Over and Over

For: djilana
Rating: R
Request: Make it... wrong :-) Older Spike or older Buffy or just something... wrong but just so right. If you feel it, write it :-) please?

Response: I thought of which Buffy + other ship squicks me the most. That would be Buffy/Giles. Sooo, I used that to come up with this little ficlet, though of course, it is Buffy/Spike(William). Season 2, but Angel is already the ex-boyfriend. Giles is away on a Watchers' retreat, so Mr. Smith comes to 'train' Buffy...




“Agh. Mr. Smith, I’m exhausted! Can’t you just make a little note that says Buffy knows her kung fu? Also, I sometimes play well with others. You can add that.” I drop to the mat, feeling altogether sticky. I hate sweating. At least from here I can get another look at this cutie. Hel-lo, junior Watcher. Young - okay, not that much younger than Giles - but youngish. And he’s totally got that uptight British look going on. Makes me want to yank off his tweed jacket and...

Mr. Smith looks over his glasses at me. “Indeed not, Ms. Summers. You are not learning ‘kung fu,’ you are learning jujitsu. Try to remember these small details. I do not know how Mr. Giles trained you, but I do not - ”

I stand up, hands on hips. Maybe he’s got a little bit too much of that uptight British thing going on. Nothing I can’t handle. “Alright, don’t get your knickers in a bunch, Jeeves. I’ll kick some more.” Mr. Smith sighs, running his hand through his blond wavy hair, clearly frustrated by little ol’ me. What I wouldn’t give to do that for him. Yum. The last few days with him have been very interesting. I catch him staring, he blushes. Over and over. It’s a thing.

I slip back into the programmed moves, which I do already know by heart. Still, it’s fun to mess with him, watch that little line form between his eyebrows when I do it ‘wrong.’

Oh, here he goes again. He and Giles must have taken Boring Lectures 101 together at Watcher school. Jeez. “I am not like the substitute teachers in your American school system, Ms. Summers. I intend to teach you while Mr. Giles is away on the Watchers’ retreat. Stop leading with your shoulder. It lets your opponent anticipate your next move.” Blah blah blah.

An hour later, Mr. Smith is finally happy with my spin kick. Mostly I think he was checking out my butt. Always had this little pinkness in his cheeks when I caught his eye. After another hour of punching and kicking and lecturing, I am finally free to stop. I sprawl on the mat in the middle of the library, eyes closed.

Mr. Smith stands by, uncomfortable. I can almost hear him staring. “Uh, Ms. Summers. Perhaps you would like to do that elsewhere?”

“What’s that?” I stretch a little, giving him a little peek of skin.

“Sprawl in that manner.”

Got him. I open my eyes, slowly smiling up at him. Oh, he’s nervous. Time to see if he’s nervous for the right reasons. “Making you nervous, William?”

“That’s Mr. Smith. I am a certified Watcher and I should be addressed as Mr. Smith.” He adjusts his glasses, straightens his tie.

I sit up on my elbows, studying him. Mess up his hair, change him out of the tweed, rip those glasses off and voila. Full on hottie. Plus, kind of forbidden fruit. I stand up and stretch my hands above my head.

“Sorry, Mr. Smith. My mistake.” I lean to one side, hands locked above my head. I see him swallow, hard.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Stretching, of course. Every good workout ends with stretching. Wouldn’t want to cramp up, Mr. Smith.”

He starts to look truly uncomfortable. He turns to take off his tweed jacket and lay it over a chair, oh so neatly. While his back is turned, I turn and bend over, stretching out my legs.

“Oh, good lord!” Ha.

I stand up and look over my shoulder, innocent. “What’s the matter, Mr. Smith?” His face is flushed as he stammers an answer.

“No-nothing, Ms. Summers. You may continue.” I think it’s about time to move things up a notch. I turn and walk closer. His eyes widen and he backs up until he hits the table behind him. “What are you doing?”

I put both hands on the table next to him. I do my lunges, under watchful eyes. “I’m continuing.” I think he was just sneaking a peek down my shirt. Cheeky.

After a few more minutes of stretching, I notice his knuckles are quite white as he clutches the edge of the table.

I hop up on the table next to him. “So, am I your first?”

His voice is strangled when he answers. “What did you say?!”

“Am I your first Slayer?” I grin at his reaction.

“Yes, yes, you are the first Slayer I have Watched.” I raise my eyebrows and the blush returns. “Uh, that’s Watched with a capital W. I am a fully trained - “

“ - and certified Watcher. Yeah, I got that, Smithy.” I tilt my head as I study his fine features. Verrry lickable. “You’re a lot younger than my Watcher.” I lean closer, mouth near his ear. “And cuter.”

Mr. Smith nearly falls over. “Ms. Summers! That is no way to - “

Letting one hand slide onto his tweed-clad thigh, I meet his melt-my-panties baby blues. “Call me Buffy.”

He stands up, letting my hand fall away, sputtering. “I will not! I am - I am twice your age, young lady! This is most - “

“My last boyfriend was more than 10 times my age. Big deal.” I think that’s quite a good argument. I pin him against the table again, hands on either side of him. Sliding up between his legs until my breasts nearly graze his chest. I think he has stopped breathing. “I won’t tell anyone, William.”

“My name is Mr. Sm - “ I put my finger to his lips, effectively quieting him.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” I push my body all the way between his legs, feeling the firm indication that he is not unhappy to see me. I put on a mock frown. “Yes sir, Mr. Smith, sir. Anything you say.” I slide both hands up his thighs and he squirms, but does not exactly try to escape. Gotcha.

He jumps as I squeeze his upper thighs. I lean just a little bit closer, letting my cheek brush his as I whisper into his year. “And I do mean anything.”

His voice is quiet, nearly broken. “Oh, dear.”

I drag the tip of my tongue up his neck before nibbling on his earlobe. “I said, Mr. Smith, that you can call me Buffy.” With a naughty little grin, I proceed in the next hour to make him call me by name.

Loudly. Over and over.