by
Lisa Y. Drexel
He shouldn't have been surprised by her calling.
He did make a bloody production out of giving her his phone number.
And yet, when he heard her soft, almost timid voice echoing loudly through the receiver, he nearly dropped the phone.
Bloody hell, he cursed himself as he sat down on the bed.
She repeated herself. "Spike? It's Willow."
He smiled despite his own feelings of trepidation and dare he say nervousness. "'Allo, luv." He lit a cigarette. "How are you?"
He heard her inhale sharply. "Is—is that a trick question?"
Spike bit his lip from chuckling out loud. That would do no good. "Nah, pet. Just being polite and all."
He could almost see her frowning. "Oh."
After nearly a minute of strained silence, he took a deep breath and forged ahead, glancing at the clock to double-check the time. Nearly sundown. "Willow?"
"Yes?" her voice sounding breathless and unsure, as if she was afraid of what he was going to ask her.
Painfully shy was taking on a whole new meaning to him.
"It's almost sundown and I've got the night off—"
"My parents are out of town—you can come over here," she said in a rush, interrupting him. A deep breathe. "That—that is, if—if—you want to," she added quietly.
Shocked, he nearly choked on his cigarette. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," she said instantly, relief evident in her voice. Then she added softly, "We need to talk."
He nodded to himself, That we do, Red. That we do.
It was nearly an hour and half later that Spike found himself ringing the Rosenberg's door bell, feeling so incredibly foolish and undemon-like, that he was sure that the old guy, Satan himself, was going to strike him down with Hell's version of lightning.
What in the bloody hell is wrong with me? He asked himself the thousandth time since he had kidnapped Willow the year before. What was it about this girl that sent him into a tailspin? Sitting on his bloody arse for all those months—lusting after her and yet never saying or doing a thing?
He'd always taken what he wanted—consequences be damned. Even with this blackmail gig going on, he could've figured out a way to get in the girl's bleeding bed if he wanted to.
So why didn't he?
What was it about that answer that scared him so much?
And why did it take seeing her in the passionate embrace with his doppelganger that finally forced him to do something? He could still see her lying nearly naked on that bed—her skin so flushed and hot that it nearly seared him when he picked her up.
His cock hardened at that memory.
All that was for him.
And yet, here he was standing at her door feeling like a doped-up hormonal crazed teenage boy getting ready to get his first piece of ass.
It had to be the Hellmouth. He'd been here too long. It was doing funky things to his demon—making him act all soul-like.
Making him want to puke, that what it was doing.
Growling softly to himself, he almost missed her opening the front door.
But then when she stepped out from behind it, his felt his body still in anticipation.
She was so beautiful. Just like Dru was before Prague, but with that innocence that his dark princess had lost to their sire's cruel attentions. Willow, dressed in a pair of dark jeans and sleeveless, satiny green shirt—her hair pulled up with only a few tendrils curling softly around her face—framing her pixie face—she would've took his breath away, if he had any.
And barefoot.
She was bloody barefoot and her toenails were painted a deep burgundy—accenting her pale skin—just as the black jeans and dark green shirt.
If he could keep his cock in his pants for the night, he would consider himself a bloody miracle worker.
And, unfortunately, a wanker for being such a coward.
Willow & Spike fic SunnyHell Haven Fanfic page
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©1999 Lisa Y. Drexel