Fantasy Revisited

Notes/Warnings: Hints of Bangel and Spangel, as well as voyeurism, oil and nekkid!Spike.

Disclaimer: All Joss; even the original idea is Buffy’s, not mine. Not really.

Fantasy Revisited

The doors looked vaguely familiar. Buffy paused in front of them, one hand resting on the wooden surface, then glanced around, half-expecting someone to prevent her from opening them.

But all the people around her – even Harmony, surprisingly, who was only a few feet away – went on about their business, ignoring her completely. Well, that makes it easier, Buffy thought. As stealthily as she could, she opened the door and slipped through.

The room on the other side of the doors was also familiar, but not, at the same time. It was a faint, irritating niggling at the back of her mind that she tried to ignore. Instead, she entered the room, taking in the heavy, luxurious furniture, mostly pushed against the interior walls, the softly textured carpet, the windows that lined the outer wall, the video camera set up on a tripod…

Wait… what?

It was so out of place in the sumptuously non-technological room that she just had to take a closer look. It looked a lot like the video camera that Andrew had been so attached to for a few weeks back in Sunnydale. She puzzled over it for a moment, tentatively touching one of the buttons. One of the lights flashed and it hummed to life. When she looked at the viewfinder, she saw it was focused on…

Is that what I think it is?

Abandoning the camera, she knelt down by the blue plastic tarp. It covered a significant portion of the floor, and judging by the depth of the divots in the carpet, several pieces of furniture had been pushed back against the walls to make space for it. That was probably why the office seemed wrong. Buffy frowned. Why is there a tarp, of all things, in this really, really nice office?

Behind her, the door opened.

Without thinking, she dove for the nearest hiding place, and wound up in a space just barely big enough for her to squrim, right behind an overstuffed black leather sofa. At least the carpet was thick enough to muffle the sound of her knees hitting the floor.

“… gets here, send him in, Harmony. Not that he’s going to wait.” The last part was muttered in disgust, just as the door snicked shut again.

Angel?

So that was why the office was familiar. Angel had given her a whirlwind tour of Wolfram and Hart a few days ago, and somehow she’d gotten turned around. Did he mention that Harmony was his secretary? I would have remembered that.

At about that moment, she realized hiding from Angel was silly. He’s not going to be mad at me or anything… She was just about to stand up when the door flew open and slammed against the wall. In reflex, she hunkered back down.

“What the bloody hell crawled up your arse, Peaches? Just where the fuck do you get off summonin’ me?”

Buffy felt her breath catch. Spike. That couldn’t be anyone else. Carefully, she wriggled around until she could peer around the arm of the sofa.

The first thing she noticed was the imprint in the wall; Spike had thrown the door open so hard that it had left a dent, and now it hung a little drunkenly, one hinge broken. She let her eyes swiftly scan the room… a-ha! A figure in a long black leather coat leaned over a desk, his back to her. Even from the back, though, Buffy could tell he was absolutely livid. He’s probably wearing his fangs, too, she thought, and wondered if she should rescue Angel from him.

Angel was seated behind the desk, looking supremely unconcerned with the dangerously irate vampire. “Spike,” and he sounded tired – not exhausted-tired, she decided, but just… weary of dealing with Spike, at least. “I didn’t summon you, I just told you to come here. There’s a difference.”

Reluctantly, Spike straightened. “Yeah, some difference.”

Angel just smirked, forcing Buffy to wonder if his fatigue was just a sham. “Got you here, didn’t it?”

“Oh, shut your gob, you great git.” He turned around, and Buffy ducked back behind the sofa again.

Wait… what am I hiding for? It’s just Angel and Spike…

Yeah, and if I appear now, it’ll turn into another battle over who-gets-Buffy’s-affection before I can say a word. Probably better to just stay put and come visiting again some other time. Like, say, when they’re not together?

“What’s all this, then?” There was a plastic-y rustling noise as Spike kicked at the spread tarp. “And a video camera, too! Looks like the twenty-first century has got you all fired up and going for the plain vanilla kink, ain’t it?”

Buffy heard Angel’s deep sigh, and the soft squeak of his chair as he rose. “That’s for us.”

“Why, Angel! I didn’t know you cared.” Spike snickered, and Buffy pressed a hand over her mouth to contain her own laughter. “I take it back – French vanilla. With a drizzle of chocolate. Or are you going to be selling videos of just me, showin’ myself a good time?”

There was a pause, and Buffy risked another peek around the sofa. Angel was glaring at his grandchilde, his hands clenched into fists. “Spike,” he said, clearly forcing himself to remain calm, “your mind is in the gutter.”

Spike grinned at him. “Yeah, but you knew where I was, so what’s that say about you?”

Again, Buffy had to stifle a giggle as Angel ground his teeth.

“Hey, wait a minute…” Spike bent down below Buffy’s line of sight, and picked up something that clinked like glass. When he straightened again, she saw that he cradled a number of vials of amber fluid. “You’re not serious, are you, Angelus?” He sounded shocked – for real this time – and Buffy frowned, craning her neck to catch a better glimpse of the containers.

Angel fidgeted and glanced away. “Look, it wasn’t my idea, all right?”

Spike eyed him narrowly, then looked at the tarp, then at the camera. When he turned back to Angel again, it was clear he was once more furious. “When were you going to tell me that Buffy was here?” he demanded, his voice low and filled with anger.

Buffy jumped in her hiding place. How could he know?

“She’s not.” At Spike’s scathing glance, Angel held up his hands. “I mean, yes, she was, but she’s not here, not now. She said she’ll be back later.”

Mollified, but only a little, Spike held up one of the small glass bottles and shook it. The liquid inside sloshed viscously. “An’ this little treat? Is this part of her visit, too?”

Angel shuffled his feet. “Actually, no. But she did happen to mention some of that particular conversation, and it got me to thinking…”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s always a bad sign.” He pointed his chin at the camera. “That your little addition to her plan, then?”

“Yeah.” Angel grinned. “So that she can watch me kick your ass over and over again.”

He snorted. “Please. More like I’m gonna kick yours.” He tossed the vials onto the sofa, then shrugged out of his duster and threw it over the back. He attacked his belt buckle next.

When he stood clad in just his jeans – shirt and belt tossed over the duster – he bent to pick up one of the bottles, and saw that Angel hadn’t moved. “Get your great big arse in gear, Angelus.” He tilted the vial and grinned. “Don’t want to keep the lady waitin’ for her wrasslin’ match, do you?”

Again, Buffy had to clap her hand over her mouth, and she stared at the little glass container until she absolutely had to blink. Oil…that’s some kind of oil…

Oh, My God.

The words played back in her head, almost as if she had just said them.

“… gonna put you two in a room and let you wrestle it out… There could be oil of some kind…”

No way! Are they really gonna do this right in front of me? She was hard pressed not to make a very high-pitched, very Dawn-like squeal. Not for the fighting over her – well, maybe a little – but for the show that she was about to get.

“My ass isn’t that big,” Angel muttered, sounding more like a petulant five-year old than a vampire of mature years. He took off his jacket, and his fingers went to the buttons of his shirt.

Spike’s duster had fallen over the back and arm of the sofa, so Buffy risked crawling out just a little further, trusting that the way the black leather draped and folded to keep her hidden.

Then she looked up and froze. Spike was staring right at her.

Or at least, it seemed like he was; his expression was almost completely disinterested, and that wasn’t like him around her at all. Before she could try to restart her heart, he turned away, as if he hadn’t seen her at all, and graced Angel with his most infuriating smirk. “You ready, Peaches?”

Carefully, Angel laid his silk shirt over his jacket on the far end of the sofa, and picked up another bottle of the oil.

Curious as to why Spike hadn’t ratted her out, Buffy crawled out further, and waved a hand in plain view of both vampires.

Nothing. They looked down at their respective bottles of oil, then at each other.

Come to think of it, she thought, settling next to the sofa, neither of them said anything ‘bout smelling me, either, and I know they’ve both done that. Huh…After a moment’s consideration, an idea struck. Wills did a cloaking spell on me. Go, Willow!

Emboldened by the knowledge that she was entirely invisible to both of them, she crawled out the rest of the way, then made her way around to where the camera stood, hoping that would give her the best view.

Angel opened his bottle of oil and dampened his fingers with some, and started to smear it over his broad chest. Buffy was immediately riveted, staring as his ivory skin took on a gleam. Oh, very nice…

“She didn’t happen to mention to you what the point of the oil was, did she?”

The question startled Buffy out of her trance, even as Angel started to spread the oil up one arm. Angel had turned his head to look at Spike, and then he froze.

Buffy, too, glanced at Spike, and then just gaped.

Spike hadn’t yet started to apply the oil… he’d stripped out of his jeans, instead. Standing there, totally at ease in his nudity, he spun the bottle of oil through his long fingers, watching as Angel rubbed the oil into his flesh. “Nah, she never said… though I don’t think she knew what you used to use the oil for.” He flashed Angel a wicked grin.

“Spike… why are you…” Angel gestured with the bottle of oil he still held, and unknowingly spilled some on the tarp.

Spike looked down at himself, as if surprised, then uncorked his bottle of oil. “What? If this is going to be a real wrasslin’ match, I’m not going to give you anything to hold on to. You think you can resist the temptation?”

Angel rolled his eyes. “You are nothing like temptation.”

Buffy wiped away a little bit of drool from her mouth. You are so very wrong, Angel… he’s completely temptation… God, just look at all that delicious skin…

“Besides,” Spike went on, almost as if Angel hadn’t spoken, “it’d be a bitch to get them clean again after this.” And with that, he tipped the vial of oil and let it dribble down his pale chest.

Her jaw dropped open. Oh. My. God. The oil left slick and shiny paths over his chest, slowly flowing down his firm pectorals and flat nipples, outlining his abs…Avidly, Buffy followed each drop with her eyes, even as they darkened the trail of hair that led directly to his…

She panted quietly when his hand stroked through the oil on his chest, smearing it messily around, but when that same hand reached down to wrap around his cock – already hardening – and gave it a lazy stroke, she moaned aloud.

Luckily, the cloaking spell also rendered her soundless as well as odorless. Otherwise, she thought dizzily, they would so be able to smell how turned on this is making me…

Angel’s chest and arms glistened in the overhead light, as did most of his back when he faced Spike again. “Show-off,” he muttered, then, his voice louder, asked, “Are you ready yet?”

Moving with a deliberate sensuality, Spike slid his hands down his torso once more, then bent to make sure there was enough oil on his legs, and finished with one last swipe down his arms. The sheen of the oil over his milky skin was just breathtaking. “Yeah, I’m ready, mate.” He took up a stance on the tarp and wriggled his fingers at Angel in the universal code for bring it on.

Angel flexed his hands, loosening the muscles, leapt at Spike…

And the world faded away.

***

Buffy woke up, breathing heavily.

It wasn’t that it had been a bad dream. Oh, no, it had been a very good dream. A dream completely filled with the cool, salty goodness that got her motor revving every time.

Mmm… Spike and Angel. And there was even oil involved!

Her nipples were hard, poking out the camisole she’d pulled on before climbing into bed, and when she shifted, she had to moan. Every inch of her skin was sensitized, and the merest brush of the sheet against her was tantalizing torture.

She was so wet that she could feel herself dripping.

Then a cool hand descended on her stomach where the cami had rucked up, and she arched up into the touch with a whimper.

His deep, sleepy voice rumbled in her ear. “Musta been a good dream, love.”

She twisted around to face him, and as she moved, his hand slid across her flank to cup her ass. “Oh, yeah,” she whispered huskily. “It definitely was.”

“What about?”

God! He was rubbing circles over her hip with his thumb, and it was driving her insane. She shifted closer, trying to swallow a groan and failing. “I-if you’re a good boy, I’ll tell you about it…” She ground her hips against his, and felt how hard his cock was already. Probably just from listening to me dream…Thank God he sleeps in the nude…

“Define good in this case, love,” Spike purred, and stroked her stomach, drifting up to tease her breasts. He leaned in to kiss her neck at the same moment his fingers swirled over her nipple, and pleasure jolted through her, as if her entire body was directly wired to her clit.

“Oh! Oh, that’s good…”

“Then I can be good for as long as you want…”

Buffy grinned and pulled him in for another kiss. Later, she thought distantly, as desire flared between them and her cami was shredded. I’ll worry about how to explain the dream later…