reality3

DISCLAIMER: All hail Joss Whedon, UPN, the WB, FOX , Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation. Theirs not mine.

Later, Spike and Buffy walk hand and hand through the underground parking garage. �I really don�t understand how you can see through the windshield when it�s painted over,� she says. �It must be a major safety hazard.�

He opens the glass door to the mall entrance for her. �I�ve been driving for decades, pet, no need to worry about it.�

They walk down the corridor. �We have enough money for one suit and two nice outfits,� Buffy announces. �One pair of dress shoes and one pair of casual shoes. Plus you need to buy some underwear.�

�I don�t wear underwear, sweets, as you well know.� He looks at her lasciviously.

�Well, going commando will ruin the line of your pants,� she explains. � Plus, it wouldn�t be very professional to have Mr. Happy pop out of your fly during the interview.�

He stops, annoyed. �I don�t need you to mother me, Buffy.�

�Fine. Just think of me as girlfriending you then.� She gins up at him. He looks down at her lovingly, and kisses her. He grabs her ass, rubbing against her.

�Okay, Mr. Short Attention Span. Time to shop,� she says pulling him along.

�No fucking way,� Spike says heatedly. �No bloody, buggering fucking way, Slayer.� They stand in a dressing room before a three-way mirror. He is outfitted in a charcoal gray tweed suit, complete with leather patches on the elbows.

�You look really handsome in it,� she says seriously. �It brings out your eyes, makes your shoulders look broad and shows what long legs you have. It�s perfect.�

�I look stupid, Buffy. I haven�t looked this ridiculous since I was Randy.� He pulls at the white Oxford collar of his shirt, making a face.

�You have to get this suit, Spike. It is absolutely professional. They will hire you for looks alone,� she says coaxingly.

Fed up, he spins around. He leans over, close into her face. �Not going to happen. There is no way that I will wear this.�

She wraps her hands around his waist. �There is nothing I can do to convince you?� Her hands glide underneath his jacket, scratching him with her nails.

Spike is unmoved. �Buffy, you could get down on your knees and blow me right here in the store, and I still wouldn�t wear this suit.� She smiles up at him. Quickly, she slams him against the dressing room door. Sinking to her knees, she unfastens his pants, sucking him into her mouth. She rolls her tongue around him, knowing just the way he likes it. He moans, his head tilting back.

Shortly afterward, they leave the store. Spike carries a suit bag and several shopping bags.

�Just because I gave in on this, doesn�t mean we�re setting a precedent here,� he says as they walk. �This relationship is an equal partnership. No one has the upper hand.�

�I�m really thirsty, Spike. Can you get me a drink?� Buffy stops and sits down on a bench near a concession stand.

�Sure thing, pet. Diet Coke coming right up,� he says. Placing the bags on the bench besides her, he starts to walk away. �Want a pretzel too? You must be hungry.� He tilts his head at her, waiting for her answer.

�No salt, with mustard, � she says. He smiles at her and walks away.

�He is so whipped,� she says, her eyes following him.

-TBC-