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“So what’s all this then?” Spike asked as he stepped into the bathroom, leering appreciatively at the perfectly-fitted leather pants and opaque ivory silk halter in which Faith was dressed. One hand reached out and ghosted up the curve of her hip, sliding over to the exposed flesh of her back and blazing a trail upwards, ending in a provocative caress of the knot that held the shirt to her body. “Not that I don’t… appreciate the view, but…”
“Thought we’d go out tonight,” Faith answered, leaning back into him and tilting her head as his lips dropped to her neck, "maybe play a little."
“Can see that, hellcat,” Spike answered, giving her a tiny nip that sent a shiver through her and caused her to arch slightly forward. Dissatisfied with the small separation, he tugged her back against him, wrapping his arms around her and staring at her reflection in the mirror before them; meeting her eyes and smiling, although she couldn't possibly see either gesture in the glass that reflected only her, he walked his fingers teasingly along the exposed skin of her waist before directing them towards the hem of her shirt, insinuating them cleverly under the fabric. He watched, amused, as Faith's lips curved into a slow, sly grin while her shirt crept higher, apparently of its own accord; his other hand slid across the taut planes of her abdomen, and within moments they were watching the top button of her pants unfasten itself, accompanied quickly by the silver tab of her zipper beginning a seemingly independent descent.
Laughing, Faith raised her arms over her head and reached behind her, embracing her invisible paramour for a moment, curving into his embrace as she slowly brought her hands down, sliding them along his flesh as much as possible until her fingers tangled with his. They stood that way for a moment, Faith closing her eyes and enjoying the embrace, Spike enjoying the view and the peaceful smile on her face; his thumb stroking faint circles against her stomach stirred her from her reverie, and her eyes blinked open and flashed to where his should be in the glass. Smile becoming a contented little smirk, she chuckled as she released his hands, smacking playfully at them before refastening the button and zip of her pants. “Behave yourself, Billy, or I won’t let you have any fun,” she cautioned, turning towards him and letting him straighten the halter that he’d dislodged.
“Think I could have some fun if we stayed here with me not behavin’. Might find you could, too,” he shot back, leaning towards her and pressing his lips to hers, teasing them open with his tongue. He smothered a smug grin as she moaned and molded herself into him, her arms snaking around his waist, one hand finding its way beneath the waistband of his jeans and inching further down. Spike broke the kiss, chuckling as he reached back and took her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “Thought we were supposed to be behavin’, Faith.”
“You started it,” she grumbled good-naturedly as she leaned back, looking him over appraisingly. Black button-up, worn light denim jeans, duster... “What you’re wearing ought to do.”
“Do for what?” he asked, brow arched.
“Thought we’d go out on the town, make a little mad money… tweak a few frat boys out of their trust funds. What do you think?”
“So we’re sharking?” Spike asked, matching Faith’s wicked smile with his own.
“It’s a slow night… don’t see why we shouldn’t. You can swagger in like a badass, play the Big Bad… pretend you don’t know me and try to get me to go home with you,” she teased in a sing-song, watching his eyes glaze a bit.
“Don’t have to play Big Bad, love; think you’d know that by now. Besides, you know I’m gonna win,” Spike responded, tongue curling behind his teeth as he leaned into her. “I’m gonna win you over, and bring you home…”
“You winning ain't a foregone conclusion there, vampy. But as for the bringing me home? Oh yeah, you are,” Faith taunted against his mouth before giving him a quick, heated kiss. “But you gotta get me out of here before you can bring me back, so let’s head out. I’ll take the bike, you bring the car?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
~*~*~*~*
One night in some nameless dive, some equally nameless punk kid had made the mistake of underestimating Faith and her skills with a cue; when he’d gotten hostile as she moved to leave with her winnings, Spike had swooped in from the anonymity of his spot by the bar, offering double or nothing odds to Faith and, on a lark, asking the kid what he thought it worth to see Faith put in her place. Half an hour later, Spike had been beaten by the narrowest of margins, leaving a gloating Faith to slowly and loudly count a stack of bills in front of him; while the kid had been saved the hefty cash from his side bet by Spike's loss, he was still nearly a thousand dollars lighter as he stormed from the bar, grumbling about pool sharks and bitches in tight clothes, escaping with his veins intact only because she and Spike found his not-quite-righteous indignation incredibly amusing.
That first time had been a spur-of-the-moment impulse, every time since purposeful, and Faith couldn’t remember whose idea it had been to keep it going; ever since that night, however, hustling pool had become perfect sport for she and Spike. They didn’t need the money; the cash from Wolfram & Hart was holding out nicely, and they’d found more than enough side ventures to pad the coffers even more. But this… this was just a hell of a release. It was a way to burn off the ennui that could build up in lives like theirs; life on the run had a tedium all its own, and something about teaming up to do some damage in a nice, non-fatal kind of way was deeply invigorating, calling to both their natural competitiveness and their effortless cooperation. Those two seemingly antithetical impulses joined, on nights like tonight, to win them bushels of cash off of cocky frat boys, bikers, and anyone else who thought they could take down the cute little brunette. Once they finally realized she was unbeatable, hope in the form of the swaggering blonde man with the air of menace would turn up, promise to defeat her, and make sure things got that much more interesting—and that their prey got just that much more broke.
Faith smiled to herself as she steered the motorcycle into the lot of the pool hall closest to the local university’s Greek row; trust fund babies were always good for mad cash, and the fact that they tended to flirt aggressively predicted a rewarding night for her once she and Spike got back home. That was her not-quite-secret second reason for loving this particular brand of outing; he always felt the need to reestablish his status when they were finally alone, and she was only too happy to help, really. Spike knew, of course, what the game did to her, and admitted unabashedly that it did the same to him; he took great pleasure in seducing her anew on nights like this, seizing the opportunity to pretend they were new to each other, to charm her with lurid promises as he ‘persuaded’ her to go home with him. Home, where he followed through on all of his promises in spades.
The full parking lot boded well for their prospects, she thought as she eased into a space before braking and locking the bike down. A look over her shoulder yielded a glimpse of Spike behind the wheel of the DeSoto, watching her from the parking space behind hers; the tip of his cigarette glowed orange, and rays from security lights glinted off of platinum hair, shading even more the hollows of wicked cheekbones. Smiling to herself, she put a little extra shimmy into the move as she slid off the bike and removed the helmet, making sure to spend long moments tossing and finger-combing the thick brown locks for which he had a more than passing fetish. She knew, of course, that she’d be paying for the tease later; he couldn’t approach her until she was well and truly ensconced in the games inside for fear of giving away their own little game. That knowledge just made the urge to torture him stronger, and so she bent at the waist to check the straps of her lethally-heeled sandals, hazarding a peek and a little wave to him from between her legs and chuckling as his eyes narrowed and hands tightened on the wheel until his knuckles gleamed nearly as brightly as his hair. Oh, she was gonna be in for it…
Standing slowly, she cast one last long look back over her shoulder as she made her way to the door, handing one of her IDs over to the bouncer and turning on the charm; it kept him from looking too closely at the girl obviously younger than the card she had offered proclaimed, of course, but it also got her cover charge waived. Two birds, one very handy stone.
Entering this bar was like entering any other—the haze of smoke; the scent of liquor permeating everyone and everything; the momentarily deafening rush of sound originating from both the speakers and the myriad conversations throughout the room; the aura of hormones and frustration, of desperation and lust and the eagerness to leave responsibility at the threshold adding a headiness to an atmosphere that might otherwise seem far too closed, too oppressive. Just inside the door, Faith stepped to the side and paused briefly, adjusting to the crowd and the noise before approaching the bar and ordering a beer.
A quick exchange of cash and bottle later, Faith turned and leaned against an unoccupied stool, surveying the room in general and then the pool tables in particular with a keen, almost predatory eye. One table of older people, likely several couples out to have a good time—didn’t look particularly well-to-do, and weren’t likely to take on a stranger, particularly not a provocatively-dressed female stranger. The table next to them held a little more promise—blue-collar types, dressed in denim and flannel, already more than a bit sloppy in their play, no doubt due to the impressive lineup of empty beer bottles on the floor by their feet. The third was all sorority types—fun to take for their money, yeah, but not likely to be impacted by her charms; had Spike been on point, they could easily have been his target. But the fourth; oh, table four was perfection in design—an equal number of polos and button-downs, khakis, artfully gelled and purposely shaggy hair, manicured nails on hands she could guarantee showed no sign of callous. Faith’s lips curved into a smile around her bottle; so kind of those boys to fall out of the GAP and into her hands.
Turning back to the bar, she slid a few bills across the counter and ordered another beer, this one still capped; she knew better than to leave open containers unattended around random men, particularly when she was well aware she'd end up far from popular with them. Grabbing both the new and the old by the necks, she turned towards the door and the familiar form walking through, hazarding the quickest of nods and a half-smile before sidling towards her marks at pool table number four.
Their conversation stopped once they realized that the hot brunette in the leather pants was actually on her way towards them; shoulders were drawn back, breaths held, hands run through hair in movements designed to make it look even more casually disarrayed. Not a moment of the preparation was lost on Faith, and she turned on the flirtatious grin and coy expression that would get them to open up both a spot at the table and their wallets.
“Got room for one more, fellas? I hate being stood up, but at least it lets me make my own fun, right?” She reached out to accept the cue being handed to her with one hand, putting her beers on the frame of the table with the other.
*Let the games begin…*
~*~*~*~*
Spike leaned back against the bar, closely observing every move that Faith made. The bartender had long since given over her attempts at making conversation, it having become abundantly clear that the brunette across the room held sway over his attentions. Because he was polite and handsome and tipped well, however, she made sure there was always a fresh beer within arm’s reach and overpoured his shots by a bit, allowing him to keep his watch uninterrupted.
It was a gesture that Spike appreciated, because there was certainly no way in all hell he’d take his eyes off of Faith, not with her shimmying around the table in the middle of that wolf’s den. Her dancing was one thing; that was all put on, a display carefully choreographed to draw prey—and he got to kill the worst of the wankers at the end of the night. But watching her flirt, and knowing that he’d have to let every damn one of the shiny, polished prats toddle out come last call, didn’t sit well. The fact that she’d teased him in the parking lot until he’d been a mere half-second from taking her there, across the seat of the bike, was contributing to his edginess; every time she chose a shot that required her to turn her back to him as she leaned forward, he added another minute to the amount of time he’d make her beg once they got home. Wasn’t right he was the only one tormented.
The healthy wad of bills slowly accumulating in the empty mug that had been conscripted into service as a bank, however, lightened Spike’s spirits a little. Girl had a gift, no doubt about that; he couldn’t’ve banked a quarter of that without there being a brawl, but a twitch of her hips, a playful smirk, a teasing barb from her and ruffled feathers got smoothed. He’d always found it funny how much of a natural peacemaker she could be, given the havoc she’d wrought upon Sunnydale; from what he’d pieced together, though, the beginning of it hadn’t been her fault, and the worst of it had been by careful design. She could masterfully engineer either harmony or chaos, all at her whim; it was an art he hadn’t seen performed so skillfully since Dru, and it made him fall all the harder.
He sensed the sea change in the mood at the table, could almost taste the instant the boys’ feelings went from lust and admiration to stung pride and anger as the magnitude of their losses sunk in; he didn’t need to see the sharpness of their movements as they snapped open wallets and jammed bills into the mug to know that his time was now. Taking his cue, he stood and tossed the waitress a large bill, taking the bottle of Jack he’d been working from and giving her a grin and a wink that she happily returned. Sucking in his cheeks, well aware of and feeling quite chuffed by the girl’s attraction to him, he turned back and made his way across the floor, swaggering towards the pool table and his girl. Time to turn his ego into dosh and a swooning Slayer.
~*~*~*~*
The look of relief on their faces when Spike butted into the game was almost comical, Faith thought as she watched them look him over, disapproval warring with curiosity and the peculiar sort of grudging admiration that Spike was yielded by most men. It was always entertaining to watch people react to him; the women’s responses were no surprise, of course, especially given the fact that after all that had gone between them, she still felt his gaze on a visceral level every time he turned his eyes to her. But the men—oh, what a mixed bag of intrigue, disapproval, admiration, and envy those reactions usually proved to be, and often all wrapped up in one single look. To those who never saw beneath the persona—essentially, to everyone but Faith—Spike was a walking id, personifying every dark urge that society had long since taught men to sublimate. Spike exuded power, embodied raw sexuality and danger and control and recklessness, and Faith hadn’t seen a man yet who hadn’t been attracted to it, who hadn’t responded to his presence and been drawn to him even as they fought the lure and sneered at his transgressiveness. It made every outing, and particularly nights like these, into a delicious sort of theatre.
“Looks like the little lady’s played havoc on your stash,” Spike remarked casually as he approached, eyebrow cocked almost disdainfully at her as he looked her up and down before his eyes flashed first to the money cup behind her and then to her nearest competitor. “Just how much have you lot been drinking? ‘Cause I seriously doubt a little chit like this could do bugger-all to the lot of you otherwise.”
“Is that right?” Faith asked, hijacking the question and sliding her hand leisurely down her cue as she tilted her head in appraisal. “What, so you think you can do better?” she continued, tone mocking as she stepped in front of frat boy number three, who had moved towards Spike in hopes of commiserating over the evil that was the triumphant woman. Wisely sensing the antagonism sparking between the two, the boy and his friends retreated to the nearest-available regular table, eyes never leaving the fireworks-promising spectacle before them.
“From what I’ve seen, don’ have to think it, poppet. Pretty much sure I can spank your cute little bum within one go,” Spike answered, smirking condescendingly at her as she took a step towards him, eyes flashing. God, how he loved winding her up; even though they both knew it was just play, all it took was a few good words to get them ready to fight it out. “So what about it, pet? Rack ‘em up, an’ I’ll show you how the game gets played… an’ all it’ll cost you is everything you’ve won.”
Faith wanted with all she had to wipe the smirk off his face, but she couldn’t quite decide whether she wanted to do it with her mouth or the back of her hand. Competitive fury fully ignited and burning hot enough to trump her lust, she decided she’d just knock him down a peg or two with the cue instead. “So I guess it’s double or nothing, then. Come on then, Billy,” she said as she handed him her cue, “show me what you got. I’ll even let you break.”
She turned back towards the table, bending at the waist to set up the rack and begin filling it. She could feel the heat of his stare on her, knew what her position was doing to him, and smirked to herself. *Round one to me.* Glancing back over her shoulder, she met his smoldering gaze with a similarly-heated look of her own before she straightened and sauntered over to the wall to collect a new cue. She took her time, touching each one as suggestively as she could manage without being explicit, swallowing her laughter as his eyes grew darker and darker. Finally making her selection, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder, making sure to run her finger along her pulse for an instant before she cleared her throat. “You wanna hustle it on over here, handsome? Don’t wanna take too long—I’m willing to bet that the eighties are hot on your heels, ready to suck you back in, and I’d just hate to miss my chance at taking that ‘cute little bum’ to the woodshed.”
Spike narrowed his eyes, cheeks hollowing as he tilted his head to look at her. Faith felt the shiver along each vertebra, felt every little frisson of anticipation and lust along her nerve endings as his eyes swept her from head to toe. His voice, when it came, was familiarly roughened, its sultry quality enhanced by the slow half-smile with which it was paired. “Might just like bein’ in the woodshed with you, love. There’s as good a place as any to teach you a bit of respect, although I can certainly think of better ways.” He gave her a quick smirk as he backed up, twirling the cue gracefully as he circled the table, coming to a stop in front of the boys that had, up to now, been her competitors. “So just how much extra are you are you willin’ to part with once I’ve taken her to school?”
“Excuse me?” came Faith’s offended snort, perfectly timed with the commencement of a frat boy council seeking agreement on an answer to Spike’s question. “I believe that what’s in that mug, right there, is what we’re playing for, pet. Why in the hell are you getting them involved?”
“Always interesting to see what’s the going rate for schadenfreude these days. Besides, a bloke can never win too much, an’ as much as I’m gonna enjoy spendin’ every last dime of what I win from you, if I can get more, might as well take it, yeah?”
“In the interest of schadenfreude, then,” Faith shot back, eyes sparking, “what kind of side bet do I get to set up for myself? I mean, if you’re making extra bank, I oughta have a side game, too.”
“All right, then,” he purred, turning his back on the still hotly-debating khaki crowd and prowling towards her, giving her a smile only she could see as her heartbeat ratcheted up in response to his approach. “If you win, you get to take me home and do your worst to my hot, tight little body.”
Faith gave an unladlylike snort, sweeping her eyes over him from head to toe skeptically. “Someone has a high opinion of their worth.” When her only answer was a playful leer, his tongue behind his teeth as his eyes danced with mirth, she choked back her laughter and narrowed her eyes appraisingly. “Assuming I go along with all this… you gonna be a good little pony?”
“Chance you take,” Spike answered, stepping into her personal space and sliding his hand up her arm. “Just have to take it on faith,” he teased, smirking as she rolled her eyes and fought the urge to grin at his pun.
“All right then,” she answered, looking up at him, their lips inches apart. She wanted to throw him across the table, boys be damned, but it would be more than worth it to play this to its conclusion. Her internal waffling, the desire to just cut it all short and leave with him then, was called to a halt by the voice of the leader of the pack.
“Dude! You’ve got a deal. An extra five hundred if you take her down.”
Spike didn’t step back from Faith, but simply swiveled his head towards the speaker. “All I needed to hear. Cash up, boys.” He watched as the bundle of money was counted out and placed under the winnings cup, then turned back to Faith. “Game’s on then, love.”
“So it is. Looks like you’re goin’ down, Blondie.”
“Well, that’s far from a foregone conclusion, kitten. See, you gotta win first. Also, depends on whether you reciprocate,” he added with a smirk. Suddenly all business as he took his place by the table, Spike rolled the cue ball into position and leaned over, lining up his shot. “My break, yeah?” he asked as he knocked the cue ball forward, breaking neatly and knocking a solid into the side pocket. “Looks like you’re stripes.”
Faith’s hand tightened around her cue as she watched him line up for his next shot. “Looks like.”
*And here we go.*
~*~*~*~*
The game seemed to move both quickly and slowly all at once, the crowd of observers growing steadily with each shot, expanding from the original nexus of the fraternity to include both locals and college students; word of the battle became instant legend, and eventually even the bartenders and doormen were taking turns making their way to the table. It was undoubtedly the fire of the competition that drew them all like moths, the affable antagonism between Faith and Spike proving a powerful lure. The chemistry between the two 'strangers,' however—the heat and attraction that they radiated, and their mutual acknowledgment and exploitation of it—caught and held the attention of anyone who made it even as far as the periphery of the crowd.
None of the action was lost on either Faith or Spike, although they were both deeply involved in the game; they both had a predator’s ability to focus keenly on the task at hand while maintaining an awareness of their surroundings, and the increase in the size of the crowd, the armchair quarterbacking, and the side bets all registered somewhere on the edge of their consciousnesses. It was all interesting to know, but superfluous, as their very natures forced the narrowing of their worlds to the wood and felt before them.
Faith had two balls left on the table; Spike was down to one. She knew from just a glance at him that there was no way he’d rein back now; he was in full-throttle competition mode, was about to kick her ass royally—and she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. That didn’t, however, mean that she had to make his winning any easier; the shot he needed to set up was a relatively straightforward one, and she knew the game was seconds from over if she didn’t come up with something.
“So when I beat you,” she began conversationally, tone low to keep their conversation as shielded from the crowd surrounding them as possible, “what’s the first thing I oughta do? I mean, I was thinking, I’ve got this wicked old car that just sits around most of the time. I can’t drive it for shit, and I was thinking it could use a bit of body work.”
Spike stiffened, his jaw twitching as he processed the insult to his car, and raised his eyes from the felt to give her a brief glare. “Think I can manage a bit of body work, love, but ‘m not terribly mechanically-inclined. Your body, though? Different matter entirely. I could do wonders—make certain you fire up like a dream.”
“Think so?” Faith answered noncommittally, eyeing the completely focused manner in which he set up the shot. He was going to make it, that was easy to see, but she still had a trick up her sleeve—she thought. She edged her way around the table, sidling up next to him and leaning forward, mimicking his position but wedging just the barest bit of her ass in front of his hip. “You know, I’ve been known to be a little rough coming off the block… think you could fix that? Make my ride a little smoother?” She pressed her right breast against his left arm—his shooting arm—as she ground her ass back a bit, feeling the edge of his erection against her just as he took his shot. His sidelong smirk told her all she needed to know, and she raised her eyes and watched as the last solid slid mockingly into the corner pocket, followed mere instants later by the bright ivory flash of the cue ball.
He threw the cue to the side, not looking to see or caring where it ended up, as he straightened and tugged Faith in front of him, his arms wrapping around her and holding her firmly with her back pressed to his front. He ground his hips forward a bit, forcing her pelvis against the table, and he chuckled lowly in her ear as she gave a husky groan. “Gonna break you like a stallion, love. Knees buckling, warm champagne an’ all that… an’ I’m gonna take all night to do it.” He tilted his head the slightest fraction, just enough to run his tongue up her jugular in a slow, teasing sweep, relishing the shiver that traveled through her slender frame.
Releasing her, Spike turned and took a theatrical bow in response to the hoots and catcalls of the dispersing crowd and made short work of collecting his winnings, shoving them into the pockets of his duster. He accepted the congratulatory handshake of frat boy number one and endured a few moments of idle chatter before extricating himself from what was beginning to look dangerously like the beginning of a conversation; stepping aside, he scanned the room for Faith. He was more than a bit baffled when he couldn’t find her immediately; he’d expected her to be no further than arm’s reach, truth be told. A sudden flash of pearlescent fabric drew his attention, however, and he laughed as he noted that she was halfway out the door, her arm raised enough to get his attention as she did everything but tap her foot in impatience.
Smirk firmly in place, swagger—only enhanced by his win—in full effect, he reached her side in record time; the heat of the look she gave him as he approached prepared him for what lay ahead, and he wasn’t at all surprised to find himself dragged to the parking lot, thrown against the wall, and kissed until Faith went breathless. She pulled back, gasping hungrily; her hair wild, eyes hot, and face flushed, she was the most glorious creature he'd ever seen, and the control he’d barely held all night snapped. Growling proprietarily, he flipped her up over his shoulder as he darted to the car, hand on her ass cupping and squeezing, every breath he took suffused with the almost-tangible scent of her arousal.
“What about the bike?” Faith asked breathlessly as he tugged open the driver’s door and practically shoved her inside. She scooted hurriedly along the bench towards the passenger seat as he climbed in, nearly landing on her in his haste.
“We'll come back for it later,” Spike answered, shooting her a wicked sidelong glance as he put the car in drive and directed it back towards their motel. “Much later.”
“How much later?” she asked teasingly, scooting closer to him, hand sliding up his thigh as she nipped her way playfully up his arm.
“Much. Take me a while to come down off the high of kickin’ your ass all public-like, now won’t it?”
“Baby, if we stay away ‘til I knock the cocky out of you, that bike’s gonna be long gone. Bar might damn well be dust by then,” she shot back, that one wicked hand tracing torturous patterns against his thigh, alternating firm pressure and ethereal caress as she tormented him through the material of his jeans.
“That case, we’ll just keep ourselves busy for a bit; was thinkin’ we might pop back by once they’ve closed. Then I can take you back in there on that table an’ teach you all kinds of lessons in how to keep your smart little mouth occupied.”
“Really?” Faith murmured hotly, lips against his ear. "You know, I'm not sure if I know any way to do that right offhand. How about we just see if I can figure something out?" Her teasing remark was the last coherent speech uttered in the car, Spike's reply frozen in his throat when she shifted in her seat and began kissing a teasing path downwards from his throat—a path that ended in him biting through his lip, struggling to keep the car on the road while she demonstrated just how well she could find her own ways of keeping her mouth busy.