Don't tell anyone which is yours
Voting will be open until Sunday evening.
Cordelia settled on the couch, folding her legs around the massive bowl of candy, and rolled her eyes. “So you’re telling me you’ve never been Trick or Treating. Not even once?”
Wesley reached into the bowl and snagged a piece of chocolate before she could slap his hand away. “No, not even once.”
“God, you’re even more deficient than I first thought.”
“I’m deficient because I’ve never gone around my neighborhood, begging for candy?” Wesley inquired, exasperated. “How do you figure?”
“Because that’s normal.”
“It’s normal for Americans, Cordelia. I did not grow up in America, as evidenced by my accent.”
She sighed. “Be honest, though. Even if they did do that in England, you probably would have never gone.”
“No, probably not. I never understood people’s fascination with Halloween. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Cordelia unwrapped a peanut butter cup and began to nibble on the edges. “What’s not to get? People dress up and gorge on candy. It couldn’t be simpler.”
“It’s the glorification of the very forces we’re trying to stop, Cordelia. The very things that prey on their children.”
“Yeah, but, candy.”
Wesley chewed his chocolate thoughtfully and reached for another piece. “So, when does the annual ritual of begging and debasement start?”
Cordy frowned and checked her watch. “About an hour ago. I don’t understand why we haven’t seen a single kid. Wanna watch a movie?”
“You know what we’re missing? Phantom Dennis! Can you get me that bottle of rum?”
“Rum? Cordelia, don’t you think it’s a little early to start drinking?”
“It’s after five, isn’t it? Plus, it’s a holiday. We should have started drinking hours ago. Or is that just an American thing too?”
Wesley considered it for a moment before shaking his head. “No, no it’s not.”
“Great. Ooh, look, The Exorcist is on tonight. Have you ever seen it?”
“No,” Wesley admitted, snatching the floating bottle of rum from the air.
“God, have you ever done anything?”
“I performed an exorcism,” Wesley answered.
“No, you didn’t. Angel performed the exorcism,” Cordelia corrected.
“Well, I assisted.”
“Right. Hand me that.” Cordelia reached for the bottle and screwed the top off. “You’re turning me into a loser. I should be out at one of the hot parties with my friends. And here I am, keeping you company.”
Wesley gaped at her. “You invited me here, Cordelia. This wasn’t my idea.”
“It’s still your fault.”
Wesley rolled his eyes, and took the bottle from her. “Has anybody ever told you that you’re a brat?”
“Nobody who lived to tell about it. Now be quiet, the movie is starting.”
Wesley was more than happy to end the conversation, and they amiably passed the bottle and the candy between them, until he was a little light-headed, yet oddly hyper. He barely paid attention to the film, more fascinated by Cordelia’s reaction to the movie. She had seen worse—she had lived through worse—but she was totally engaged with the story. She covered her eyes, she screamed, she jumped, and finally, she buried her head against his shoulder.
“I can’t look. I can’t look. I can’t look.”
Wesley stiffly put his arm around her, surprised by the sudden weight against his side. He caught a whiff of her perfume, beneath the smell of rum and candy. “There, there, Cordy,” he said awkwardly. “It’s not that bad.”
“No…” She shook her head emphatically. “Watch. It is. Just wait…She’s going to come down the stairs…”
“Come down the stairs?” He began to ease away from her. “What…oh. Oh my!”
“You’re scared, too.” She said, as he tightened his grip on her. She was tense, and he was ready to jump to his feet and flee.
“I’m not scared.” His words were unsteady.
Cordelia looked up, her eyes dancing, her color high. “You nearly screamed like a girl.”
“Like you, you mean?”
“Well, I am a girl, Wesley.”
“Yes you are,” he murmured.
Later, Wesley would blame the alcohol, the sugar rush, and most of all, the heat of her body as she leaned against him. Then there was the memory of that kiss—the kiss they got right. He leaned forward, expecting her to pull away from him, but she didn’t move.
Her lips were sweet and spicy, like cinnamon on hot chocolate. The kiss was slow and hesitant because he expected her to push him away. And maybe slap him. But she didn’t. Instead, she deepened the kiss. He felt opposite, yet powerful, impulses. One to break the kiss and move away, the other to stretch her on the couch beneath him and give in to a few of his long-held fantasies.
Tentatively, he gave in to the second urge, leaning over to lay her onto the couch. His body half covered hers, and her shirt was pushed up over her flat stomach. His fingers brushed across the taut skin, and her muscles fluttered in response. She pulled away then, looking at him with big eyes.
“You’re not going to impregnate me with demon spawn, are you?”
Wesley blinked. “No?”
“I need a no-demon-spawn guarantee.”
“You have my word.”
“When did you learn how to kiss? Have you been practicing?”
The tips of Wesley’s ears turned red. “I’ve had a bit more experience.”
She rested her fingers on the back of his neck. “I approve.” She kissed him briefly then pulled back again. “You know, I’m probably going to regret this in the morning.”
“We can stop.” Please don’t make us stop now.
“No.” She beamed at him. “Let’s just blame the rum.”
Wesley eyed the empty bottle. “I’ll buy that.”
“Good.” She drew his mouth to hers and resumed the kiss, her tongue teasing his.
Distantly, Wesley heard somebody knock on the door, but neither of them paused. Wesley wasn’t too worried about missing the kids. They were out of candy anyway.
She found him in a third-rate bar in the middle of small-town Ohio, reading poetry to a
Why me, why me... Lilah asked herself for the eighth time that day. You’d think they
would leave you alone after you were dead, but no... ‘Best person for the job’, my ass. I didn’t even
know the guy.
She had to admit though, this did make a change from watching Wesley run through a thousand
different hells screaming for Fred when he knew he would never find her there. What a waste of an
Her current assignment finished his rhyming tale of lost love and eternal suffering and stumbled
offstage to sporadic applause. Drunk, then. Well, that would probably make this easier.
Readjusting her necktie, Lilah sauntered over to where the poet had half collapsed at the bar and
sat down next to him. Crossing her legs, she caught the bartender’s eye and then turned her
attention to the task at hand.
“Spike,” she said.
The blond vampire beside her almost jumped out of his skin. “Who are you?” he demanded, attempting
to sit up straight. His eyes took a little too long to focus, Lilah noted.
“I’m Lilah Morgan, with Wolfram and Hart,” she stated. God, she hadn’t said that in a
Spike’s eyes narrowed to a glare. “If you’ve come to kill me, just do it. Otherwise you can piss
off, I’m not interested.”
“See,” said Lilah, “I knew you were gonna say that. Waste of time, I said, you killed all his
friends, you expect him to want anything to do with you after that? But did they listen to me? No.”
She shook her head. “Ah well, I tried.”
Spike blinked. “That’s it?”
“Sure.” Lilah shrugged. “You’ve said no. Buy me a drink?”
“I don’t trust you.”
“I didn’t ask you to. I asked you to buy me a drink.”
“You mean they don’t tip you for that stuff you read out?”
“What do you think I’m paying for my drink with? Buy your own.”
“Alright then, I will. Tequila sunrise, please,” she said to the bartender. “So.” She turned back
to face Spike. “You come here often, or was that a one night only special performance?”
“I told you, I don’t trust you. Bugger off.”
Lilah raised an eyebrow. “No.”
Spike rolled his eyes. “Fine. I will.” He downed his newly arrived drink before he stood up,
wobbled, and headed for the door.
Spike lasted a good three minutes pretending to ignore her before he broke. Whirling around to
face her, he put on his vamp face and growled menacingly.
Lilah crossed her arms. “I’m with Wolfram and Hart, Spike. You think that’s gonna scare
His shoulders slumped. “Worth a try.” He sighed. “Wanna shag?”
She blinked. “I thought you were pining after Buffy.” He had surprised her... Lilah abruptly
wondered how long it had been since she had last been surprised. Quite a while, she was sure.
“And that means I can’t have a nice, meaningless shag once in a while why, exactly? I’m not a
eunuch like Angel was, you know. Now, either you’re going to kill me or not – either way a bit of a
bonk beforehand will brighten things up for me considerably. Yes or no?”
Opening her mouth to speak, Lilah still wasn’t sure how to answer, even though the Wolfram and
Hart part of her was saying yes, absolutely – this was a golden opportunity and she’d be a fool to
miss it. And how long had it been since Wesley, anyway...?
Spike took the decision out of her hands when he grabbed her and kissed her.
It was rough, and it bordered on painful when his fangs started to dig into her lip, and when he
pulled away Lilah felt absolutely exhilarated.
Too long, that was how long it had been.
“You got a place nearby?” Spike was asking.
“Motel room,” Lilah said breathlessly.
- - -
They were both half naked when he reached to pull off her necktie. She was too slow to stop him.
Her hand flew to her neck as Spike eyed the mark Wesley had left there, his expression more
intrigued than anything else.
“Hello... you’re not quite human, are you?”
“Neither are you,” Lilah pointed out.
Spike grinned. “What happened to you?”
“Ancient weapon to the neck, then a vampire, then an axe.”
“Sounds a bit like overkill to me, love. But, also... hang on. Something’s very familiar here...
Oh!” His face lit up. “You’re Wesley’s bird!”
Lilah was so taken aback by this that she physically moved away from him. “How do you know that?”
Spike seemed far more amused than he should at her reaction. “Wolfram and Hart lawyer, Wesley-boy
had to take an axe to her... funny the things you overhear when you’re a ghost.” He sat back,
looking more smug than he had any right to be. “Well, well, well.”
“Is that a problem for you?” Lilah asked, forcing herself to regain her composure.
Spike appeared to contemplate this, then shrugged. “No,” he said, and pinned her to the bed.
- - -
“We steer him in the right direction, he’ll be ours within the year,” Lilah said, finishing her
report. She was asked a couple more questions, but her mind was on... Well, on sex. There was
something bothering her about the way she’d handled her assignment, but she was damned if she knew what
Of course she was damned anyway, she thought as she signed the non-disclosure agreement and was
given her one-way ticket back to hell.
But when she got there, she decided, perhaps she would try to find Wesley.
When the chime went off over the shop’s door, Spike slunk back into the shadows, unwilling to be seen when he’d only just sorted out his plan. Wouldn’t do for someone to peg him and go running off to blab to Small, Blonde, and Bitchy. She was the reason he was in this mess in the first place. It would be just like her to find some way to bollocks his life up. She had a frightening knack for it.
“Got a shopping list for you, Endora.” Paper slapped against the counter. “And make it quick. Told Giles I’d get his shit on my free period.” Spike peered around the edge of the shelves in time to see the brunette shoot the clerk a mocking grin. “Can’t make it look too obvious I’m ditching school.”
So the Watcher had a new go-to gal. This one had a sense of style.
The first sway of her rounded hips got him hard. He hadn’t had a woman since leaving Dru behind with her chaos demon, but a prize like this one would make his comeback to the world of tits and blood worth it.
He tilted his head as his gaze raked down her backside.
With a detour through that luscious bum first, of course.
So caught up in ogling the girl, he realized too late she’d angled closer until her hand was at his throat and he had a magic wand poking into his ass where she shoved him against the shelves.
“Didn’t know I was on your wish list.” Curling his tongue behind his teeth, Spike ducked his lashes to get a better look down her generous cleavage. “I’m touched.”
Before she could react – because they always reacted – Spike grabbed her wrist and broke her hold, twisting her arm behind her back as he dragged her from the front of the store toward the basement. Her musky perfume cut through the remaining fog of his hangover, making his mouth water in anticipation of sinking both fangs and cock into her soft flesh. Maybe he should go check who else the Watcher had hanging about. If the old man’s taste had improved this much, it might even be worth a run-in with Buffy.
His first inkling that something was off came as soon as the basement door clicked shut. That was when the bitch suddenly headbutted him hard enough to send Spike flying down the stairs, crashing into a heap at the bottom.
“It’s a little early for me…” She hopped over the railing and grabbed a mop, snapping it effortlessly over her knee. “…but a good slay always works up my appetite. Just in time for lunch.” Her dark eyes danced over his body, lingering on the bulge in his crotch. “And you look like more than a mouthful.”
If his head had been clear, he would have put the clues together far sooner than the point where the girl was advancing with a makeshift stake in hand.
The Watcher. Grabbing too fast for Spike to block. And the ultimate giveaway…
Spike threw his head back and howled in glee at the ceiling. “It’s about bloody time!” For the first time, the girl hesitated, frowning as he jabbed a finger at her. “Slayer, right?”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
He whooped again at the confirmation. “Go on. Tell me whoever did the self-righteous bitch in made it hurt. I’m due for a spot of good news.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“There’s only One, right? And since you’re standing here all Chosen, that means Dru was talkin’ bollocks. Can’t see Summers floating around me if the bint’s dead, now can she?” He froze as an awful thought occurred to him. “Unless she’s a ghost. Oh, bloody hell, she’s haunting me!”
He sank onto a nearby box, aware that the Slayer was now openly smirking at his devastation. He didn’t need a leprosy spell. He needed a soddin’ exorcism.
“Newsflash, Blondie. B’s alive, kicking, and as full of herself as ever.”
The disdain in the Slayer’s voice combined with the relieving news drew Spike’s gaze back up. “You wouldn’t be playin’ with me now, would you?”
The glint in her eye made his cock stir again. “My kind of playing’s a hell of a lot more fun than a few word games. That’s B’s bag.” The corner of her mouth lifted. “And I’m not her.”
She hadn’t moved, and now the makeshift stake dangled from her hand. Standing, Spike tilted his head as he took slow steps toward her. “No, you most definitely are not.” His original plan was out the window – no way was he in any way sober enough to take on a Slayer and survive the fight – but that didn’t stop him from kicking and knocking the wood from her grip. She retaliated by trying to sweep his legs out from beneath him, but Spike anticipated it and used her momentum to spin her around and press her to the wall, grinding his renewed erection into her ass.
“What’s your name, luv?”
She squirmed, but all it did was make him harder. “Faith.”
Spike chuckled. “Guess bein’ a cocktease comes as part of the Slayer package.”
There was a moment of hesitation. Then a powerful hand slithered between their bodies and palmed his length through his jeans.
“I don’t tease.”
He inhaled her scent, storing the memory away. It would be perfect for wanking to later on. “I’ll remember that for next time, pet.”
Her sudden flare of lust assaulted his senses, but before he let it distract him, Spike knocked her head against the wall, then turned and fled for the sewer tunnel.
He ran for five minutes before realizing there were no sounds of pursuit. Rearranging his cock, Spike grinned in spite of the wrench in his plans. Two Slayers. One of them didn’t like the other.
The Hellmouth just got a tad more interesting.
Vote for your LEAST favorite