Stupid Thing Number Three

Blocker

Stupid Thing Number Three



characters: Spike, Buffy and Riley
time frame: s5
notes: I saw Marc Blucas dance in a movie and, well, this is the result. word count: 483

Spike walked back to the crypt, hard-on insistent and rubbing against the denim of his jeans. He refused to touch it, refused to think about it, refused to give it even the slightest tinge of relief.

He'd been being a wanker again - no pun intended since there was so way in bloody hell he was touchin' himself tonight.

He'd followed the Slayer and Captain Cardboard out on their date.

That was stupid thing for the evening number one.

He'd been highly disappointed, but what had he expected of the boy, really, when he took her to the worst Chinese place in Sunnydale. The Emerald Palace on Teasdale was so much better, but what could expect from a corn-fed Iowa boy? Wouldn't know good Chinese if he dined at Qin Shi Huangdi's table.

Then Cardboard had surprised him - surprised the Slayer too from the looks of it. He'd taken her to The Starlight Ballroom, a place out on the freeway and down one exit, that had ballroom dancing every Wednesday and Saturday nights.

Spike had thought about going home, getting changed, and showing up like he normally did, although he went Wednesdays and tonight was Saturday, so the normal crowd probably wouldn't be there.

They didn't know he was a vampire there. Didn't know he was anything but a guy who knew how to move the way it was supposed to be done. Like hardly anyone did anymore. Like the Slayer, by the looks of it, had no idea about.

But Cardboard - Cardboard could move. Slides and dips and turns, not perfect by any means, but he had done this before and often. Not cardboard at all.

Spike had watched him, watched him all night.

Not the Slayer, the soldier.

Stupid thing number two.

The more he got Buffy to follow direction, the more she fell into the steps he led her into, the more relaxed he got. The more relaxed he got, the better he got.

And Spike had been enraptured by every step.

He'd left before they did. Left when he found himself - hiding there in the shadows - with his hand inching down toward his - NOT GOIN' THERE. MATE!

No wanking, no thinkin' about it, no fantasies of any kind. Just straight walk back to his crypt, takin' in the most boring scenery he'd ever encountered. He'd taken a cab home, same as he did on Wednesday nights, but you couldn't really tell a cabbie to leave you off at the cemetery, so he always had him take him to Willy's.

He didn't feel like a drink because one drink would lead to dozens, which might lead to drunkenness, which would lead to carelessness. Because touchin' yer dick with Captain Cardboard on yer brain would be not only careless, but the worst kind of sick you can be.

And that was an area of stupid that he never planned on visiting.



The End