a plague of pus-infested boils on his dick. Willow was wearing resolve face, which Spike had learnt the hard way was never a good sign and Tara wouldn't even look at him.
"Sit down," Willow ordered in her don't-fuck-with-me-fang-boy voice. Spike sat but got out his cigarettes to let Willow know he wasn't completely down with the prospect of her opening up a big can of whupass.
"We've talked," Tara began nervously. "And you're sort of right that we shouldn't laugh at you and that we don't deal with your vampire side very well."
"But there will be no gameface," Willow continued. "And no fangs but we're willing to um, facilitate your er...."
"... needs," finished Tara.
Spike looked confused. They weren't suggesting something that he thought he'd have to learn dark magic to mojo them into suggesting. "You mean...?"
"We're open to you feeding off us during like the sex," Willow explained. "In a controlled, not-draining-us-dry way."
"And you're doing this because..." Spike prompted.
"Because we might get all giggly about your griping and you don't want to hear it but you're our friend and you're unhappy and sheesh if you know how to make a friend happy when they're not and you won't do anything about it then you're a bad friend and that's..."
"O, bloody, K!" exclaimed Spike. "On message, Glindas!" But then he knew he was turning into a great, big, fluffy bunny-loving poof 'cause he couldn't help the "Are you two sure about this?" that suddenly crept out of his mouth.
Willow nodded and then Tara was coming towards him and not stopping until she climbed onto his lap and let the sheet that had been wrapped around her slowly drop. Spike felt his cock come back into play as Tara's hand, which was suddenly clutching a sharp, nasty looking dagger, flashed across her left breast. And the scent of sweet, spicy blood tinged with magicks and the warm cinnamon whiff of innocence and grief was tugging at his tastebuds. Spike watched as the thin cut got redder and redder and as the first brilliant beads of crimson slowly trickled a path down the slope of her breast, Tara pushed his head down. First he tasted with his tongue and when it wasn't nearly enough and Spike began to gather as much of her soft flesh into his mouth and suck down hard, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
Willow was standing there offering him the soft skin of her forearm already dripping from the cut she'd made. As he grabbed hold of her hand to tug her closer and latch onto the wound, Tara was scrabbling at his buttons until his cock was freed and she could sink down onto it. If Tara's blood was sweet with sadness, then Willow's had the bitter sharp tang of more powerful magicks and darkness. He knew it was a no-fang deal and though he wanted to, oh God, did he want to, he honoured their deal. Didn't mean he couldn't do other things. Willow whimpered as Spike slid a sly hand between her legs and into the wet, wanton place where she craved him the most. He felt a sharp sting as she leant down and bit him hard on the shoulder with blunt teeth and cautiously lapped at the dark drops that appeared as his fingers drove into her and his thumb pressed down harder on her clit. As she came, Willow pulled back from him and slumped onto the floor and Spike turned his attention back to Tara who was riding him slowly. His fingers bit into her hips as he lifted her slightly and then pulled her down so his cock slid in deeper. He lifted her again and again and brought his mouth back to that sweet slash across her chest. Their eyes locked and as Tara took up the rhythm he'd set, clenching her muscles against that terrible, beautiful thing inside her he slid two of his fingers into her waiting mouth and as she bit down hard enough to draw blood, Spike felt his balls tighten and then he was coming with a roar and filling her cunt with his seed as his blood spilled into her mouth.
The gut-churning fear was back. Spike could feel it clawing its way up through his vitals as he lay with a sleeping witch on either side of him. But it wasn't like before.
Spike shut his eyes for a second to glory in the feeling of his demon pushing every last ounce of fear out of him. He stretched out his arms and laughed at the sheer, bloody wonderfulness of it. Willow stirred and sat up. The streetlight outside their window cast a glow to the darkness and Willow gave a swift intake of breath. "You've gone grrrr!" she cried accusingly.
Tara woke up with a start and slowly opened her eyes to gaze in horrified fascination at Spike gone gameface.
Spike smiled. Something was... altered. Somehow he was changed.
"OK, little witches," he purred, narrowing his eyes and taking a vice-like grip of an upper arm here and a shoulder there. "I have a feeling, well, actually it's more of a deeply held conviction that things are going to be a little bit different round here."
To start with neither Willow or Tara were particularly worried about Spike gone gameface. It was just the Big Bad pushing his luck. But as Spike suddenly yanked Willow across the bed with enough force to make her yelp, it quickly became apparent that something was rotten in the state of chipdom.
Spike grinned a grin that was an eight of an inch away from pure evil, took a handful of red hair and tugged. Hard.
"Ow, ow, OW!" shrieked Willow in panic and as he felt the feeble pounding of Tara's fists on his back, Spike laughed in a way that was lamentably B movie-esque if it didn't sound so pant-wettingly scary.
"Looks like normal service has been resumed," he cried triumphantly and bent his head to sink his fangs into Willow's neck. As he made contact with the soft, white skin, Spike had the strangest sensation - halfway between floating and drowning. It started at the tips of his incisors and soon coursed through the borrowed blood in his veins and threw him off-stroke slightly so instead of plunging into Willow's neck with vicious abandon, Spike's fangs slipped in slowly. Willow had gone limp with fear in his lap and he shifted her slightly so she was cradled in his arms as he rolled the heady bouquet of Willow-blood round his mouth for the second time that night. Spike was vaguely aware of Tara tugging at his arm but he shook her off with enough force to throw her on the floor.
He pulled at Willow's hair to get better access to the soft patch of flesh with her pulse thudded wildly but he'd only taken enough to quench his immediate thirst when the blood stopped flowing. Not in a drained-the-witch-dry way; the wound had closed up and when Spike tried to fang Willow's neck again, he couldn't seem to get a decent purchase. Willow managed to rouse herself enough to push Spike away but he was already on his feet and prowling after Tara who'd scrambled to her feet and was stumbling towards the door. He caught up with her as she reached for the doorknob and frantically twisted it.
"Now that's not nice, pet," Spike snarled over the sound of Willow screaming at him to get away from Tara. "Downright unfriendly after what we've shared."
His fingers bit into the soft curve of her waist as he shoved her against the wall and sunk his teeth into the curve of her shoulder. Like before, there was the same out-of-body floaty feeling as Spike's teeth touched flesh and Tara collapsed in his arms as he began to draw out the sweet, crimson nectar. Everything shrunk to nothing; the sound of Willow's anguished cries; the faint smell of marijanua that always hung in the air and the glow of the little stars that still flickered on the ceiling. All of it melted away. But, again, once Spike had drunk enough to re-acquaint his tongue with the taste of Tara, the wound closed up of its own accord.
Spike gave an outraged howl and grabbed Tara's limp hand, pulling her wrist to his mouth and trying to pierce through to the good stuff but it was like trying to poke a straw into a juice carton made of reinforced concrete. Spike let Tara fall to the floor and whirled round to face Willow who was trying to get the feeling back in her legs which had gone into major wobble mode.
"Whatever magic you're attempting won't work so well when I snap your neck," he hissed.
Willow drew herself up with every last ounce of strength she possessed and threw out her arms. "Immobilis", she cried.
She opened her eyes to see Spike standing there looking unimpressed at the shimmering wall of energy that blocked his path towards Willow.
"Now, now, now, Will," he taunted. "Not very sporting is it to mojo up a barrier keeping you all safe and the other Glinda at the mercy of a fully operational, all-parts-in-bloody-working-order vampire?"
"But you're not!" said Willow half to herself. "You're not fully operational. You can only drink a little bit."
"Yeah, but I can hurt you," Spike reminded her smugly. "If I wanted to."
Tara managed to get to her feet. "G-g-go on then."
Spike arched his eyebrow and folded his arms. "So at least one of the fluffy twins likes it rough," he purred. "Come here."
"She's gone mad!" Willow shrieked. "You've done something, something you shouldn't have done or..."
"Honey," Tara said gently. "I know what I'm d-d-doing. It's OK."
She walked up to Spike who was doing a good impersonation of a cat who'd got the plasma-enriched cream and stood in front of him. He reached out one long-fingered hand to grip her hips and yank her against him. Tara could feel his hard-on insistently pressing into her stomach as Spike took her hand in his and began to squeeze. It hurt. A lot. Enough to make her bite her lip and grit her teeth but although Spike was exerting enough pressure to break bones, her hand remained whole. OK, there was no chip action but there was something else going on. Something magickal and majorly, majorly weird. And it was wrong and way too "women who love men too much" for her liking but despite the pain, Tara could feel herself arching towards Spike's erection and that familiar molten ache started low down in her belly. She tipped her head back to look at Spike and as her dilated gaze locked onto Spike, his game face slid away as his lowered his head and captured her lips.
Tara's felt Spike's tongue trace a path against her mouth and she wanted it everywhere. She wanted his hands doing brutal, insistent things where they shouldn't. And, most of all, she wanted him to fuck her with the hard length that was throbbing against her tummy.
Spike's hands came up to cradle the back of her head and his mouth moved lower to investigate the soft fold of her ear. "Should be whipped for ever trying to hurt my little witch," he muttered so only she could hear. "I'm sorry, love, the chip... no pain... went to my head."
"Maybe this will go to your head as well," he heard Willow say from somewhere behind him and he reluctantly turned away from Tara in time to see Willow levitating the business end of a baseball bat towards his skull. But as it connected with enough force to shatter his cranium and turn his brain to paste, it didn't. The force of the blow made Spike give an eerie scream of pain but his skull remained intact.
"Fucking hell, woman" Spike moaned, falling to his knees. "Are you trying to turn me into a bloody vegetable?"
"I'm thinking that sounds like a workable idea," snapped Willow, her features softening as she stroked Tara's face. "You hurt my girl."
"She's my girl," corrected Spike, gingerly prodding the base of his head and wondering why it didn't hurt anymore.
"I'm both of your's," Tara said absently. "We've made something happen. It must have been the blood."
"Well, duh!" muttered Spike. "My chip's taken early retirement but I can't even get enough suction going to drain you dry. Not that I'd want to," he added hastily as both Tara and Willow glared at him.
"If you'd been living on nuke-in-the-bag blood for a fucking year you might, y'know..."
"No I don't know," interrupted Willow angrily. "Turn into an evil, blood-stucking maniac who's fit for nothing but overtime in a dustbuster?"
Spike rose to his feet and began to look for his jeans. The three of them had been butt naked during all this sturm und drang but he could tell that there was a serious talk a'coming and he felt like having it without his bollocks on display. Besides, he really needed a cigarette. "Anyway, didn't see either of you putting up much of a fight," he commented as he buttoned up his fly and sat down. "You bloody loved it."
"B-b-but when you bit me, I went into meltdown," Tara remembered, pulling on her dressing gown and handing Willow the pyjamas that she was gesturing frantically at. "Everything seemed to shut down."
"And ooh, what about the whole non breaking of bones!" added Willow excitedly. "Spike's head should be all pulpy by now."
"Yeah, thanks for that Will, but your half-assed levitation bullshit didn't even leave me with a headache."
"But it should have," Tara said, wrinkling her brow. "And my fingers should be all mangled and stuff."
"Look, I said I was sorry," Spike murmured reproachfully, pulling Tara onto his lap. And she was far too forgiving, or possibly stupid, so she let herself relax back against Spike's lean frame. He gingerly took the aforementional hand and kissed the tips of Tara's fingers. "I'm a wicked, low-down dog."
"Well, you got that right," sniped Willow. She flopped down on the sofa next to Spike and Tara and tried to figure out what was going on. "None of this makes sense. You can hurt us and we can hurt you but it's not real. The pain doesn't last."
"It's obvious what's happened," Spike said decisively. "You two have been working the dark mojo in this room for so long that there's all been of nasty wiccan shit going on, is all. You know, I wonder if I can still maim people who aren't, well, you two. I've really missed the maiming."
"You wouldn't?" gasped Tara. She tugged on Spike's arm. "Can't you just carry on going grrr on demons?"
Spike shrugged. "What if they were really nasty people, pet? Like Xander. Bet he gets up to all kind of evil stuff with demon girl."
"Spike!", growled Willow. "There's something wrong going on here. We have to do research, we haven't got time to debate the ethics of evil. I mean, for one person evil is being a serial killer and for someone else evil might be shoplifting choc..."
"So, reasearch?" prompted Tara. "Should we talk to Mr Giles?"
"NO!" cried Willow and Spike in unison.
"He'd stake the unlife right out of me," Spike explained.
"We'd have to tell him about all the sex," Willow added. "And he wouldn't understand... It's almost sunrise. Spike you should go."
Spike ran a finger down Tara's spine and smirked as she shuddered. "Hmmm, might see if I can't find a homeless man to drain on the way back to the crypt. Just as an experiement," he said casually.
Willow rolled her eyes. "You're not having sex with us ever again," she stated firmly. "No way."
Tara's bottom lip began to tremble. "He said he was sorry," she pointed out. "And I'm tired and I want to go to bed and I want to sleep with you on one side and Spike on the other."
"So he can go all fangy again and leave the bloodless husks of our body for the janitor to find," Willow sniffed.
"C'mon Red, don't you trust good, old Spike?" Spike said cajolingly, gently cuffing her cheek.
"If Spike goes now, then everything will be messed," Tara burst out. "'Cause we'll keep going over and over it and then next time we see him it will be all awkward and there's serious magick going on here and we have to do research and... I want him to stay."
"If you lay one sun-deprived, undead finger..." Willow began.
"Not going to happen," insisted Spike. "I acted rashly. The chip breaking down made me go a little demented. I wouldn't hurt you, Will. Or Tara. Vampire witch bond, remember?"
And Willow pursed her lips to let Spike know she was still pissed at him but she was too bone weary to argue and anyway the thought of Spike leaving made her feel empty. Kind of like the hollow ache that had lived inside her during those months when Oz had first gone.
"I'm going to bed," she announced, standing up. "With Tara. And you can sleep on the floor 'cause I'm so angry with you that I don't even want to look at you."
Ten minutes later, the room was shrouded in darkness, distorted slightly by the faint rays of sunlight creeping in through the closed drapes. The only sounds were the deep rhythmic breathing from the two witches curled round each other and the faint rustle as the vampire on the floor by the bed twitched restlessly in his sleep.
"It's just that I'm a witch and Tara's a witch and we want to know more about our witchy ancestors," Willow explained to Giles making her eyes go extra wide.
"Yeah and I'm a vampire and I want to know more about where I came from," Spike added from the kitchen where he was rifling through The Watcher's cupboards to see if there was anything more flavoursome than granola he could use to give his blood some ballast.
"We know exactly where you come from, bleach for brains," Buffy interrupted." Angelus sucked your blood and then you sucked his blood..."
"He bloody well did not," Spike said indignantly. "Dru sired me but then the Great Poof had to stick his bogtrotter nose where it wasn't wanted."
"Fascinating though this is, Spike," Giles began and then paused. "Actually it is rather interesting. Most writings support the belief that Angelus sired you as a companion for Drusilla who needed erm, more attention than the average childe."
"On account of her being a total loon," Buffy supplied helpfully from the sofa where she was sharpening stakes.
"I heard that," snapped Spike. "Dru was not a loon. She was special, my dark Ophelia, touched by the sight which is why she turned me 'cause she knew I'd make a badass vamp."
"Like I said she was a total loon," Buffy smirked.
"If I didn't have this chip, princess..."
"Yes, yes, Spike, we've heard it all before, you'll kill us all in our beds and do unmentionable things to our sorry corpses" said Giles wearily. "Now is there any reason why you're all cluttering up my apartment?"
"So Mr Giles have you got any ancient books about witches?" Tara asked quietly.
Giles inwardly sighed. He'd spent all day untangling a box of amulets that his supplier had strung on cheap gilt chains and listening to Anya bang on about capitalism and he wanted nothing more than to put his feet up and listen to Book At Bedtime on the BBC World Service.
"The history of witchcraft has been very well documented," he said gently as he was very fond of Tara who seemed to be the only member of the Scoobies who knew the value of silence. "What did you want to know in particular?"
"And vampires. I want to know about any special powers that I might have about from the whole immortal, plasma-gulping, unnatural strength deal," Spike reminded him, coming in from the kitchen with a bowl full of blood and straight-to-wok Amoy noodles and flopping down on the sofa.
"Do be quiet Spike," Giles said reflexively.
"Oh I see, Slayer can be all 'I need to know more about where I come from so I can whale on all of Spike's friends' but the minute I want to become all knowledge having, it's 'shut up, Spike.'"
Giles was polishing his glasses so furiously it was a wonder there was still any lens left.
"Is there any point to this apart from driving me to an early grave?" he wanted to know.
Spike grinned and shook his head. "Nah, that's just an added bonus, Rupes."
"It's just that I read somewhere about this vampire witch bondy thing," Willow said carefully as Tara and Spike shot her warning glares. "And I was interested in what it was and what it did and, um, how long it lasted and how I could get rid of it if I had it. Hypothetically speaking."
Giles having got bored with polishing his glasses now rubbed the bridge of his nose and wondered if anyone would notice if he went to bed.
"I do hope you haven't been doing anything you shouldn't Willow."
"Jeesh, Spike was right," Willow said in an angry rush as at least three occupants of the room pondered the irony of her statement. "It's alright if Buffy wants to know about being a slayer but, hey, I'm a witch and I've got rights and I want to know stuff and you're being all Mr Keep That Crazy Wiccan Girl Away From The Books and I just want to know... stuff."
"Yes, well, thank you Willow for that accurate and deeply wounding assessment of my current failings," Giles muttered tartly. "Vampire witch bonds are very complicated. As far as I can remember there's usually a ritual that involves sex and blood which is pretty standard for a bonding ceremony..."
"Quite, Buffy, but there are other elements. If I could remember..."
Willow turned and gave Spike and Tara a surreptitious 'thumbs up' as Giles paced towards one of the many bookshelves that lined the walls of his lounge. Once Giles got the research bit between his teeth he stopped asking all those pesky questions.
"You're a complete pig, "Buffy squealed as Spike took a blood red strand of noodle between finger and thumb and sucked it enthusiastically into his mouth. "And you're getting little spots of blood on my new top."
"Spike," admonished Tara. "Don't be mean."
"Anything you say, precious," Spike said through a mouth full of noodles, causing Buffy to wonder on the weirdness that was Tara. Maybe she should start using a voice of quiet authority. If it would stop Dawn pilfering her nail varnish then she wouldn't have to keep hitting her.
"Ah, here it is," Giles announced. "As I thought, there is an initial sex and blood ritual but in order for it to be effective it has to be carried out in an area highly attuned to magicks. And such a powerful bonding was usually shared between a whole coven bonding themselves to one vampire, usually a master, at the coven's sacred place."
Spike carried on shovelling bload-soaked noodles into his mouth while Tara went a deathly shade of white usually associated with members of the undead. Willow seemed unphased by the news.
"But what does the bonding do?" she demanded impatiently.
"Well, the bondees, that is the witches, become immortal as does the vampire protected as they are by ancient magicks. The witches give up some of their human essence to the vampire who in turn relinquishes some of his vampire qualities. It's all very complex."
"You don't say," Buffy commented. "Why would anyone want to bond themselves to a vampire? Apart from the whole immortal thing which would be kinda cool. Do you think your hair still grows 'cause if it didn't you'd save a fortune on having your roots touched up?"
Spike nodded in agreement. "And bikini waxing." he added with an arched eyebrow.
"Yeah, I know. You're a pig. If you weren't all chipped up I'd have staked you long ago, blah blah blah. Get another tune, Slayer."
"As I was saying," Giles continued, glaring at Buffy and Spike, "It used to be that vampires hunted witches because their blood was more powerful than ordinary mortals, it had aphrodisiacal and healing properties. This bond was like a magickal contract. The witches agreed to give the vampire a controlled dose of blood, a blood concentrate if you will, and the vampire guaranteed the witches immortality."
"So the witches weren't human anymore, there were like demons?" Tara asked with a rising note of panic.
"Not as such. But in order to become bonded certain human facets were negated," Giles replied vaguely, skim-reading. "Very interesting. Apparently, the vampire can only drink enough to quench his immediate thirst before the..."
"Bond prevents him from taking anymore," Willow supplied. "So you need a coven though, right? And the sacred coven altar otherwise like the bond couldn't happen?"
"Theoretically," Giles agreed. "But only because with thirteen witches... where's that passage gone? Oh yes, the vampire can only drink from the witches. If he tries to take blood from non-bonded humans he can become quite ill. So actually it made good sense to use a coven because there always had to be a couple of witches around at any one time for the vampire to drink from. Doesn't have to be a whole coven though. And the altar isn't completely necessary. You just need an area whith a lot of magickal energy, where most of the coven's primary spell-casting is done."
Giles looked up from the book to find three faces gazing at him with matching expressions of shock. And one face looking vaguely bored.
"So say this wicca-pimping master vamp had, oh, a chip in his head so he couldn't hurt mortals, he could still bite the witches because they were less mortal and more demony." Spike stated before turning to Buffy and pinching her hard on the arm. "Fuck!" he screamed as the chip activated. Then "Fuck" again as Buffy punched him on the nose. And then "Fuck" once more at the realisation that he was up vampire witch bond creek without a paddle.
Tara gave a strangled yelp and pounded up the stairs while Willow snatched the book out of Giles' suddenly boneless grasp and began flicking frantically through the pages.
"Buffy I think it's time you went on patrol," Giles ordered.
"But I'm busy," Buffy protested, wanting to know why the witches had gone all wiggy.
"Busy annoying Spike by prodding him with the end of your stake?" Giles snapped waspishly. "For once in your life do what you're told and GO ON BLOODY PATROL!"
"Alright, alright, you know I hate it when you go all British and never say exactly what's on your mind," Buffy grumbled, gathering up her newly pointy stakes and making for the exit. "All you had to do was say please." And with a reproachful slam of the door, Buffy was gone.
Giles advanced menacingly towards Spike who pressed himself further back into the sofa cushions.
"Now, now, Rupert," he chided softly, holding his hands out in front of him to ward off the Watcher who seemed to be going all Ripper-like and pinched in the mouth. "You ought to let us explain..."
"What in the name of all that's holy have you three been doing?" Giles demanded in an icy voice. He grabbed hold of the neck of Spike's t-shirt and hauled him up. "By the time I've finished with you, you won't be fit to intefere with defenceless little girls."
"Hey!" Willow and Spike both chorused. "We're/They're not defenceless."
But whatever Giles was about to say was forgotten as Spike suddenly clutched his stomach and then threw up the entire bowlful of noodles and blood all over the Watcher and his antique Aubusson rug.
"Aw, poor Spikey," breathed Willow as Spike sank back on the sofa looking, well, as pale as usual but with some wanness thrown into the mix too.
Spike rubbed his stomach cautiously. "Better out than in, I s'pose," he said morosely.
"That's right, baby," Willow agreed, sitting down next to him and pulling his head down to her shoulder so she could pat him soothingly. "But if you feel like you're going to barf again you should warn me."
Giles started to form a sentence which began and ended with the words "my rug" but stopped. "Good God," he muttered instead. He never thought he'd see the day when he was reduced to contemplating the best way to remove vampire vomit from his soft furnishings. And now Willow, little Willow, was not only shagging Spike but, at this precise moment in time, rubbing his back and cooing nonsensical baby talk at him. And Spike was letting her.
"It really must be the end of the world. There can be no other explanation," Giles told himelf as he disappeared into the kitchen to get a mop and some heavy duty disinfectant.
This was Tara's cue to rush down the stairs. "Something's not right," she yelped. "I felt all weird and I had this strange feeling that Spike was in trouble."
"Yeah well, I just puked didn't I?" grumbled Spike. "Must be 'cause of the bond. Can't sample non-witch products anymore and you two aren't exactly an all-you-can-eat buffet. I'm gonna bloody starve."
Tara came the rest of the way down the stairs and sat down on the other side of Spike so she could stroke his hand comfortingly.
"Maybe there's some way to break the bond," she suggested.
"We could ask Mr Giles after he's, um, calmed down."
They could all hear Giles' weird clucking sounds and the banging of cupboard doors from the relative safety of the sofa.
"He'd probably tell the Slayer," Spike said dourly. "And she'll want to shove something sapling-shaped through my chest. Or laugh. Can't decide which is worst. Imminent staking or that yakking noise she makes when she finally gets a joke."
"Well at least you got over your Buffy-related lovesickness," Willow commented brightly.
Spike glared at her.
"I was just saying..."
"I bloody heard what you were saying and yeah I'm over the Buffy-itis and now looking forward to my new and rich life as an anorexic."
"Well, it's not much fun for me and Tara," Willow began angrily.
"Having you chomp down on us every time you feel peckish and Xander and Anya and Buffy knowing that we've been naughty and I've only just persauded them that I'm here and I'm queer..."
"We should research ways to get rid of the bond," Tara said again but Willow and Spike were too busy scowling at each other to pay attention.
"I didn't see you running in fright at the sight of my cock," said Spike nastily. "Let's face it you're as bad at being a lesbian as you are at being a witch."
"Like you're such a great vampire," retorted Willow angrily, standing up so she didn't have to touch one inch of stinky, poop-headed, Spikiness. "Ooooh, everyone, look at me. I'm an evil blooduscker 'cept I can't be evil and I can't suck blood."
"Yeah but thanks to all the foofy wiccan vibes in your apartment that were responsible for this fucking, bollocksy, wanking bond I can knock your bloody block off," yelled Spike springing to his feet and grabbing Willow by the throat.
"Separato!" yelled Tara, causing Spike and Willow to violently disengage and get thrown into opposite corners of the room. "This isn't helping. We need to find a way to get rid of the bond."
"I know that," agreed Willow huffily, rubbing her bottom where she'd landed against the sharp edge of an effigy of a fungal god that Giles really shouldn't have had laying about.
Spike continued to lay on the floor but rummaged for his cigarettes. "Don't you want to be bonded to me any more, pet?"
Ignoring Willow's snort, Tara tried to be tactful. "Don't want you get ski... um, starve and we could still hang out and stuff," she said coaxingly. "But you and Willow have to play nice and we have to figure out how to fix this, don't we, Mr Giles?"
Giles had re-emerged from the kitchen bearing a bucket fall of cleaning fluids which he shoved at Spike. "And don't skip bits, I shall be watching you," he added darkly.
"'Cause you're a Watcher," said Willow. "And I can't joke my way out of this, can I?"
"Don't even try," advised Giles. "Now I'm sure there's references to eradicating magickal bonds in the Collected Volumes Of Brother Matthias. Spike will clean my rug and Tara and Willow will start working their way through all three hundred and forty seven volumes. Then we'll perform the ritual and never speak of this again." And with that Giles took three Advil and lay down on the sofa.
There were still 218 volumes to go when Willow found the cure. Spike had finished his char duties and the rug was now a blood-free zone. As he pointed out to Giles who was hurrying towards Willow.
"Did the whole bloody rug, not just the bloody bits," he insisted but Giles was reaching for the book and pointedly ignoring him.
"Yes. I have all these ingredients," he muttered. "Oh dear. That's going to be, well, difficult."
"What?" asked Willow, peering over the Watcher's shoulder. "Oh. Oh dear."
She handed the book to Tara who looked at the list and shuddered. "Oh dear."
"Yes, people, I'm getting a word picture here," snapped Spike, snatching the dusty volume from Tara's suddenly nerveless hands. "Blah blah should be ingested by the bondees. Dried placenta, blah blah blah, essence of ragwort, blah blah blah, God these spells are always so sodding bland, honey, blah blah blah, three level tablespoons of Slayer urine (must be fresh) blah blah... Bleaaaaagh!"
"Exactly," said Willow feelingly.
"Far be it from me to castigate the three of you on your utter lack of prudence and judgement but I think you'll have learnt a valuable lesson before the day's out," commented Giles with a certain amount of smugness.
"I'm not drinking fucking Slayer wee," bellowed Spike, clutching at Giles' lapels. "There has to be another way, Watcher. I mean, just fucking stake me now."
"That would mean that we'd die too," Tara pointed out in a hurt voice.
"And that would be bad because...?" prompted Willow. "At least we wouldn't have to drink..."
"No don't say it again," pleaded Spike. "It's too bloody awful to contemplate."
"What's too bloody awful to contemplate?" enquired a cheery voice as the Slayer and her rather full bladder walked through the door. "Hold that thought and tell me in a minute 'cause I really have to pee."
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