Mad World--Chapter 34

[pepperlandgirl]

Chapter 34

Buffy watched with a critical eye as he carefully rolled the joint. “What’s this?”

“What does it look like?”

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t do it often.”

“Today a special occasion?”

“Something like that.”

He brought the joint to his lips and lit it, inhaled deeply, then handed it to her.

“I don’t do that.”

“You don’t smoke pot?”

“No.”

Spike shook his head. “You do tonight.” She took it from him and brought to her mouth. “Can’t believe I met a whore who doesn’t get high,” he muttered.

Buffy choked and coughed on the smoke. “Don’t like to…be out of control…”

“Yeah, I bet you don’t.” He took it from her and inhaled again, then passed her a brown paper bag. Inside was a fifth of whiskey—Jack Daniels.

“I’m not old enough to drink.”

That hit Spike just right, and he howled with laughter. He was still gasping for breath after she took a deep swallow and handed it back to him. “Right, of course…don’t worry, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The marijuana and the whiskey had gone directly to Buffy’s head and it wasn’t long until she felt like she was…floating. “Give me more.”

“Of which?”

“Both?”

“Are you telling me or asking?”

Buffy giggled. “I don’t know. Telling.”
He passed them both over to her, and before long, she was smoking like a pro. Spike wasn’t surprised, she did everything like a pro. He had to pry the bottle out of her hands though when she tried to gulp too much too quickly.

“Be careful with that,” he warned, tipping his head back. “It’s got a bite.” He capped the bottle and set it between them.

“Your hair looks funny,” she said with another giggle.

“How? Oh, my roots.”

She reached for the bottle, and Spike had to pull it away from her again. “You have no self control. How long have you been doing this?”

“Drinking?”

“Whoring.”

Buffy rubbed her face. “I don’t know…a few years. Let me see.” She held her hand in front of her face and counted on her fingers…but she had to start over again twice when she lost count. “Four…no three…no four. Definitely four. Wait, how old am I?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shit…I don’t remember.”

Spike let her hold onto the joint, and didn’t ask for it back. He had a pleasant little buzz going, but he wasn’t nearly as high as she already was. He felt…mellow. Which was good. He wanted to get her to loosen up a little, get her talking, but it wouldn’t do any good if he couldn’t remember what she had said.

“What year were you born?”

Buffy blinked slowly. “Um…let me think…oh! 1983!”

“So you’re 20,” Spike provided.

“Right 20. Huh, so it’s five years.” She shrugged and took another swallow of the whiskey. “Time flies when you’re getting fucked.” She paused and looked at him, and then laughed as though she had just told the finest joke ever. Despite himself, Spike joined in the laughter.

They were both sitting on the bed, their backs against the wall, their thighs touching. Buffy felt very, very warm. And the more she drank, the more she wanted to snuggle. She moved as close to him as she could, grasping the bottle tightly so he wouldn’t take it from her again. She didn’t drink and she didn’t smoke, but now she wondered why the hell not.
“You started when you were fifteen?” He wasn’t surprised that she was so young—he had seen younger. He was surprised that she had made it so long in relatively good health.

“Yep. I wonder if I could peal the label off of this bottle in one piece.” Spike tried to take it from her, but she held it out of his reach. “Mine now.”

“Fine.”

She took another swallow to prove her point, and then clutched his arm with her free hand. “I feel like I’m falling.”

“You’re not falling pet.”

“Are you sure? Because it feels like I am.”

“I’m sure. Why did you start when you were 15?”

“Mom and dad was fighting all the time and I got tired of it, so I left. Dropped out of school and ran away. I used to live in L.A.”

“Did you now?”

“Oh yeah, in a big fancy house with a pool and everything. I had lots of pretty clothes too.”

“Yeah, bet you were a pretty girl.”

“I was. I still am.”

“Yeah.”

“Lots of pretty clothes, and a pretty car. Couldn’t drive it yet, but I did.”

“Little outlaw. Why did you leave?”

“He told me he would take me away from all the fighting and the screaming.” Buffy sighed. “And I believed him, of course. He was supposed to be my prince, whisking me away from the tower, like in the movies. He brought me here.” She tilted the bottle and let the alcohol burn the bitter memories as it slid like fire down her throat. She dropped her head on his shoulder.

“How long before he tricked you out?”

“Not long.” Buffy’s frown deepened. “Not long at all. And I was too young to know any better. And this is really, really killing my buzz.”

“Sorry.”

“What about you? How long have you been a cop?” Her words were beginning to run together, so Spike heard Howlongveyoubeencop?

“About ten years.”

“You always been like this?”

“Like what?”

“Bad?”

“Yeah. A bad, rude man. That’s me.”

“That why you decided to be a cop?”

“No, I once actually thought that I could make a difference—working for the law and all.”

“What happened?”

“I grew up.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, it does. You almost finished that whole bottle. You’re going to be sick tomorrow.”

“Want the rest of it?”

Spike reached for it, but she pulled it away at the last second. “No, mine.”

“Mine.” He growled, reaching over her. His arms were longer than hers, and he was able to get a hold of it. He gulped it down and felt the fire erupt in his stomach, spreading out to his fingers, and suddenly he felt very, very warm.

Spike held the nearly empty bottle away from her as she reached for it, and she ended up sprawling across his body. Shakily, she pulled herself to her knees, and then swung one leg across him so she was straddling his thighs. “Give it back.”

“You’re turning into a lush.”

“Am not.” She reached again, but she lost her balance, and fell forward onto his chest. Her face was buried in his neck and she took deep breath. “You smell good,” she murmured.

“You do too.”

She licked his neck. “You taste salty.”

“What do you taste like?”

“I’m as sweet as sugar.”

“Let me see.” He pulled her hair back and licked the curve of her jaw. “Yeah, you are.”

Despite her heady warmth, a shiver rolled down her spine as he whispered the words in her ear. She still felt like she was floating, and she also needed to feel his skin against hers. She began rubbing herself all over him, moving her breasts against his chest, grinding her crotch into his.

“You feel good too,” she panted, already slick and wet for him, and he was more than ready for her.

She’s sure touchy-feely when she’s drunk… Not that he was complaining. Not at all. When was the last time? Before the funeral. God. He practically ripped her pants off of her, though it was kind of hard to move. He felt slightly disconnected from his hands. She was covering his face with kisses and moving faster—thrusting her hips against his like he was already inside of her. It made it very difficult to undress her.

“Buffy…pet…stop for a minute…”

“Don’t want to,” she moaned.

“Just…just for a sec…”

He wrapped an arm around her and pressed her against his body, holding her still long enough to unbutton his pants. Once freed, he released her, and she immediately slammed down onto his cock.

She was gripping his shoulders tightly, and he wrapped his fingers around her waist. “Oh…oh…Spike…oh…like that…yes…yes…” Her words were cut off by his lips, and she kissed him back passionately, filling his mouth with her moans and half-screams. She could taste the pot and alcohol on his breath, and it made her head swim again.

Floating, falling, spinning, round and round and she thought she would be sick but it was ok, over and over up and down falling to the ground. Spike was solid though, beneath her body, under her hands and mouth. He was solid and he was holding onto her, even when she felt like she was soaring through deep clouds and thick fog.

Spike hadn’t felt particularly inebriated before, but now he did—from her body and her deepening kisses. As she came around him, shaking and shuddering, moaning his name and letting her soft hair cover their faces, the same thought as before raced through his head. As before, he couldn’t even muster the energy to care. It just didn’t matter.

She’s going to be the death of me. She’s going to kill me, and god help me, I’m going to let her.