It devours.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ“ But what, without the social thought of thee, ㅤWould be the wonders of the sky and sea? ”

ㅤ ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Of all the Scoobies, only one read books to prepare for a fight rather than wittle down a new pointy stake: Willow Danielle Rosenburg.

Willow was one of those fun losers with a unique sense of style that she never shied away from, even after high school. She had a dorky smile which always made you feel safe, no matter the situation. She was one of those friends you kept around for life. She wasn't perfect, but she was loyal. A good majority of the time.

College had been a bitch. So much for a fun time learning. For once in her life Willow found herself mind-numbingly bored with her classes. Most of the material her classes were teaching she'd already read. The Sunnydale High library had been her playground of knowledge. Magic was the only subject, besides sciences, which felt enriching these days. Not that the college taught magic as a course. It didn't offer anything other than a social club. She was getting bored.

Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored.

That's honestly how Willow found herself skipping her last class of the afternoon. It was an activity which didn't really fit who she was as a person, but the boredom of already knowing every answer had infected her brain. She needed to get out. She needed a break. She needed The Bronze.

Try as he might, Spike can't catch a break. And every night now it's the same bloody headline: poor girl drained of all her blood, left rotting, smelling and torn for the other vultures to pick apart for the week.

It were as though it had all gone completely to shit overnight one night and now it's been about 4 days of this... Spike was gonna do something about it. Those were his grounds, and likely they won't be for much longer if this absolute nonce of a menace keeps this up.

Were they trying to ruin it for everyone?

A sneaky thought crept up and nestled by his inner earworm, nearly grating on his dead, blue veins:

[That's what you would do if you aimed to summon the Slayer...]

A nightly stroll was all it took; only an absolute moron would search anywhere but the same handful of very busy hot spots, locations provided from the very handy telly warmin' up the vampire's crypt.

Oh, joyous, beautiful mutants... Spike shook his head with a smirk, coming up on quite a scene. Not two lovers, no... Spike's keen eye could spot a feast from a mile away.

"Oi!!"

Teeth bared, Spike cocked his head to the side, resembling a playful labrador almost in energy.

"Numbskull- I used to be like you..."

His Docs stopped dead in their tracks. Recognition bled into his gleaming, yellow optics. Something in his chest tightened; indigestion? Maybe.

"Rosen?"

Spike had to remind himself; the Slayer didn't care for his assistance even if it did objectively make her life easier. He didn't have to help her bloody stupid, helpless friends. Even if they were currently attempting to tear off a person's face, turning into something unrecognizable to anyone who knew the girl... But quite familiar to the monster that was Spike.

Still, as he stared hard at the brainy, academic young redheaded woman... He couldn't shake the pure unease and dread that resided within his chasm now.

Bloody Hell.

Buffy raised an eyebrow when his voice seemed to go softer, calling out to her, only confirming her thought on how different this night seemed. Was there some kind of spell involved? Was anyone else affected by this?

She was taken from her thoughts, hearing him bring up Angel. Subversion of expectations?! She supposed he was right, but wouldn't admit it out loud, only trying to ignore it.

There was no doubt Spike was subverting her expectations. She was starting to see more to him than she had seen before (or ever bothered to bring herself too.) There was good in him, just...buried deep underneath his vampire ways.

The Slayer looks at him carefully when he exclaims, looking perplexed by all this. "The bar?! With you?!" And then it all hit her. "Oh no! No, no, no! Just because this night seems different and it's not as active as it would normally be here doesn't mean I'm running off to the bar to celebrate having a non-slayer like night for the first time in...I don't know how long!"

Buffy paused, the thought of actually going along with it and enjoying it hitting her for a moment before shaking herself out of it. "I mean...isn't is kind of strange? Did every other vamp or demon in town just suddenly bail or are they having a secret party, but decided to not invite me? Is another apocalypse happening?"

"Don't worry, Slayer; You can keep the security blanket on full-grip... It just might start to look a little funny to the other patrons," he jested.

They continued their stroll, nevertheless. However bizarre the cognitive dissonance sometimes was to the man, he found it humorous. The stubborn Slayer. She should know that Spike wouldn't let anyone touch her, if things ever got too hairy. Whether Little-Miss-Toughy liked that or not.

Spike could almost feel the vomit rise from even thinking up a pun so bad, but it was all in the name of remaining a quiet (and not at all braggadocious), valiant knight. Even though she'd never even need it. Gods, what he wouldn't give sometimes for the Hellmouth to swallow him whole. This was idiotic.

And yet...

"Guess we could circle 'round the block again. But tell ya what, after this- Spikey's got a bleedin' pint with his name on it. You're welcome to it, but seein' the same sodding stones and big tree are startin' to do my head in..."

She really lived like this, huh?

"Save yourself some sodding peace too, right?" His voice was softer this time, something urging her to at least consider her own mental wellbeing once in a while.

A soft whoosh of breath leaves her as he casually tosses his AGE between them, the SHOCK of the number prompting a bubbly little LAUGH from her plush lips. One-hundred and twenty-seven? YOUNGER THAN HER MAKER BY FAR, but OLD ENOUGH to make her look like a bumbling child in comparison.

‪❝Been 25 for around a decade now,❞ she murmurs with no small amount of humor. Her pretty head tilting up toward his, comfortably blanketed in his shadow. ‪❝’m only 35, baby,❞ ‬she hums with a PEACHY GRIN.

"Eternally 25... Lucky. As it were, I'm eternally 33... Though, not entirely a bad thing. One could ascertain I didn't have anything else better going for me in life before this... One would be correct," the man flashed a fanged grin, feeling a cheekiness bubbling up after a swift swallow of his ale.

Slowly, Spike felt his own head tilting with all the curiosity of a half-feral house cat. As though she could catch a glimpse, if she looked long enough...

"Careful there, luv... You might get a touch'a whiplash tryin' to figure me out... Who I was... Who I've been...,"

He took another swig, feeling that liquid courage surge through. He smirked, his form slowly inching closer to the sweet presence of this lady, his chest pressing against hers oh-so softly. Teasing.

"Name's Spike.... And I'll bet yours is as beautiful as you...,' he breathed, voice husky, holding only a slight hint of eagerness beneath his breast.

It was strange how much Buffy found herself relying on his words ─ or much less Spike himself ─ almost practically finding... comfort with him?! There she went again, not able to explain how they went from enemies to...whatever was happening here now.

She blinked at first, a small smile passing on her lips. "Whoa! Did I just get a pep talk from Spike?! No...a compliment?! Just when I think I've seen it all, strange new things appear and continue to take me by surprise."

Sure, she could crack some other joke or pun here, maybe even brush it off, but she felt she should at least address it. "Thank you for it." Buffy nodded when he said she'd get no more out of him. "Of course." The Slayer paused before continuing on. "M-Maybe you aren't so bad yourself? I mean...you're still a vampire and I haven't forgotten the history between us, but...I guess you're pretty remarkable too."

And there was no way she would be repeating that again. She yawned, glancing around the graveyard again. "Tonight's patrol seems...different."

He shook his head; Spike felt his heart within unfurl and ache with each half-step beat it gave way to.

"Angel was a vampire... Although, subversion of expectations seems to be a theme here...."

Hang on a sec; she hadn't forgotten their history? Gods, the stupid things those words made the nerves in his fingertips do- despite being undead.

So she felt it, too. How strangely different this patrol seemed tonight. It was like all the pressure was just... gone. Like a plume of smoke. Suddenly, in this moment, he felt he could tell Buffy just about anything.

"Y'know... It's so easy to talk to you sometimes...," Spike felt himself musing beside her, feet moving at a steady pace through the cemetery's stony confines. The night was young, the moon was full and bright, and so far (finger's crossed) it was relatively peaceful. He could suggest they maybe dip in some place for a bite n' a pint... Spike doubted she'd go for it, though.

So far there had been no bites; no batty baddies ready for shredding... No faces to punch or pummel... Spike felt his restless nature stirring, his chipped black fingertips idling to his coat pocket for his smokes as they strolled on. Something else stirred within Spike's breast.

Just how normal and pleasant this whole long walk through the cemetery was beginning to feel...

Like a...

No, he wouldn't dare call it that. Neither would she.

Although, a twinge in Spike's spirit felt akin to a giddy schoolboy, strolling along with the dream girl... Er, in theory. Everything Spike once fancied and missed among company with the living... Or, in general, really. It was simply nice. It was all Spike had needed these days, but you couldn't pry that out of the man for anything in the world.

Not even.

"Bloody hell," he heaves softly as he exudes smoke.

His head was starting to pressurize again, the damn microwave in his brain melting and overheating... Or was that him?

He snorted the thought away and nursed his cigarette, deciding to kill this silence of sheer overthinking on Spike's part,

"Welp. Guess it's a race to the bar then?," he flashed a single-fanged grin.

Her smile is BRIGHT, thick lashes brushing the apples of her cheeks as she LAUGHS. The sound of it is all SOUTHERN CHARM and SUNBEAMS. Varnished nails pet languidly at the lapel of his coat, tracing rhythmic, flirting fingers over the leather. ‪❝Lucy,❞ ‬she hums softly. Short and SWEET in the dark. ‪

❝What about you, pretty?❞ ‬ This is asked with a level of FAUX INSOUCIANCE that reveals her delighted stroll into this NEW TERRITORY they’re playing in.

Delicate fingers pluck the cigarette from his teeth, slotting it between her GLITTER GLOSSED lips as though it were hers by RIGHT. Having already begun missing the burnt out one she’d tossed to the floor. Curves melting further into the lines of his body, practically resting fully against him. Smoke pluming from her nose on the exhale, curling thick between them.

‪❝You’re cute, aren’t you?❞ ‬ A RHETORICAL QUESTION. Pretty head shaking at his words, ‪❝’m tragically not within the realm of angels, baby.❞ ‬ The cigarette now pinched between the sides of her index and middle is offered back with PEACHY PINK GLITTER sticking to the paper from her smiling mouth. ‪

❝And I’m guessing you’re only askin’ me because you are?❞ ‬ A THRILL thrums through her CADAVEROUS CHEST at the mere idea of it all, leaning so idly into one of her OWN when her interactions with them have been so few and far in between. IT HELPS THAT HE’S SO DELICIOUS LOOKING. Honeyed gaze shines at him, a brief GLEAM of LEONINE HEAT.

"Bloody hell, luv- Yer gonna give my fangs cavities....," he breathed, rolling up slowly to meet her dithering softly into his touch. So close, yet so far....

She was making him almost too high to keep up with the questions now, although Spike would never dare admit that to a soul (or lack of).

His blue-greens were glued to her glittery smile, her lips perfectly polished and plump. Gorgeous wasn't even a good enough word to describe this woman... Her words lingered within his head and swirled around and around.

"Oh, eheh... Only about 127... years," he exhaled a quiet snicker.

He smirked softly, gaze meeting hers from his height. Spike was now trembling, almost pathetically so. He had to bite his lip to try and stop his tail from wagging. Ehrm, metaphorically.

"It's always a sheer relief to meet another... Although, you're quite different.... Anyhow...~"

"How about yourself?"

Maybe it was the cheekbones, the ACCENT, or maybe just the way he seemed so RIDICULOUSLY EDIBLE that made her ache with the WANT to play this game. GREEDY ROTTEN HEART fluttering in her chest at the sight of his TEETH sinking into his lower lip.

❝You're just bein' sweet on me,❞ she breathes in a SIREN'S HUSH whilst she steps even closer still. HOT PINK nails flick her cigarette carelessly to the floor before lifting to run along the lapel of his leather coat, tracing the shape of it with a delicate hand. Curvy frame leans into him, smelling of SUNSHINE and PEACH and BAD DECISIONS MADE TOO LATE.

❝Bet you're used to using that pretty face to get anything you want, hmm?❞ The hum sits sugar sweet in her mouth, tongue running idly over a SERRATED CANINE.

"The first bein' the obvious; what's yer name?"

The male's fangs prickled ever so slightly at his lower lip, an almost pout forming in his blues; cursed to resemble some moon-eyed lead singer. Though, with a soft glance to the crowd again, he took another measured drag before allowing the little circle around them to exude smoke, their own personal ring of Hellfire inevitably unfurling.

"And one more, possibly obvious one- You a creature of the night too, luv? A being this electric is either Heaven or Hell, and I'm dying to find where I fall on that plane....~," Spike practically purred.

Before he could get too greedy with the questions, the looming shadow of a man perched himself neatly against the wall and continued to nurse his cigarette.

"And don't worry... I won't tell....~"