Chapter 1 - 80's Movies Are the Source of All Evil

"This place is really cool!" Buffy said to Willow while looking out over the premises.

Those who weren't used to seeing nightclubs without the darkness and the colored spotlights often found them disappointing sights. They often looked like big storage rooms, and all the sleazy details became all-too visible in the fluorescent light, like the chewing gum trampled into the carpet, and the alcohol stains on the sofas and the chairs. But as Buffy looked out over Seven, she saw the potential. She had been here several times, and this was indeed a really amazing club.

It was built in several levels, and had three separate dance floors, but there were also areas quiet enough for talking and relaxing. The bright colors and the lighting gave the place a futuristic look. It was always packed, and vibrating with the heavy techno, club, and house music. Lately it had quickly become *the* place to be, simply because it had that indefinable atmosphere that marked the distinct difference between a good club and a great one.

Buffy felt more than happy that she had gotten this job, not to mention incredibly lucky. One of the bartenders had recently been fired for stealing from the register, and she was pretty much needed right away. It was only about a week and a half since she had called Willow, and she was already getting the introduction. Good thing she wasn't the only one in a crisis situation, she thought as they proceeded through the room.

They passed a half-circle-shaped bar, painted in a bright orange with scattered embedded squares of thick glass. On the wall there was a big collection of all sorts of alcohol, bottles in all shapes and colours. In the area around the bar there were a number of small, round tables, made for standing at. To the left there was a big round dance floor, with a small stage for live performances.

"Here's one of the places you’ll be working at," Willow said while nodding towards the bar. "There's one on all four floors."

They continued up S-shaped stairs, covered in an orange carpet that matched the color of the bar. On both sides of the stairs there were curved spaces that held a number of large, green plants, lit up from beneath by a number of spotlights. From this position Buffy looked over another area of the first floor. A wave-shaped wall, a few feet high, created a partly secluded area with booths that were separated from each other by semi-transparent colored walls. The floor was scattered with tables made of a white frosted material, and with built-in lighting in the middle of each table. They were matched with high chairs that looked more pretty than comfortable. Flat, square orange lamps lighted the white walls.

When they came to the top of the stairs they were standing on an almost identical floor, only with a yellow theme instead of an orange one.

As Buffy looked out over the room she spotted a few employees busy with different chores. Two young women were busy carrying trays of bottles into a room next to the bar, and she could hear the sound of someone vacuuming somewhere in the back of the room.

"That's Tracy and Joan," Willow said while pointing towards the girls. "Tracy's nice, and Joan is... um... Joan," she whispered.

Buffy had opened her mouth to comment on Willow's assessment, as a couple of guys, absorbed in a private conversation, exited from the door where Tracy and Joan had disappeared. She recognized one of them as Xander.

"Christ, give it up, mate!" the other man said while smiling. He reluctantly caught a bottle that came spinning through the air. "Or at least don't walk while doin' it!" The source of the British voice was a peroxide blond man. He was wearing a pair of black jeans, and a matching black t-shirt that left little of the muscles underneath to the imagination. High cheekbones and bright, blue eyes perfected the ruggedly handsome impression.

Buffy noticed her pulse quickening. She couldn't help getting a dreamy look in her eyes. God, that blond guy was gorgeous!

"No, I'm sure I can pull this of!" Xander answered while yanking the bottle from his friend's hand. His brown hair was just a little bit too long, and fell into his eyes when he turned his head. He was a friendly-looking guy, though obviously with a somewhat questionable fashion sense. If Hawaiian shirts could be considered fashion.

As they got behind the bar, the blond guy pulled out a cutting board and a basket with lemons, while somewhat anxiously glancing towards the other man, who once more sent the bottle spinning through the air.

"If Tom Cruise can do it, I can," Xander said with a voice that revealed great concentration. He clumsily caught it before it almost crashed into the register. "Might be some kind of supernatural scientology power involved," he muttered.

The other man flinched, then picked up a large knife and started cutting the lemons in thin slices. "Well, I don't bloody well see you tryin' to perform breakin' and enterin' in government server rooms either, so give it a rest."

Xander once more sent the bottle into the air; it spun around a few times, and then headed in a direct trajectory towards the blond man's head. As he spotted it heading his way, he quickly jumped back, letting it crash into the counter. The smashed bottle sprayed its content over both employees. While escaping the imminent bottle-accident, the blond man had accidentally dropped the knife, which twirled through the air, and then fell to the floor, burrowing itself in the wooden flooring between his feet.

Soaking wet with alcohol, he stared furiously up at the Cruise wannabe next to him "Bloody hell! Are you tryin' to make me a eunuch!?"

"Um...No." The bottle thrower looked a bit jittery. "But I heard that that Bobbit guy made a lot of money doing weird porn... " he joked while shaking his soaking sleeves.

"I'm happy with my career, thank you very much!" the blond one yelled. "Not planning to get into the amputee porn business any time soon!"

At this point Willow cleared her throat, getting the attention of the soaked men. "Alcohol isn't a toy, you know." She crossed her arms and looked mock serious. "And think of all the kids in Africa who haven't got any Jack Daniels."

There was an embarrassing moment of silence. Both men looked like five-year-olds who had been caught scaring the neighbor's cat with firecrackers. "This is all Jerry Bruckheimer's fault!" Xander finally blurted out while holding his hands up defensively. "And I'm sticking with that story!"

"You wanker," Spike sighed. "Jerry Bruckheimer didn't make Cocktail."

"What do you know, British guy?" Xander said accusingly, while pointing his finger at the other bartender.

"He made all those other 80's movies, like Top Gun and Flash Dance. Not Cocktail," he stated confidently.

"Ok, Then I'm blaming..." He looked questioning at the blond man. "Who am I blaming...?"

Once more Willow cleared her throat. "Focus, guys! We have a new co-worker - Buffy. She starts working here on Saturday." The bickering men ended their trivia battle and turned their attention towards the two amused women on the other side of the bar.

"Wow," Buffy said to Willow while raising an eyebrow. "Must be like working in a sitcom."

"Too bad then that I'm not getting paid like Jennifer Aniston," Willow pouted. "Ok, you have met Xander."

"Hi there, Buffster!" Xander said, waving his hand.

"Buffster?" Willow laughed.

"Well, she needs a nickname," he defended himself. "So she feels like one of the gang."

"Christ, this isn't Happy Days!" The blond man cocked his head and smiled. "Buffy sounds just fine to me."

Buffy couldn't help blushing a little bit. His smile was gorgeous too.

"Your savior from nickname hell is Spike." Willow pointed towards the peroxide bartender. "Well, actually it's William," she whispered, loud enough for him to hear. "But don't call him that, it makes him cranky."

"Hey, I heard that!" The muscles in Spike's jaws were twitching.

"Ooh, did I hurt poor William's feelings?" she taunted.

"Hey, watch it!"

Willow giggled at the adolescent behavior of her colleagues. "Ok, Buffy, we don't have time for this." She looked at her watch. "The boss is waiting for you."

She started walking towards the stairs to the third floor, and Buffy followed reluctantly, ignoring the stubborn pull of the butterflies in her belly. "See you guys!" Buffy said while waving goodbye, taking a last glance at Spike. As they left, she heard the men's voices fading behind them:

"But Coyote Ugly? That's definitely Jerry Bruckheimer!"

"Should I expect you to start practicing wet t-shirt dancin' on the bar, then?"

"They are kind of corny, but nice to be around, and, believe it or not, actually good bartenders," Willow said as she and Buffy passed through a floor with a green design. In the back of the room there was a door labeled "Staff Only.” They walked into a short corridor, to a door with the name "Stevensson" on it.

"We're opening soon, so I have to go downstairs and do the last preparations," Willow sighed. "Oh, and about the party at Riley's tomorrow, should I come by and pick you up at eight?”

"Well, since you're volunteering to be the designated driver..."

Willow frowned a little. "Good old faithful, huh?"

"Nope," Buffy smiled. "Remember last week when you refused to drive some stuff for Xander?"

"Oh, you mean not agreeing to pick up the huge collection of vintage Playboys he bought on eBay at the post office?" Willow giggled. "Yeah, I could practically hear god erase my name from the guest list in heaven." Both girls laughed.

"Ok, enough of Casual Buffy. Time for Work Buffy." Buffy put on her serious face.

"You're right. Good luck with the boss"

"Yeah. Good luck with the margaritas."

As Willow turned and walked back through the corridor, Buffy took a breath and knocked. A few seconds later the door was yanked open, and a tall, smiling black man stood in front of her.

"Hi, you must be Buffy!" he said while enthusiastically shaking her hand with a sweaty palm. "Please, come in!"

As they started discussing regulations and schedules, her mind slipped back to the sexy bleached bartender with the beautiful blue eyes. Yeah, this job was definitely going to be interesting.

* * * * * *

Buffy jumped clumsily on one foot while attempting the art of putting on a shoe at the same time as she was getting the door. The un-tied ribbons of her halter top flapped around her neck, and she had a couple of hair pins sticking out of her mouth. "Coming, coming," she mumbled through clenched teeth.

"Running late, are we?" Willow said as Buffy opened the door. She was standing in the hallway, dressed in a knee-long maroon dress made of a silky material. Her hair was pinned up in a tangled knot, and she was wearing hints of subtle makeup.

"There were extenuating circumstances," Buffy said cheerfully as she removed the pins from her mouth and walked over to the hallway mirror.

"Sex and the City-related extenuating circumstances?" Willow asked, smiling.

"Sort of," Buffy admitted.

"I'm guessing that there was sex?"

"Duh!" Buffy tied the straps of her top. "Tada! Party setting - on!" Dressed in a pastel blue top, a white skirt, and white sandals, she was simply screaming 'summer.’

"Wow, you look gorgeous!" Willow complimented. "Is there someone special you plan to impress? ’Cause in that case I'm officially offended about being left out of the drooling-loop."

"Nope. Nobody special." At least not that's is going to be within impressing-range tonight, she added silently. "Let's go. Party time!"

Buffy grabbed her purse and walked out to Willow, who was still standing in the hallway. As they started walking down the hall, Willow suddenly smacked her forehead in a classic cartoonmanner. "Oh, I forgot to ask you! Is it ok to bring a few people to this party? It's not a ’co-workers, and possibly their best friends only’ thing, right?

"No, I don't think so. Why?" Buffy said as she pushed the elevator button.

"Well, Spike and Xander were kind of bored, and they wanted to come along. Is that ok? I was going to call you today and ask, but I completely forgot."

Buffy could feel her heart taking a big jump in her chest. "Um... that won't be a problem. Not at all."

The doors to the elevator opened, and they stepped in.

"Really?" Willow looked embarrassed. "’Cause I kind of told them to go there unless you said no."

"Parties are made for meeting new people, right?" Buffy said as the elevator let out a friendly 'ping.’ "And new people are kind of a requirement for that."

They walked out into warm, starry night, and crossed the street, heading towards Willow's car. "So Willow, I was thinking..." Buffy said smiling. "This Spike guy. You know him well?"

"Oooh!" Willow piped, pointing an accusing finger at Buffy. "Not 'someone special, ’huh?"

"Well... not at the party, as far as I knew." Buffy grinned. "So I'm home free."

As they got into the car, Buffy smiled enthusiastically. "Still waiting for Spike info here."

"Sorry." Willow said with an empathetic grimace. "He's taken."

Oh crap. "Well, obviously." Buffy slumped back into her seat in pouting mode.

"Well, it's not like he's all great anyway," Willow said, trying to be comforting. "He's got really terrible taste in music, there's kind of an attitude problem. And, oh! He's got stupid hair!"

Buffy sulked. "Why are all the pretty guys always taken?"

"Well," Willow stated matter of factly as she turned the car towards the main road. "Because they’re pretty?"

* * * * * *

"I'm guessing that this is the place,” Xander said as they spotted the herd of cars outside a big apartment building. Sounds of music and laughter came from an open window on the second floor.

"Well, yeah." They got out of Xander's rusty old Volvo, and Spike lit a cigarette, puffing out a small cloud of smoke.

"I hope Buffy and Willow are here already. It's not like we know anyone else at the party."

"Oh, come on!" Spike said with the cigarette bobbing in the corner of his mouth, "Don't be a chicken!" He cheerfully slapped Xander's back and started walking to the front door with his friend trailing behind him. Spikes trademark black coat fluttered around him, giving him that cool superhero look. As always, he walked almost like a big predator, and radiated a natural confidence.

A couple of women who stood outside the entrance smoking ogled Spike relentlessly as he came their way. Before he and Xander got inside, Spike took one last, long huff at the cigarette and leaned over next to the girls to drop it in the water-filled jar that functioned as a temporary ashtray. "Hi, girls," he said with a cocky grin, causing them to giggle. Xander couldn't help throwing a jealous glare at his buddy.

"What was the guy's name again?" Spike said as they made their way up the stairs towards the music.

"Um...Riley something." Xander pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocked. "Finn."

"Riley Finn? What kind of a poofter name is that? Oh, here it is." Spike opened the door.

"Must be a rich poofter though," Xander said as he looked in at the roomy apartment. The place
was filled with people, talking, drinking and eating tiny scraps of food jammed on toothpicks. This was clearly a party that had outgrown its original purpose as a work related get-together.

"Well in that case it's our duty to eat as many snacks as possible," Spike grinned. "You know, for the sake of the proletariat. Or somethin'." Spike laid his coat on the big pile of jackets that had formed after the hangers and hooks had run out.

Xander threw a lusting eye at a group of pretty girls who were socializing in the living room. "Well, if you’ll excuse me, I'll go and make a fool out of myself," he joked.

"You do that," Spike chuckled. As Xander disappeared into the crowd, Spike surveyed the place and sighed. This seemed like one of those parties with a few too many dull guys and stuck-up women. It was clearly more of a gin and tonic type of party than a beer and pretzels affair. As he was getting ready to resign himself to a dull evening of finger food and boring conversations, he spotted The New Girl through the crowd, leaning against a doorpost. She was absent-mindedly fiddling with an empty glass, looking terribly bored. Well, she might be fun, he thought, and headed her way.

Buffy sighed and stared down at her empty glass. She didn't know that it was humanly possible to be this bored at a party. And hanging about all alone made her feel like a total looser. Her friends and co-workers had all managed to end up with cliques of people she didn't know and didn't find interesting. Even Willow had abandoned her. She had ended up on a sofa, flirting with some guy. Good old faithful, huh?

"Either you're bored to death, or that glass is really interestin'."

The sound of the British voice through the noise and music jolted her out of her self pity. As she turned towards him, her brain buzzed a little from attraction, but she also felt the twinge of disappointment in her gut. Stupid non-single guy, she thought to herself.

"Well, I'm going with a) "bored to death,” she smiled a little at her peroxide co-worker. "How about you? Feeling suicidal yet?"

"Nope." He leaned back on the opposing side of the doorpost, crossing his arms. "But I just got here, so if you wait for a while I'm sure I'll start scramblin' for prescription pills in the bathroom in no time."

"So, you're Spike, huh?", Buffy said after a moment of silence, grinning. "I'd love to know where that nickname came from."

"Sounds like you're expectin' some cool and/or kinky answer to that?"


"In that case: I got it as an alter ego when I was working in the porn business..." He paused, smiling. "No, actually it’s a hair related thing."

"The porn explanation was better," Buffy pouted. "You know, one could make lots of money in that business, at least on amputee porn. Or so I've heard."

"Bringin' up traumatic incidents, are we?" Spike laughed at Buffy's boldness.

"Oh puh-leease. Little Spike is intact. Don't think that you need crisis counseling." Buffy suddenly caught a sad gaze out of the corner of her eye. It seemed like Riley finally had spotted her, and wasn't too happy with what he saw. Note to self, she thought, have a talk with Riley.

"So, what do you do at boring parties?" Spike sighed, and leaned his head back against the doorpost.

"Well," Buffy mimicked his slouching position. "Sometimes when I'm bored, I make up stories about the people around me. Like what they work with and stuff."

"Ok," Spike said as he gazed out over the guests. "That one." He pointed at a tall, skinny man in a grey shirt.

"Hm..." She tilted her head, thinking. "He's a nurse. With a secret shoe fetish."

Spike smiled. "That girl over there. The blonde one. She's a chef at some sleazy restaurant, and spits in the soup of rude customers. She collects vintage plates with cat motifs, and kind of has the hots for Captain Kirk.

As they continued talking and laughing, Buffy soon forgot her jealous mood in the comfort of Spike's company.

* * * * * *

With a big yawn, Spike unlocked the door. Home sweet home, he thought. As he closed the door he fell back against it with a thump, rubbing his face tiredly with his hands. He smiled a little, recalling tonight's events. That Buffy girl sure was a blast. Spike couldn't remember the last time he had had this much fun.

He squinted through the dark hallway, which was only illuminated by the stray light from the bedside lamp in the bedroom. The digital clock by the phone said 4:32. Bed time, he thought to himself, and headed towards the bathroom.

Passing the bedroom, he suddenly felt a pair of arms encircling his waist. Spike gasped from the surprise, then sighed as arms pulled him back against the warm body behind him. "I thought you were out of town," Spike breathed as he felt soft lips trailing a path down his neck.

"I was. Now I'm not." The warm breaths against his skin quickly made him forget his tiredness, and his eyes closed as compelling hands caressed the muscles on his chest and abdomen. The whispering voice against his ear made him shiver. "I need that hot, tight body of yours." Spike felt himself being slowly maneuvered into the bedroom.

In one quick move, Spike's shirt was off, and he felt a tongue trailing up the length of his spine; Spike arched his body back against the touch. " taste so good," the voice continued. "Like sex and decadence." Skilled fingers caressed Spike's nipples, eliciting a loud moan.

"I want you on the bed. Now." Two seconds later Spike was pinned down on the mattress, a punishing mouth covering his. Their lips were battling furiously, their tongues sliding wetly around each other.

They parted for a moment, and he vaguely noticed that clothes were coming off. A sweater fell to the bed and pants and underwear dropped in a pile at the floor. Spike closed his eyes in anticipation. He was panting heavily, and arousal was burning its way through his body like a rapidly progressing forest fire. Spike could feel the weight of knees and hands in the mattress on both sides of his body. He kept still, feeling the lustful gazes roaming over his body. A tingle crept down his spine from the proximity of bare skin, so close, but not touching.

Warm breath suddenly hit his face. Spike felt the faintest touch of lips grazing his mouth. He arced up, desperately trying to gain contact, but the other body remained elusive. "Do you want me?" The words slipped out almost inaudible between lips that were barely touching. It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes!" Spike gasped.

As lips and tongue started moving seductively down Spike's lean and muscular body he was quickly engulfed by passion, forgetting everything but the touch, the way it made his body feel, the way his skin was humming underneath the smooth, wet friction. Proficient hands quickly removed the last pieces of Spike's clothes. He felt forceful fingertips setting out a path down the side of his body, and almost unconsciously he bent his legs to provide better access. He wanted more. More skin, more lips, more touching in all the right places. He had never felt like this with anyone else. Like sex was art, and he was the canvas.

Skilled fingers move slowly up the inside of his thigh, lips trailing south, tasting him enthusiastically like he was a nummy treat, coated with chocolate. Then suddenly the hand and mouth was gone. Spike whimpered from the loss of contact. As he opened his eyes he met a demanding gaze, filled with uncompromising want. The mouth of his lover was hovering only an inch from his throbbing member. Spike knew how this game was played.

"Please," he whispered with a trembling voice.

He heard the sound of a cap opening. Seconds later the most talented mouth and tongue he'd ever experienced devoured him to the hilt, and he soon felt two slick fingers slip inside of him. He flung his head back against the pillow, and arched his body in pleasure.

"Angel!" he moaned.


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