All About Spike

Chapter: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15  16  17  18  19  20  21  22  23  24  25  26  27  28  29  30  31  32  33  34  35  36  37  38  39  40  41  42  43  44  45

By Ginmar

Chapter 10

Spike rushed around his crypt, hoping there wasn't a camera any where. He hadn't been so happy since... okay, since, well, anything involving Buffy, but this was different. Kicking demon ass simply wasn't the challenge it had been, but this -- Angel -- this was a challenge. Just like the good old days. He'd whale some money out of the old bastard, get it funneled to Buffy somehow, and combine business with pleasure.

Okay, it would be more like combining pleasure with pleasure, but who cared?

He pawed through drawers and crypt spaces, shoving aside bones and things, and wondering what it would cost to get a cleaning service. One of these days, he was going to late up a fag, and the crypt would explode as the dust combusted.


He found the cattle prod -- always useful for a family reunion of sorts -- then the stun gun, plus some ropes. Hm. What would especially irritate Angel?

Fun, probably.

He considered tossing in some Playboys just to be petty, then decided petty was just another word for creative, and threw his entire stash in there. The bag was satisfyingly heavy as he hoisted it to his shoulder.

He looked down at the bed, smoothing over the spread with a hand that seemed to remember Buffy as much as his mind did. "You're in my gut, Summers..." Funny that it turned out to be true after all this, he thought. Every part of his body had a different memory of her, and together they combined and made a terrible cocktail of sensation that seized his unbeating heat with electricity as if he was being electrocuted not from life but back to it.

He'd planned on leaving her a note, and cowardice had nothing to do with it. No, not at all. The fact that he'd been accusing her of holding back while he was reluctant to reveal his gitlike past was in no way related to his reluctance to look her in the eye just now.

He got out the roses and shook the petals all over the bed and then admired the effect. Then he sighed, and settled against the headboard with a piece of paper and a pen.

"Dear Buffy.." He chewed on the pen, irritated with the very salutation.

"Dearest..."Yeah, sure, that would be a good way or working up to the whole geek confession.

"Buffy," Yo, listen up. Sure. I'll get laid again before the next century.

He stopped and stared at the ceiling. Help was not forthcoming. He thought abruptly, she'll be in the tub about now. She'll be all wet and warm... and he wouldn't be able to see her for several days...

Really, it was terrible to leave a note for her. He should do it in person.

It was the least he could do.....

Continued in Chapter 11

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