F A N F I C T I O N > B U F F Y V E R S E
Surreal Encounters by Amberina
It's surreal. It's all so surreal. Spike leaning over her, his breath -- he has breath? no one ever told her he had breath -- reeking of alcohol and buffalo wings and . . . is he really a vampire? His skin is cold, but she's never known a vampire to eat buffalo wings. She can faintly make out smeared-away eyeliner around his eyes -- she really should teach him how to apply it without getting the raccoon look, but then again what does she care?
Her hands trail along his back -- firm and muscular. Oh wow. That's a nice back to have. It's not as nice as Angel's back, of course, but not everyone can be so lucky.
Cordelia's thoughts turn to Angel, and she realizes how much Spike smells like him. Maybe they use the same hair gel. Or maybe they've -- oh, bad thoughts. Really bad thoughts. Cordelia tries to focus on Spike.
He's really pretty -- a beautiful man. Not prettier than Cordelia, though, so it's okay.
Her head's fuzzy, and the shape of his head keeps blurring as she stares at him. She's pretty sure there's only supposed to be one of him. She's not entirely sure though.
He leans down to kiss her and she turns her head quickly. His lips falls on her cheek, cold and warm all at once and she suddenly wonders what's taking so long. Why they're not already to the sex.
She blinks, in an attempt to straighten her vision a little bit to no avail. Oh, well. Her hands grip his shoulder blades and she whispers, "Fuck me."
Well that came out a hell of a lot more slurred than she intended.
He giggles into the side of her face, and it tickles. And it is not at all sexy and she feels like slapping him. Hello? Horny here! Come on, big guy, and stick it in me! she wants to say but she doesn't say anything. Instead she rolls her eyes at the ceiling. Or possibly the ceiling rolls itself at her eyes. Whatever.
"Spike?" she whispers softly.
Silence and then, "Yes, love?"
"What the hell are we doing?"
Spike sighs and rolls off of her and Cordelia can't help but feel a little relieved. If still sexually frustrated. "I mean, with Angel -- I'm in love with Angel." And then louder, "I'm in love with Angel." Damn. She really does need to do something about that slurring thing.
"I get it," Spike says with a shrug. "Everyone loves the big nancy boy." Mocking more than a little, under his breath -- or, wait, he doesn't have breath -- well whatever -- "Bloody poof."
"No! Not everybody! Just -- " Cordelia thinks, or tries to, but her head isn't exactly clear, " -- everyone you want. Though really? If you wanted me you would have done something. So what's your particular brand of damage?"
"I am not damaged," Spike says, giving her a look of distaste. "I'm just . . . slightly . . . . you know, that isn't the point. The point is, I'm sick of Angel -- "
"Well aren't we all?" Cordelia says with a slight snort. "Sick of Angel? I mean, really. Sell out to evil incorporated, not to mention -- "
"Exactly!" Spike says, leaning up, his eyes lighting up slightly. "You know, none of the wonder bunch seem to realize what they've done -- what Angel did to them."
"Of course they don't," Cordelia says, "because he's Angel and he can do no wrong. Plus there's all the shiny toys, and brain upgrades -- and dude, what is up with Gunn having hair? I think it has to do with the weirdo mind thing they did to him . . ."
"He didn't have hair before?"
"No! And now it's weird and -- he looks weird. You don't think he looks weird?"
Spike tilts his head slightly and gives her a curious look. "Not especially."
Cordelia shrugs. Her head is spinning and she feels slightly sick. She should probably go somewhere to lie down, but she doesn't really want to. She wants to stay here. Bitching with Spike.
As long as she doesn't drink anything else, she'll be okay.
A deep breath, and then she opens her eyes and looks at Spike. His head is kinda blurry, but she can make out the smeared eyeliner under his eyes and -- "I could teach you how to do eyeliner -- unless you were going for that look, which I really hope isn't true, because the raccoon look is just never in."
Spike chuckles and smirks. "Think you can teach me, do you?"
"Heh, yeah. I can. There's nothing about makeup I don't know," Cordelia says, a triumphant grin spreading across her face before the world slips out from under her for a moment. "Fuck." She draws her hand up to her forehead and takes a minute to just try to get a grip.
"You okay, love?" Spike asks, and he almost seems sincere in his concern.
"I'm fine," Cordelia says after a while. "Fine."
"So about the poof," Spike says, "you really think he's a sell out?"
"Boy, do I. What, you don't?"
"No. I mean, yes. I do -- but I'm surprised to hear you say it, considering you love him so much." Bitter. Like lemon juice in ice water.
Hee. That's kinda funny. Spike is lemon juice in ice water. Well then Angel must be . . . something. In something. Okay, she really should think these things through before giggling like an idiot.
Spike is giving her that weird, 'what the hell?' look again. Dammit.
"I'm going to . . . go somewhere," Cordelia says softly. "I should go. Sleep. Or something." She's not particularly looking forward to sleep, but what choice does she have, really?
"Stay here," Spike says softly. "Big apartment all to myself, the couch is free -- you probably shouldn't drive."
"Oh look at you, Mr. Poster Boy for Responsibility," Cordelia says sarcastically, though she's actually pretty damn grateful.
Spike brings her a pillow and a cover, and then --
She thought Spike leaning over her was surreal -- nothing quite compares to the strangeness of Spike tucking her in and wishing her sweet dreams.
Tomorrow? She'll teach him how to apply eyeliner.