Sweet Sixteen by Scott Ciencin

Slow down now eh, love?" Spike said his long leather coat fluttered behind him as he hurried to keep up. Moonlight glistened off his platinum hair.

"What's the matter?" Buffy said with a smirk. "Can't keep up?"

"Oh I can keep up with you, missy. Never you mind. I'm just wondering what the hurry is?"

Spike raced in front of the purposefully striding, serious-faced Slayer.

"This girls in trouble, she needs my help" Buffy said.

"Oh, So that's why she took off like a shot when you tried talking to her last time"

Buffy growled.

"Just going on what you tell me" His arms outstretched, Spike spun like a child in the soft moonlight. Then he took a deep breath of the chilly air and grinned. "Now that's just the thing, isn't it?"

Buffy stalked past him. "Anyone ever point out how seriously weird you are?"
"Only you every chance you get" Spike said. He thrust his hands in his pockets and sped up his pace to keep up with his companion. "It's one of the many signs of your unspoken affection for me"

"Unspoken because it only exists in your head"

"A matter of perceptions" Spike said. He ran to the carousel and leaped on to it, whirling in an ever wider circle. "You've got to loosen up, Buffy. Live in the moment. Enjoy yourself."

Buffy ground to a stop. Her lowered head bobbed, as if she were nodding in agreement, or, at least, seriously considering Spike's words. Encouraged, he leaped from the carousel--

And she was on him, grabbing one arm before he hit the ground, whipping him around in a tighter, more painful arc, tossing him to the ground. He grunted as he struck the sodden earth and rolled, then gasped as a Prada boot landed on his rock hard stomach, pinning him in place, and an all too familiar stake swept down to his heart.

Mr. Pointy stopped a centimeter away from breaking undead skin—though it did pierce the vampire's black shirt.

"Now that's going to leave a nasty little hole," Spike said with a laugh. He loved this little game they played. Once, it might not have been anything like this. He had genuinely wanted to kill the Slayer. But a lot had happened since those days. Now his feelings for Buffy were…….different.

"Who's going to pay for the mending?" Spike asked. "You?"

"It's a T-shirt," Buffy said firmly, clearly intent on puncturing his mood. "T-shirts are cheap. They can be replaced. Not like some other things"

Spike looked away and let out a deep breath. "Are you gonna let me up or are we gonna get lost in this ocean of red-hot sexual tension between us?"

Buffy stepped away, slipping her stake into her jacket. "I should have done you just for that"

"Promises, promises," Spike said as he sat up and dusted himself off. Catlike, he sprang to his feet. The Slayer was already on the move, navigating a small grove of tightly placed trees.

"Done as in dusted, as in killed, as in slain, duh!" Buffy said "You are so gross."

"Touchy, touchy aren't we?"

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