Prompt #174 - Mambo - spikesdeb - A Better Man (1/1) - BtVS

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Title: A Better Man
Prompt: #174 - Mambo
Author: spikesdebFandom: BtVS
Word Count: 1336
Set: Season 7 - amid the apocalypse build-up
Pairing: Spike/Buffy
Summary: Spike figured there was time for a little fun while waiting for the end of the world, and if there was one thing that Buffy needed, it was fun.
A/N: Unbeta'd so if there are any errors, please be gentle but point them out and I'll fix. Disclaimer : no profit was made and no infringement intended.



From the shadows he watched her, uncertain as she made her way through the darkened entrance. She clutched the invitation in one hand, gripping a pair of silver dancing shoes tight in the other. Spike smiled and relaxed a little. If she'd come prepared to dance, he'd won half the battle.

Truth was, he'd expected her to be a no-show. Slipping the invite under her pillow hadn't been a problem, despite the carpet of potentials he'd had to negotiate to get there – he was a preternatural being after all, and the baby slayers hadn't honed their vampire radars as yet; the main problem had been wording the invitation in such a way that Buffy didn't freak out and didn't think it was just a joke.

He'd been acutely aware that if she showed, it was a significant step in their relationship. The fact that they had a relationship was astounding enough, given the recent past. If Buffy trusted him enough to slip into a deserted, dark and dank dance studio in the back streets of Sunnydale, dancing shoes replacing the expected stake in her hand, then that was really saying something. Not that he expected anything more than what they had; but that didn't stop him hoping.

Spike was speechless, for once, as he watched her while briefly unobserved himself, seeing her vulnerability and shy anticipation as she cocked her head and inched further inside. He realised something as he watched her; she wanted this. She wanted to move away from the past and towards the future – and with him.

She wouldn't have come otherwise. He'd made it easy for her to ignore the invite and simply go on as before, the spectre of the bathroom between them. They could have remained friends and allies in the fight against oblivion, warriors both and protectors of the innocent, and nothing more.

His glorious, golden girl was as dissatisfied with that as he was. He almost whooped with joy, stifling the exclamation in his throat.

“Hello?” Buffy ventured, trying to see into the darkness. She was feeling momentarily disorientated and foolish, doubting that the handwritten card she'd received was actually from Spike at all, and panicking suddenly that the First's minions had lured her into a trap. The apprehension soon vanished, however, as her eyes adjusted and she could just see a shadowy figure hidden away against the far wall. Spike. He was unmistakable. Her eyes and her senses settled her nerves and she began to grow excited at this welcome distraction from the slaughter and inevitable death that was her future.

She had no idea what he had in mind, save that it involved shuffling her feet in the silver dancing shoes she'd 'liberated' from an abandoned store on the main street. Graceful she wasn't, other than in the wielding of a stake, but it sounded fun, and fun had been in short supply lately.

Finally, the shadowy figure detached itself from the wall and strolled over, a dramatic swell of music accompanying his intense and rhythmic prowl towards her. Buffy's pulse sped up as the soft light illuminated the hollows beneath his cheekbones and hooded his eyes. He was – predictably – dressed all in black, but his short-sleeved tee had been replaced by a close-fitting, long-sleeved jersey covered over with a waistcoat that shimmered as he moved. He prowled towards her, hips tilted on every step, panther-like in his movement as he came nearer.

Buffy could barely breathe; she knew Spike intimately, her body still craving his touch. Seeing him move towards her slowly, intently, passionately was really pushing all of her buttons. Bad boys, always the bad boys. Every woman with a pulse knew that deep down and dirty, that was what the id wanted.

Then he stopped, beyond her reach and held out his hand. If she wanted him, she would have to move towards him, and the knowledge of that small detail made her dizzy. The music was throbbing through her, a Latin beat that matched her pulse and twitched her feet. She toed off her boots and bent to wriggle into the unfamiliar shoes, shrugging off her jacket and revealing the scarlet jersey dress that hugged her curves and that she'd impulsively grabbed from the same store that had provided her footwear. She heard a sharp indrawn breath, and smiled.

Yes, this was Spike's idea, but he wasn't in charge. She'd needed the opening, but she was as eager as he to embrace whatever future she had left.

The music changed and Spike took a few steps towards her, whatever advantage he thought he'd had lost, his hand still outstretched, his eyes burning with passion. Buffy's mouth opened on a gasp as her fingers touched his, electricity tingling along her nerve endings; but she didn't have time to recover as he tugged her towards him, her breasts squashed hard against his chest as his hand rested in the curve of her back. Blue eyes met hazel, lips almost touching as Buffy's heartbeat thudded for the both of them.

“Dance, love?” Spike drawled, not waiting for an answer as he twirled her away. A crescendo of music accompanied their movement, the fight that they were used to becoming the dance as Buffy allowed Spike to lead. It was a tap-tap-tap of movement, bodies bending and meeting in a collision every few steps, hip against hip, before being whirled apart at arms' length. Buffy panted, and so did Spike, caught up in the moment, eyes glazed as they both surrendered to the music and ignored all else.

The tempo changed, became a mambo beat that ran through their bodies and grounded through their feet. Buffy grinned as she missed a step, narrowly avoiding Spike's boot with her heel; she had no idea what she was doing but she didn't want to stop. Spike tugged her close again and whirled her, holding her arm above her head as she came to rest close to his chest again. This time he couldn't resist the nearness of her lips and kissed her softly, swallowing down her gasp as he spun her away and slinked up behind her. Her back was to his chest, her left arm across her stomach, hand held in his right as they swayed. Buffy's neck was arched away from him, bare and ticking with the throb of her pulse and he bent to kiss along the curve, half-expecting a stake at any minute.

Spike couldn't help himself.

He hadn't meant this to be anything but fun for Buffy, had made no plans to be intimate with her. He'd just wanted her to relax, maybe talk a little, be comfortable together. Move on past the hurt and take a small step to something more. But she was so sinuous and sensual as she swayed against him that it would take a better man than he to just walk away.

The music stopped. The minutes ticked by and still they stood, Spike's arms wrapped around Buffy, their hands clasped as she leaned back against him. Spike expected her to bolt, but she seemed to be moulding herself closer to him, snuggling almost. He'd never felt so content.

“Thank you,” Buffy whispered, the soft sound echoing in the empty hall. She turned, still holding onto him. “Thank you,” she said, her voice firmer, looking him in the eyes. She palmed his face, running her thumb across his cheek as he leant into her touch, his eyes closed.

God, he was so beautiful.

Buffy stood on tiptoes and kissed him gently, making no move away from him as he held her closer. All the hurt and the worry and the responsibility that was her life was far away. Spike, as always, had seen her need and fulfilled it, and it was about time she gave him the credit that was due.

And besides, it would take a better woman than she to walk away. This time she wasn't going to.