FIC: The Forbiddenest of Loves
Andrew could see where this was going. The lingering glances, the significant pauses after an accidental touch, the way he’d say his name all British-like.
Spike was totally in love with him. Oh Yoda, the sexual tension was undeniable. Truly a force to be reckoned with.
Andrew was flattered. Spike had cool hair and was a hero just like Buffy. But he was even cooler than Buffy because Spike was a rebel. A rogue agent. If James Bond had ever looked like a punk rocker, he’d have looked like Spike. Yeah, he totally would have. But Andrew was into girls. Girls like Dana Scully. Yeah, Scully. Mmmm…
He wasn’t worried, though. He knew Spike would never cross that unspoken line between them with Buffy around. The Ex, or so he’d gleaned from the gossip going round the house; the Ex who liked to spend her time killing things with her bare hands. Gulp. Spike would never want to raise her jealous hackles.
Or so Andrew had thought.
“Andrew?” Spike’s voice was deep, drawing out his name and caressing the vowels the way Andrew caressed his Dr. Who DVD collection on lonely winter nights. Spike stalked seductively towards him, his movements as fluid as a dancer.
“Yes? Oh, hey, look another interesting and obscure tapestry. Fascinating, aren’t they? With the…fabric being all…woven…and…”
“Shut up about the bloody tapestries,” Spike growled, leaning in to Andrew’s neck.
Andrew jumped away, banging off the wall. “But the…uh… tapestries clearly tell a remarkable tale of…um…love unrequited! Yes, oh, of the love that can never be. Never. Even though it would be glorious. So glorious.” Andrew sighed and looked off into the distant shadows.
Spike grabbed Andrew’s shoulder and pushed him against the stone wall of the mission. “Andrew,” Spike rumbled, pausing to look deeply into his eyes. “Shut. Up.”
Andrew closed his eyes in desperation as Spike pushed his body against the wall, strong hands cupping Andrew’s shoulders as he breathed against the curve of Andrew’s neck. His breath was cool against Andrew’s skin, causing an involuntary shiver. Yes, involuntary. That’s right. Because he was cold.
Eyes squeezed firmly shut, Andrew heard a squishy, crunching noise like when Dawn would bite into one of her crunchy peanut butter, banana and potato chip sandwiches. Then he felt the teeth. Oh, Scully save him.
“Spike! Wait. Don’t you think....oh my…” Andrew lost his train of thought as Spike pressed down hard against his neck with sharp incisors only to pull back before the point of breaking skin and groan in need. Spike growled and shoved Andrew passionately against the wall, banging Andrew’s head with all his fervent and flowing desire. “Spike…oh, oh…Buffy!”
Spike pulled back to look at Andrew strangely, blinking slowly til his gold eyes faded back to baby blue.
“Yeah, Buffy. She wouldn’t want you to…she’d never forgive you if you did…if we…even though we both want…” Andrew tried to let Spike down gently.
Spike violently shoved himself away from Andrew, backing up until he hit the opposite wall. Panting, he slid down til he was sitting on the floor, hands braced on his upraised knees. “You’re right,” Spike admitted in between desperate pants for more unnecessary air. He was so impassioned. “Buffy would never forgive me. I can’t ki - I won’t. I’m better than this. She believes in me. She believes in me.” Spike squeezed his eyes shut, chanting, “She believes in me.”
Andrew nodded sympathetically. When they returned to Buffy’s house with news of their mission to the mission, he never breathed a word of Spike’s advances. Their forbidden love was private and could never be. But every time their eyes would meet during the pre-Apocalyptic pow-wow where Buffy was going on and on about the cool axe thingy and choices, Andrew couldn’t help but think:
Spike wants me so bad.
Spike was totally in love with him. Oh Yoda, the sexual tension was undeniable. Truly a force to be reckoned with.
Andrew was flattered. Spike had cool hair and was a hero just like Buffy. But he was even cooler than Buffy because Spike was a rebel. A rogue agent. If James Bond had ever looked like a punk rocker, he’d have looked like Spike. Yeah, he totally would have. But Andrew was into girls. Girls like Dana Scully. Yeah, Scully. Mmmm…
He wasn’t worried, though. He knew Spike would never cross that unspoken line between them with Buffy around. The Ex, or so he’d gleaned from the gossip going round the house; the Ex who liked to spend her time killing things with her bare hands. Gulp. Spike would never want to raise her jealous hackles.
Or so Andrew had thought.
“Andrew?” Spike’s voice was deep, drawing out his name and caressing the vowels the way Andrew caressed his Dr. Who DVD collection on lonely winter nights. Spike stalked seductively towards him, his movements as fluid as a dancer.
“Yes? Oh, hey, look another interesting and obscure tapestry. Fascinating, aren’t they? With the…fabric being all…woven…and…”
“Shut up about the bloody tapestries,” Spike growled, leaning in to Andrew’s neck.
Andrew jumped away, banging off the wall. “But the…uh… tapestries clearly tell a remarkable tale of…um…love unrequited! Yes, oh, of the love that can never be. Never. Even though it would be glorious. So glorious.” Andrew sighed and looked off into the distant shadows.
Spike grabbed Andrew’s shoulder and pushed him against the stone wall of the mission. “Andrew,” Spike rumbled, pausing to look deeply into his eyes. “Shut. Up.”
Andrew closed his eyes in desperation as Spike pushed his body against the wall, strong hands cupping Andrew’s shoulders as he breathed against the curve of Andrew’s neck. His breath was cool against Andrew’s skin, causing an involuntary shiver. Yes, involuntary. That’s right. Because he was cold.
Eyes squeezed firmly shut, Andrew heard a squishy, crunching noise like when Dawn would bite into one of her crunchy peanut butter, banana and potato chip sandwiches. Then he felt the teeth. Oh, Scully save him.
“Spike! Wait. Don’t you think....oh my…” Andrew lost his train of thought as Spike pressed down hard against his neck with sharp incisors only to pull back before the point of breaking skin and groan in need. Spike growled and shoved Andrew passionately against the wall, banging Andrew’s head with all his fervent and flowing desire. “Spike…oh, oh…Buffy!”
Spike pulled back to look at Andrew strangely, blinking slowly til his gold eyes faded back to baby blue.
“Yeah, Buffy. She wouldn’t want you to…she’d never forgive you if you did…if we…even though we both want…” Andrew tried to let Spike down gently.
Spike violently shoved himself away from Andrew, backing up until he hit the opposite wall. Panting, he slid down til he was sitting on the floor, hands braced on his upraised knees. “You’re right,” Spike admitted in between desperate pants for more unnecessary air. He was so impassioned. “Buffy would never forgive me. I can’t ki - I won’t. I’m better than this. She believes in me. She believes in me.” Spike squeezed his eyes shut, chanting, “She believes in me.”
Andrew nodded sympathetically. When they returned to Buffy’s house with news of their mission to the mission, he never breathed a word of Spike’s advances. Their forbidden love was private and could never be. But every time their eyes would meet during the pre-Apocalyptic pow-wow where Buffy was going on and on about the cool axe thingy and choices, Andrew couldn’t help but think:
Spike wants me so bad.