SUMMARY: Spike and Harm, together again, in mid-season AtS
Spoilers to "You're Welcome". NC17.
Spike saunters into a bar near Wolfram and Hart, a plastic card in his hand. "Double scotch," he orders, "but only the good stuff." He turns to check out the rest of the crowd and spots Harmony Kendall. "And a drink for the lady too." Harm gives him a suspicious look when he comes over. "Don't worry," he says, "it's on Angel's tab." He turns to the bartender. "Hey! Free drinks for everyone tonight!"
He leaves the card on the bar.
Spike and Harmony are making out in the front seats of the Viper. There's not much room to move, but they're limber. Spike's got his head flung back against the driver-side window, his knee grazing the steering wheel while she crouches over to blow him. At the critical moment his leg kicks out and cracks half the windscreen.
They hear footsteps on concrete as Spike hurriedly zips himself up and Harm wipes her mouth. Gunn peers through a window.
"What?" he says. "You couldn't have waited till you got out of the garage?"
Harm shakes her head sadly while Spike stares at the clutch.
He stands in the hallway of Harmony's flat while she fixes the bedroom. He can hear her picking up stuff from the floor and rummaging through drawers.
The flat and the furniture came with her job so she's been trying to make it look "homey". Since Spike was here last, she's added a motivational print and a vase: teamwork killer whales and synthetic roses.
"Ready!" Harm shouts.
She's got the lamp turned low and the duvet pulled back just a little. There are cushions padding the bedhead and a box of tissues is in easy arm's reach. The room smells of perfume and lipgloss.
Harmony's leaning against the door to the bathroom, her chest thrust out and a hand on her hip. She tosses back her hair as Spike advances.
Then the music starts and he stops in his tracks. "No, Harm," he says. "Not Jennifer Rush."
Her skirt's rucked up as she sits at the end of the bed, doing a little strip-tease. She kicks off one shoe, running a hand up her thigh before she kicks off the other. She pulls open her shirt with a mimed "Ta-da!" as if her breasts should somehow surprise him.
The bra's turquoise satin with highlights of pink lace: Spike kneels to press lips to her cleavage. When she pulls down a strap, Spike sucks in a nipple.
This is why he first made her acquaintance.
Harmony's beautiful, a fact he sometimes forgets. Flawless skin spread out below him, curves and hollows looking warm in the lamplight. But when he bends to kiss her, her lips are cold and her tongue's like an oyster. This is always the worst part for him, the first time he sinks into clammy, wet flesh.
He doesn't know any more how Buffy could stand this.
He likes to think of Buffy as shagging her way through Rome, taking on all the nice Italian boys and leaving them in the dust. It'll be lunchtime now where she is, so maybe she's having a nooner: sunlight streaming over her bed, her hair gold on the pillow, some Italian's tanned arse pumping away.
Spike's eyes glaze over and the bed starts to creak. They've not broken it yet, though they've chipped it.
Spike sags over Harm, unfocused eyes fixed on a spot near her ear. She pats his head and fluffs his hair, calling him "Blondie Bear", as if he's a performing dog who's just done a trick.
After a minute or two, she says, "Spike? Spike! My arm?" so he hauls himself up on his elbows and pulls himself out, rolling onto his back.
"Thanks," says Harm.
Spike's always thought that if he could imagine something, it could be done. He wants the happy ending, but can't imagine it.
"I kept telling them I'd known her the longest! Since kindergarten, even. We used to go to Aspen together and totally spent years at the mall. She helped me pick out my first dance dress and I helped her get her first date. And like, nobody thought that was important! Like she wasn't my oldest friend and my pain didn't count! It was all, 'Oh poor Angel, poor Gunn, Fred and Wes.' None of them knew her the way I did!"
Harm clings to him, crying, getting snot all over his chest. He pats her back a little. He'd be more sympathetic, but she hasn't got a soul.
"Why unicorns?" he asks her.
"Because they're pretty, duh." She's putting her make-up back on, after her cry. "And because no-one believes in them either."
Harmony pulls back the bedsheet, taking his still-flaccid cock in her hand. She looks at it speculatively as it starts to twitch.
"I can't believe you put this inside her," she says. "Slayer -- ew!"
Spike thinks about breaking her arm, throwing her across the room and beating her with furniture until she starts fighting back, like he's done before. But instead he seizes her wrist and asks, "Do you want another shag or not?"
The funny thing about Harm as a vampire is that she still has her limits. Half of the things Spike can think of, in or out of bed, make her screw up her face, so he has to stick to the classics.
He has her bent now over the side of the bed, with her arse in the air and her knees on the floor. He pounds into her, his face buried deep in her dye-scented hair. She grips the bed and thrusts back.
He must be doing something right because she snarls and fangs a pillow.
"I thought about asking Willow," Harm says. She's propped up on her elbow with her tits in front of his nose. "You know, then maybe people would pay more attention?"
Spike's hand palms a breast. "Ask what?" he says, carefully, thinking Kennedy's more his type.
"If she'd give me a soul," Harm says. "But then I remembered I kept threatening to kill her and that I've kinda teased her since first grade. But how was I to know that someone that geeky would ever have something I want?" She flops onto her back, inconsolable.
"Well then," Spike says, finding his hand empty again, "you'll just have to suffer for your sins."
"Oh shoot!" Harm cries, just as he's falling asleep, "I keep forgetting!" She climbs out of bed. Spike savours the sight of her backside through half-closed lids: her thighs are still dripping. Maybe he's up for another round after all.
She brings back a slim book from inside a closet, but he takes it from her when she gets back to the bed. Then he ducks his head down as she's standing there and starts licking her out. Her knees give way after a while, so he plants his hands on her arse cheeks, holding her up. She almost breaks his nose as she comes.
When he looks up at her, his face wet, she presses her fingertips to her chest to still her unbeating heart. Then she lets him fuck her tits.
He pauses for a moment in the bathroom as he looks around for a cloth. Buckets of hair-care product and bath oils, three types of moisturiser for never-ageing skin.
Above the empty mirror is the slogan, "Be your best". Spike thinks he's been and done that and maybe it's time to move on.
She kisses him on the forehead as he wipes down her neck and chest. "You're so good to me now," she says. She pulls the bedspread to one side so he can settle back in. But when she reaches out to turn off the light she spots the slim book on the nightstand.
It's The Sunnydale High School Yearbook 1999 and, christ, they all look so young, even Harmony, who wears her makeup differently these days. Under half of the pictures are little crosses, some black and some red. Harm has a red "x" under her name; she puts a black "x" under Cordelia's.
Spike takes the pen from her, puts a cross under "Jonathan Levinson". Then Harm finds him a red pen, so he can mark up Holden Webster.
"One of mine," he says.
Harmony's sleeping next to him, her lips parted and unbreathing. Spike goes on looking through the book. He finds what he's after on a back page, the words, "Absent: Buffy Summers."
He takes the black pen and marks two little crosses under her
name. Then he puts the book down, turns off the light, and lies down