Dinner Presentation

Spike tugged at his collar and muttered a swear under his metaphorical breath. One of the women at his table glanced at him, and he gave her a benign smile. When she turned her attention back to the lecturer, he rolled his eyes and started to play with his dinner knife again, all the while thinking of ways to kill the Slayer and Giles and everyone else for making him have to be the one to come to the dinner presentation.

Giles had found out through Buffy and Willow earlier in the day that a renown anthro-something-or-other, whom the former Watcher knew to also be heavily into the occult, was giving a dinner presentation at one hundred dollars a plate. Not able to attend himself because of researching the new demon in town, Giles had suggested that Spike "be of some use, for once, and attend." The blond vampire had tried to pawn the duty off on someone else, but Willow was helping Giles, Buffy had to be on patrol because of the demon, Xander was working, and Anya had laughed in his face.

So Spike was stuck sitting at the furthest cloth-covered table from the podium near the wall along with seven other people he didn't know, dressed as a nancyboy in a pair of tan khakis, white shirt, blue sport coat and matching tie, and, Satan save him, loafers. Buffy had proclaimed at the start of the night that there was plenty of time before she needed to hit the streets to take him to the mall and dress him properly for the dinner. He would swear that he'd seen an unholy gleam in her eyes when she'd volunteered, and he'd quickly learned how much the Slayer liked using him as a dress-up doll.

If any of his brethren saw him, they'd die again from laughing too hard at him.

Shifting on his padded chair, he tuned back into the lecture, listening for the things Giles had told him to listen for.

"...the evolutionary constitution of the genus has metamorphosed into a conglomeration of..."

Spike silently cursed the ex-Watcher for doing this to him. He cursed the soldier-boys for fixing him. He cursed the Slayer for making him help. He cursed the others for being alive. He cursed his Sire just because. He cursed at the boring doctor of anthro-whatever for being a dry as desert sand.

He cursed when he felt something brush against the crotch of his khakis.

The blond vampire clutched the butterknife in his hand and dropped his gaze to his lap. His eyes widened perceptively when he saw familiar painted nails on a slender but strong hand waving up at him. He glanced at his table companions, then purposely dropped the knife on the floor.

Bending, he picked up the edge of the long tablecloth and found a devilishly smiling Slayer kneeling at his feet. Then he felt a devilishly groping hand on his crotch again and he hissed, "Slayer!"

She batted her lashes at him and her thumb rubbed over the material pressed against his testicles, causing the muscles in his groin to tighten and his penis to become rock hard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his neighbor shifting to look down at him, and he quickly grabbed the butterknife and straightened, allowing the tablecloth to fall back into place.

Spike gave the man next to him a tight smile, showing the guy the retrieved knife. The man gave him a bored look and returned his attention to the speaker. Spike clamped his thighs together, trying to stop Buffy from torturing him there in the dinner hall, but since she was the Slayer, she easily pushed his legs back apart and he felt her position herself between them. Then he was surprised to feel both of her hands on his hips, and he glanced down just as she tugged him forward on the plastic-covered, cushioned seat.

He should get up and leave. He should get up and leave right now. He should get up, leave, grab her when she came out and shag her outside beside the building. He should not move a single inch now that her hot tongue was licking his cock like a popsicle under the table.

He knew this was payback. He also knew that if he interrupted the lecture or didn't pay attention to it, Giles would cut off his television and lock him back up in the bathtub. He quickly debated the pros and cons of Giles's wrath, then lost all ability to think when Buffy sucked his shaft into her mouth. All he could do was sit there, clutching the knife in his hands, and stare at the doctor of anthro-who-gave-a-fuck-what-it-was as the man droned on, while the Slayer did wicked things to him under the table.

"...cognitive culpability in the developing socio-stratus within this anthropological foundation..."

The knife snapped between his hands, causing the others at his table to look at him, as Buffy continued sucking him expertly. He gave them a pained smile and dropped the broken utensil to the table, where the pieces made small thuds against the cloth-covered, fake wood. The seven glared at him, then looked back towards the podium.

They turned back towards the boring doctor of anthro-whosiwhatsits just in time, too. Spike felt his sac contract and his cock swell a moment later. He bit his lower lip to keep from growling out loud as he shot his semen into the Slayer's greedy, sucking mouth. His entire body shook once, violently, in aftershock of his orgasm. His two closest neighbors turned a puzzled glare on him again, and he mouthed "I'm fine."

Spike felt Buffy pat his softening shaft in a loving gesture, then tuck him back inside of his khakis. He briefly wondered how she was going to escape from under the table when he saw her crawl out next to his chair, glance up and wave at him with a naughty grin on her face, then crawl behind him towards the wall. He turned slightly on his chair at the same time she stood, smoothed out her clothes, and walked out of the room as if she didn't just give him a blow job in the middle of a dinner presentation.

He casually looked at the other patrons and his table mates and saw that none of them had beared witness to the Slayer's leaving. Shaking his head, he slid back on his chair and glanced down into his lap to be certain he was zipped and buttoned and nothing was sticking out. There was a piece of paper tucked into the waistband of his khakis.

With a slight smile, he pulled it free and opened it, holding it beneath the edge of the table to read it.

Giles expects a full report of Dr. Mantwinka's presentation. I hope you were paying attention.

"Evil woman," Spike muttered to himself, earning yet another glare from his table mates. He sighed and settled himself back to listen to the good doctor of anthro-bloody-fucking-boring-as-hellology finish his presentation.

"...restitution of abnormalities with the psychoanalytical nomenclature as presented by..."

Spike tugged at his tie and wished the guy would just shut up so he could find the Slayer, throw her onto whatever flat surface was available, and shag her brains out.

End