This was
stupid. Ridiculous! He was a vampire, for God’s sake! No one expects a vampire
to keep a promise, let alone one made in the throes of sexual passion. No one.
“So, why do I
bother?” he asked, shaking his head in exasperation.
He was leaning
against his car (which was parked inconspicuously on a dark part of the street,
a good hundred yards further down the road), smoking and studying his target.
There
was no reply. He hadn’t expected one.
He
took another drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt away. He crossed the
deserted street, squatted in front of the door and carefully began to pick the
lock, hoping the damn place didn’t have a burglar alarm.
“I mean it’s
not like I haven’t got anything better to do…”
He fiddled
about for a few minutes, growing more and more impatient. The fact that he
usually just barged into whatever place he wanted to ransack hadn’t exactly
helped him hone his burglary skills.
“Bollocks!”
The lock pick snapped, its tip wedged inside the lock.
He walked
back to the deSoto, opened the trunk and got out a crowbar. He sauntered back
to the recalcitrant door and tried to force the door open without causing too
much damage. He wanted to be able to close the door behind him, so he’d have
plenty of time for his mission. Without having to worry about cops or an errant
Slayer – or worse: other vampires.
This was
definitely not the kind of place he wanted to be seen in.
With a loud
crack, the wood splintered. He slowly opened the door. He felt it connect with
the chime. His hand shot up to silence it. He slipped inside, closed the door
and released the bell.
He didn’t
bother to turn on any lights. He could see the goods well enough. There were so
many racks he hardly knew where to start. He wandered through the shop, picking
up items and discarding them, opening boxes and squinting at labels.
Suddenly, a
female figure wearing nothing but an almost transparent bra, lacy knickers, a
matching garter belt, and silk stockings caught his attention. Silk and lace in
black and dark burgundy. Just the right mixture of class and naughtiness.
“Perfect!”
Without
hesitation he brought his arms round the slim and smooth waist. His fingers
searched for the clasp of the bra. Suddenly he had the whole torso in his hand
and the lower part off the figure toppled with a crash, knocking over a vase or
something.
“Bloody
hell!”
He undid the
clasp and dropped the upper torso of the mannequin. He checked the size - *32C. Bingo!* - pocketed the bra and
picked up the lower portion to tuck it under his arm.
He opened the
door of the shop and peered outside. No cops, no Slayer, no other vampires,
thank heavens.
He quickly
left the shop, careful not to lose the legs. He was quite relieved to reach his
car without being seen. He threw the half-mannequin on the backseat and quickly
and skillfully undressed it. “Peelin’ stiffs out of their clothes? Now that’s
something I’m really good at,” he mumbled. Then he dumped the doll and made his
getaway.
***
An hour later
he stood outside of Anya’s small flat. He knew, sooner or later she’d turn up.
This was the one day of the week when she didn’t stay at the Harris basement
overnight. Something to do with the laundry schedule of Mrs. H.
He had gotten
through half a pack of cigarettes, when he heard a car approaching. Harris,
driving his uncle’s car, a decrepit piece of junk. Someone should truly put
that piece of machinery out of its misery.
*Hm, I wonder if that soddin’ chip will allow me to
fiddle with the breaks a bit…*
He watched
Anya get out of the car. Nice legs. She and Xander exchanged a few words, then
donut boy drove off.
Knowing he
couldn’t be spotted in the rear view mirror, Spike quickly crossed the road
before the ex-demon had a chance to close the door behind her.
“Got
something for you,” he said, giving her a start. She turned around, momentarily
frightened, but then she recognized him.
“Spike! What
are you doing here? I hope you’re not stalking me. I tortured stalkers not too
long ago. I still have friends in the
business I could call if you don’t have a good reason for being here.”
“Don’t get
your knickers in a twist, Anyanka. Told
you. Got somethin’ for ya. A guy’s got to keep his promises, don’t he,” he
said, handing her a slightly battered cardboard box.
She took it
with a surprised frown.
“I’m not
inviting you in,” she said bluntly.
“I didn’t ask
you to.”
She warily
looked at the box. At him. At the box.
“Xander and I
made up,” she told him.
“I know,” he
said evenly. *Doesn’t mean it’ll last,
does it.*
She took off
the lid and gasped, both surprised and pleased. She held the box with one hand
and used the other to lift the contents out, holding them up so she could see
them in the light of the street lamp. Anya clearly liked what she saw.
She put them
back into the box, and caressed the delicate fabric, feeling the softness of
the silk and the sensuousness of lace. He took in the way she flushed with
pleasure, inhaled her scent. Yes, Anya was certainly a hottie!
“Spike, this
is… this is so beautiful,” she exclaimed. “It’s also more expensive than the
bra you ruined, so… I suppose I should just keep the bra and give the rest back
to you.”
“Somehow I
don’t think I’ll be needing silk stockings and a garter belt. Don’t go well
with my duster, pet,” he grinned. “Just keep the stuff. No strings attached.
Think of it as interest paid.”
*And I’ll think of it as an investment.*
She put the
lid back on and clutched the box possessively. She awkwardly leaned forward and
gave him a very formal kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Spike.”
“My pleasure.
See you around, sweetie.”
He walked
off, sexy swagger on full power, knowing his duster looked great, billowing
around him like that. He didn’t turn round to look back because it would ruin
the effect. He climbed into the deSoto and drove off.
“Why did I
bother?” He smiled and lit himself another smoke. “Cause you never know…”
THE END
(written
February 2002)
Many thanks
to Marcee, who read and corrected this at record speed. Kudos!