(Title from Edwin McCain's I've Got to Stop Thinkin' Bout That.)
Special thanks to Selene for the gorgeous artwork for this story.
“I can NOT believe that you are still on about this.”
“It seems like a perfectly valid thing for me to be ‘on’ about, Spike. I mean, really, it’s like the pachyderm in the corner.”
“The p—” Spike growled softly, coming to a stop and rolling his eyes as he tilted his head heavenwards. “It is not the bloody elephant in the room, you daft bint. The elephant? It sits quietly off to the sidelines. You, however, natter on like there’s no bleeding tomorrow about a fifteen minute shag that happened nearly a year ago. Let. It. Go.”
“I don’t want to,” Anya responded defiantly, arms crossed and head tilted imperiously.
“Big damned surprise there,” Spike grumbled to himself, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he turned on his heel to stalk away from her. His retreat, however, was marred by the quick staccato clacking of small heels on pavement as Anya turned up the speed to catch up.
“I really just don’t see what the big deal is, Spike. You’re the one who mentioned this outing, which despite what you say is very much like a date.” The sheer fury in Spike’s gaze cowed her from further pursuing that line of thought, and she thought for a moment before trying again. “O…kay. So it’s not a date. That’s fine, dates are awkward, with strange customs and mores and financial issues. Sex, though…” she began brightly, ignoring the incredulous look Spike gave her as he once again turned on his heel to face her. “Sex is just interlocking parts, interlocking. You don’t have to date to facilitate it, which frankly I think we’ve more than already proven. So all I’m asking is really just a small donation of your time. Well, that and the loan of your penis.”
Spike sputtered in disbelief for a moment, hands automatically crossing in front of the organ in question. *Oh, to have the duster. Marvelous shielding powers it had.* “You really just don’t have an off switch, do you?”
“See—right there. That’s the soul making you all prudish. This time last year you would’ve…”
“Yeah, yeah, upside down and halfway to happyland. I remember,” Spike interjected, adding in a mumble, “and look where that got me. Stellar results if ever there were.”
“Don’t you find it just a little ridiculous? I mean, here all of us are, in our physical primes and all very attractive in our own distinctive ways, and yet we just sit around looking at each other. It’s a waste—a shameful, appalling waste of aesthetic appeal—for us to not get naked. Things would be much better if we did,” Anya finished, tone self-righteous and indignant.
Spike snorted in response. “What, pray tell, would be made better by the lot of us getting naked? Don’t think the First is going to be terrified into scarperin’ off at the sight of Rupert’s willy, though I damn well might be.”
“I think that Rupert can be quite attractive in the right light…” Anya began, cut off by Spike’s hand being brought up in the universally-acknowledged signal for stop now in the name of all that’s holy.
“Finish that sentence, and I vow that I will leave you out here to be eaten,” he said, tone brooking no argument.
They walked a few short blocks in tense silence, Spike shooting death-glares in her direction every time he heard her inhale more heavily than usual, determined to keep her quiet until he could hand her back into the bosom and climb into his little bunk to wait for the First to come and chat. After this, it’d be a bloody dawdle to be driven insane by something that had shown no interest in anything other than sending him barmy and which couldn’t touch his manly bits even if it had wanted to.
Her silence lasted until they turned onto Revello Drive, and he sighed as he heard her gearing up for her last big push. “I just…”
“What if I talk to Harris for you? Will that shut you up?” he asked, desperation tinging his voice.
“Oh, yes, because Xander would love to discuss my orgasms with you,” Anya rejoined sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “He’s certainly always loved to discuss you in sexual situations. I mean, it’s not as though he wished for blindness rather than watch you kiss Buffy, and he certainly was NOT prepared to cut your head off the last time he was confronted by the idea of you, me, and orgasms in the same sentence.”
“We were more than in the same sentence, Anyanka. We were in the same bloody room—on the same bloody table. I think it’ll be just a touch different if I’m not the one giving you the orgasms.” Spike’s tone, however, was far less certain than his words, and he found himself again wrapping his arms about himself protectively as she tapped her foot and looked at him impatiently.
“Oh, for… I am NOT going to shag you,” he grumbled emphatically, pleasantly surprised when his message seemed to have finally gotten through.
Anya’s posture changed slightly, looking a bit defeated, and he felt a twinge at the thought that he’d hurt her. “It’s just… I’m simply saying that there’s no point in any of us maintaining these completely infuriating sexual boundaries anymore, Spike. That’s all. It’s stupid—stupid and mortal and utterly unfair that we could all die tomorrow incredibly frustrated and repressed. It should be a fornication free-for-all in there, and instead everyone’s doing their best impression of clergy. Well, you know, the clergy who are actually pious.”
Her voice was now more petulant than indignant, and he very hesitantly reached out one hand to pat her shoulder awkwardly. “I know, pet. But this is a discussion you’re wantin’ to have with Bob the Builder in there, not me. An’ deep down, I think you know that.”
“Fine,” she huffed, flouncing up the stairs and jamming her key into the front door lock. “So are you coming? Wait. No, of course not, none of us is,” she muttered before rephrasing. “Are you going to follow me into the house?” she asked, turning towards him with one brow raised.
“’f course,” he answered, climbing the stairs slowly and following her through the door, behind by only a few seconds.
Xander was waiting on the stairs, and by all indications had been there quite a while.
“You went out with Spike?” he yelped, looking both mortified and offended, as the distinctive blonde head ducked inside the door.
“Yes, Xander, I did. Spike and I shared a lovely walk on our way to the bar where we planned to drink together. The walk was only lovely, however, until we were interrupted by a demon who attempted to kill me and we were forced to return here, cutting our outing short. Are there any other details of my not-your-business comings and goings that you’d like?” Anya responded, taking a step towards him.
“Well, excuse me for…” Xander was obviously winding up for a hefty go, and Spike was just one too far gone to deal with it.
“Look,” the vampire snapped, grabbing Xander’s arm and tugging him towards Anya, whom he shoved forward with his hand on the small of her back. “There’s your girl. There’s your fella. You want each other. You know it, she knows it, god only knows the rest of us know it. Take each other somewhere—upstairs, downstairs, into the tub, on the dining room table, or behind a bloody bush for all I care, and have one off. Hell, have two. Wake the neighbors, put on a show. Just please, for the sake of my tenuous grasp on sanity, put the rest of us out of your misery.”
With that, Spike stormed down the hall towards the basement door, leaving in his wake a group of wide-eyed Scoobies, Potentials, and a stunned-silent Xander and Anya, his grumbles as he approached his door still easily audible to all assembled. “Christ, you lot are impossible. Coulda killed you all years back if I’d just started with your dangly bits.”
The slam of the door echoed through the house, prompting a new round of befuddled stares. It was Buffy who finally broke the silence, her eyes confused as she looked over at Anya. “Um, Anya? What’s with Spike?”