This has got to be the clumsiest kiss of all times. Too rough, too reckless, too drunk. But – oh, man! - the sheer intensity of it! Spike tastes like hot chilli peppers and salt, seasoned with whiskey and cigarette smoke, rounded off with the coppery tang of blood.
He squirms and finally manages to twist his head away, out of my grip. “Are you out of your bloody mind?” he sputters. “Get your hands off me!” I just dive at his neck and start nipping and kissing cool smooth skin, while my knee tries to sneak between his legs. Come on, Spike, you didn’t waste this much time with Anya. My hands take on a life of their own, one bunching up his T-shirt to get at bare flesh, the other going straight for his tight ass.
Can’t talk. Can’t you see? I’m too busy biting your neck. Touching. Feel that? I rub against him, pressing my raging hard-on against his hip. Come on Spike, work with me here!
Spike inhales sharply and for a moment he seems to arch against me, pliant and wanting. Yes! Tiny electric sparks buzz through my entire body. Oh fuck, this is utterly wrong but it feels so right, better than--
His fingers dig into my arms. What? He’s pushing me away. No! Wait, let me--
The next thing I know, I’m seeing stars as I’m knocked off my feet by a sledge-hammer blow to the chin. Ow! I crash against the chest of drawers, knocking over a stack of CDs in a noisy cascade of jewel cases. Stunned, I slide down until I sit on the floor, the drawer handles pressing into my back. I’m hot, and out of breath. I shake my head, trying to clear it, but it only makes me dizzy and kinda queasy.
Before me, Spike is kneeling on the floor, hunched over in obvious agony, palms pressed against his temples. A violent jolt racks his body, triggering a choked howl. I don’t get it. Spike isn’t doing anything. Why is the chip still punishing him?
After five or six shocks it’s over. Spike stops twitching and falls silent. All I can hear is his ragged breathing. Scrambling towards him, I put a hand on his shoulder. “Spike? Are you ok--”
He slowly lifts his head, his face a grimace of pain and helpless rage. “I said: Get your hands off me!”
I back off and concentrate on getting to my feet without falling over. A moment later Spike gets up too, swaying unsteadily, still clutching his head. He blinks, exhales forcefully and lets his hands fall to his sides. Then he fixes his gaze on me. Like he’s waiting for something.
There’s a sick feeling in my gut, a strange ache. Not just from too much drink but from shock. I just made a complete fool out of myself. I frenched Spike and tried to cop a feel. Heck I tried to get into his pants! And I wasn’t exactly scrupulous about it, either. I’m not sure what’s worse: the fact that I went completely overboard or the fact that he shot me down. “Oh god!”
Spike gives me a bitter, twisted smile and slowly wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
I barge past him, literally shouldering him aside, and out of the closet. I head towards the bar, grab a glass and pour myself a double. Swig. Slam. Pour.
When he speaks his voice is calm almost weary: “Didn’t pan out the way you imagined? What was the script? The evil disgusting thing drops to his knees and blows you?”
I flinch. That one hit just a little too close to home. I turn around. He’s standing just a few feet away, tense. “Told you,” he adds. “Not interested.”
“Why not? You’re the guy who fucked a piece of plastic.” His jaw clenches but he holds my gaze. That’s when I go straight for the heart: “And before you play Mr. Sensitive, let’s not forget, Spike, you’re the one who tried to rape the woman he supposedly loves.”
Does he rage, hurl abuse or hit me? Storm out or hide in his closet? Go to pieces and talk to his invisible buddies? None of the above. Instead, he stands perfectly still, a pained look on his face. Then he nods. “I know.”
Suddenly I can’t bear facing at him. I turn my back on him and stare at the bottle of bourbon with loathing. Waiting for the room to stop spinning. Waiting for that painful knot in my stomach to go away.
Moments later I’m rushing to the bathroom and retching my guts out.
Continued in Part Eleven