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winifredsandersonsbitch · 4 years

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Stripper with a Heart of Gold

Spike x Reader, BTVS

Warnings: minor spoilers for S5, cursing, PG-13 action but nothing else.

Description: Spike promised you he’d get the money, so he picks up a job. You’re out with your coworkers when you catch him in the middle of his shift at the Sunnydale Strip. It’s more than a little awkward.

Clearly, I have a thing for bad boys who offer financial security 😫

When you come in for the night, Spike’s waiting. He’s been slipping twenties in your pocket lately like you wouldn’t notice (who else but Giles has that kind of cash?) and you haven’t brought it up despite your guilt. You really need the help. Keeping the three people in your household fed + all of your frequent visitors is expensive, especially because Buffy burns through so many calories daily. Plus the water bill, the electric bill, and all of the crazy damages that you have to somehow try to budget for in your monthly expenses...

Tonight he follows you up to your bedroom while the girls are downstairs watching TV and closes the door behind you.

“Spike, if you think—”

There’s a huge wad of cash in the hand he holds out to you. For a moment, you can only blink at it, mystified.

“Take it. It’s for you.”

You reach out for it as if in a trance, then recoil like you’ve touched something scalding.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but I can’t accept this,” you say, but it comes out quiet and not at all assertive.

“I want you to have it.”

There’s a little furrow between his eyebrows that deepens when you pull away. He doesn’t understand you. He’s seen you at the diner, working yourself to the bone, plastering on a smile for all of the customers even when they cross a line. You hate it there, but you do it for the money. Now he’s offering you enough to get through the whole month, as long as there are no surprise visitors, and you won’t take it.

“I don’t like to be indebted to anyone.” You’re shaking slightly from exhaustion and the unexpected gift, so you lower yourself onto your bed and clasp your hands in your lap.

“No, you’re worried about where I got it from. Isn’t that right, pet?” He sits down next to you, placing the money on your nightstand and patting it twice. “There. Now it’s passive. You don’t have to take anything, I just left you an early birthday present.”

“Spike.”

“I got a job, all right?” He turns your face to his, examines the bags under your eyes. “You’re not the only one with a work ethic around here.”

“I can’t support you going back into smuggling. Or gambling. Or—”

“It’s an honest job. I work the night shift. That’s why I haven’t been around so much lately.”

You hadn’t noticed, if you were being honest. You were too busy trying to keep everyone you loved alive and fed. Maybe that was his point.

He strokes the side of your cheek with his thumb and it’s an effort not to lean in, to pick up where the two of you left off only the week before.

Was this what he had been like with Drusilla?

You force yourself to pull away, removing his hand from your face and threading your fingers through his to keep him still. He’s been so touchy recently. You can’t trust your reaction to it.

“If that’s true, it’s still not right of me to take it from you if you’re under any impression about—” You swallow. Your palm starts to sweat under his. “We’re not— I mean, I can’t ever— I know we’ve been close recently and if that’s the reason why you’re giving me this, because you think it’s going to make us... if you think what happened last time is going to be some kind of recurring thing—”

He’s watching you stumble with open amusement, without any indication that he’s going to come in and save you from yourself.

“If this money is meant romantically, I can’t accept it,” you say finally. “I don’t want the strings attached.”

“Full of ourselves, are we?” he asks, slipping his hand out of yours. The loss of contact seems to bother you more than him.

He heads for the door, leaving the money next to you. You skim the bills with your fingers as if possessed, almost salivating at the thought of relative financial security. You could get your friends real presents for Christmas and focus on paying off your loans with your next paycheck. Maybe even—

He catches you in the act and you jerk back guiltily. Spike only shakes his head. Then he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket and his smile slips.

“You and I both know that money is the last thing you need to be worrying about right now, what with Glory after the little bit.”

He’s right, but you’re not happy about it. You make up your mind. You try to keep your expression neutral as you hand him back the bills. He can’t know what it’s costing you to turn this down.

“I can take care of it,” you say. You look him in the eye. “I will take care of it. Thank you, Spike, but I don’t want your help.”

“It’s hard for you to lower yourself to my level when you don’t know how long I’ll be around.”

The observation makes you blink and the cash crumples as you ball up your fists. He’s right, but how dare he say it?

Spike places his hands on your shoulders to keep you from charging. You have the same look on your face that Buffy gets right before she slams him up against the wall and rattles his brains.

“I get it. I’m still the same old evil Spike who’s tried to kill you and your friends so many times we’ve lost count. But I’ve got this chip in my head and I’m bloody bored anyway, so let me do something for the one person in this house I can stand, all right?”

You’re wavering, but it’s not enough. Your hand just opens and closes on the cash robotically as you try to process what you’re hearing, calculate the odds of this self-destructing, decide what the right thing means in a situation like this. Before you can revise your morals to fit, Spike goes in for the kill.

“You said once that we were friends for now. That as long as I wasn’t killing people and wanted to hang out, you’d be there, because you thought everyone had the capability to do good. You thought you could change me.” He’s fond of this memory. You can hear it in his voice that he still thinks it’s bullshit, but it gives him the warm fuzzies anyway. “I don’t care about the world or the superfriends or the ethics of vampirism. I care about you. If we’re friends like you say, let me do this for you.”

You open your mouth and then close it, like a very stupid fish. Spike chuckles and pats you on the head the way you might soothe a puppy.

“If it would help you to believe this is the first step in me developing some kind of moral compass, go right on ahead, love.”

——

You had only started your day job about a month ago and you were only working part time, but you know how important it is to make friends in the workplace. So when they finally invited you out for the night, you were ecstatic.

They told you there was a bar just off the highway that they liked to frequent. We’ll carpool, they said. You’ll love it, they said.

It’s a strip club.

Fluorescent lights stripe across the top of the building, supporting a flashing sign with a topless girl with tasteful silver stars over her nipples. The bouncer at the door has definitely done hard drugs at some point and the music blasting from inside is deafening even out in the parking lot.

After a moment’s hesitation, you roll with it. You know how to relax, even if everyone else thinks otherwise. You can play the necessarily part, share giggles with the others as you watch the show. You can slam back tequila shots and find it in you to order a round for the table. This is an opportunity, you tell yourself, to pretend everything’s normal for a night.

The “bouncer,” who is probably only there to flatter the older customers by checking their ID, lets you all through and your coworkers drag you to seats in the front. There are poles at various stages sprinkled casually throughout the main area and scantily clad men and women are visiting tables. Every so often, they lead a patron into the back for a private dance.

You’re not a total innocent, but it’s still hard to keep yourself from blushing as you walk past them, unsure if you should make eye contact or not. It’s been awhile since you were anywhere remotely as recreational as this. It’s harder than you thought to shake off your big sibling persona, so you head to the bar with Marie and bring the first round of drinks back to the table.

“This place is special,” she tells you, sipping her Cosmo. She pats your hand in a way that’s near maternal, though she’s only older by two years. “It takes a little getting used to at first, but don’t be scared.”

“Scared?” you laugh. The scariest thing you see is a guy sitting in the back corner trying to coax over a stripper who clearly knows better. You could take him, if it comes to it. Easy.

“It’s a Sunnydale special, that’s all. But it’s a clean business. Perfectly safe, as long as you follow the rules.”

You’re about to ask what those would be when one of the dancers slips off the pole and bites a customer. You bolt from your seat, searching for anything stake-like, but Cara rises to put a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, relax. It’s okay. Watch.”

Watch? That vamp is going to drain that girl dry, you can’t just sit back and—

The dancer removes herself after about thirty seconds, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and blowing her partner a kiss. The girl’s table congratulates her with wolf whistles, slamming back another round of drinks.

“See?” Cara says. You sink down slowly, still watching wide-eyed. “You have to pay extra for biting, but it’s worth it.”

Gina puts a cool hand to your forehead. “Are you feeling all right, sweets? I know it’s a little different, but you said you’d lived in Sunnydale for years. We figured you were familiar with the undead populace.”

“I was.” You’re a little dazed. Mentally beating back your fight-or-flight reflex with a shovel. “I mean, I am. Only not like this.”

“Capitalism at its finest,” Marie sighs.

“Yeah, it’s regular symbiosis,” you agree absent-mindedly.

Things were so much easier when you were helping Buffy kill demons outright. All this moral gray is confusing as hell.

“Everything all right, ladies?”

Oh, shit.

The lighting is low so you duck your head and pray that he doesn’t see you cowering behind Gina, but luck is not on your side today. Cara has decided you’re being too uptight.

“I’d like to buy a private dance for my friend,” she purrs, pointing a manicured finger to you. “They’re new, so be gentle.”

“I’ll do my best,” he says with a wink, making the girls giggle. “What’s your name, love?”

Then his eyes meet yours and you inhale a breath that catches in your throat. Gina elbows you, like Hot, right? You elbow her back and pray he chooses not to embarrass you.

Spike’s pupils are blown. He’s tucked into nothing but tight black briefs and a tie that hangs down to his navel. The rest of him is laid bare for your view and you are really, really trying not to look.

After a beat of surprise, he takes your hand and pulls you out of your seat to lead you to the VIP area in the back. The girls are calling out behind you to have fun, already chatting up another stripper.

He sits you down in an open booth. On the other side of this smaller, darker room, there’s another vampire with a customer. She waves at Spike and then continues gyrating on her guy’s lap as he pours out all of his problems about his ex-girlfriend.

“I didn’t know you worked here, I swear,” you whisper, turning your attention back to him. “I wouldn’t have come if I did.”

“I don’t mind, pet.” He lowers himself onto you before you can protest, leaning in close. You swallow hard. “Your friends seem fun.”

“They’re coworkers, really. This is the first time we’ve been out together. I didn’t know we were coming to a, um, club.”

“I believe you.”

He’s steadying himself with his hands on your shoulders now, his breath ghosting over your face. He’s been surprisingly sweet about this so far, but there’s a bite to him. He’s still, as he frequently reminds you, evil. He’s taking this opportunity to demonstrate it.

“You’re tense, love.” His knees spread to either side of you and he rises up on them so that his chest is level with your face. You have to tilt your chin up to look at him. To make sure you look at nothing else. “Let me help. After all, we want your friend to get her money’s worth.”

He’s so close that he’s practically on top of you as he moves, swaying his hips back and forth, squeezing his knees to the outside of your thighs to keep him steady. It doesn’t matter that nothing below the waist actually come into contact with your skin. You can feel it. Him. Tremors shoot through your nerves as he leaves behind any semblance of stuffy British politeness and grinds down on you, grinning wickedly the whole time, like all roads lead to him and this club, like he somehow planned the whole thing. Then he leans back and holds out the end of his tie to you and you make a decision. You tug him towards you.

He’s everywhere, insistently parting your lips to slip his tongue in, knotting his hands in your hair, making you moan in a way that’s still completely indecent, despite the setting. Your eyes close and you briefly wonder if the other vampire and her client are still here, if they’re enjoying the show, but then you can’t think of anything except him.

His fingers begin to massage your lower thigh, creeping upward to trace the sensitive skin left exposed by your very short shorts. He’s drawing hearts, but you’re certain it’s not love he’s thinking of. It’s about blood. Isn’t it always?

“Wear these to tease me?”

“You wish,” you pant. You keep your palm wrapped around his tie like it’s the lifeline between the two of you, the only thing keeping you from drifting off into space. He presses back into you, this time giving you a taste of the show everyone else comes to see.

There’s nothing tender about this part. It’s gasping and bruising and pent-up frustration, maybe on your side more than his. It’s harsh, consuming. It feels like you’re being swept out to sea by a riptide. There’s no life vest in sight.

Then you’re coming down from your high and he’s working you through it, murmuring to you about how rightly jealous your friends are going to be at the bright hickey on your neck. He’s taking care of you, just like he said he would.

He smells like graveyard dirt and cinnamon. You’d make some quip about it being the cologne of the season among undead strippers, but you have to focus on breathing.

You’re disgusted with yourself. You’re elated. It’s confusing, but there’s no doubt that you’re disappointed when he takes his thumb to swipe away a strand of saliva that’s been left hanging and pulls away.

He untangles himself from you, leaving your lips pink and swollen and glistening, and tugs you out of the booth.

“Your friends will be wondering where you are,” Spike says. He’s sweating a little. You can see it beading on his chest. You’re proud. You caused that.

“And you need to get back to work.” You straighten your top, combing through your hair with your fingers, trying to compose yourself when you don’t know if you’ll ever be fully coherent again. You don’t know the etiquette for situations like this anymore, so you offer him a half-smile and stuff your hands in your pockets. “I’m sure the club’s missing their best dancer.”

He’s never been one for humility, so he just nods. He can’t help biting his cheek in satisfaction as you walk past him, all hot and bothered, hair mussed and cheeks pinkened. He did that.

When you get back to your table, your coworkers demand to know all the dirty details, although they’re busying themselves with throwing money at one of the pole dancers.

Spike stops by on his way to another table with some excuse about returning your bracelet, which he no doubt stole off your wrist during your “dance” for this exact purpose. He folds it into your palm, then bends to whisper in your ear.

“I’ll come by the house after my shift.”

Your friends practically swoon.

#spike x reader #btvs x reader #btvs #fanfiction #btvs season 5 #buffy the vampire slayer #buffy season 5

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