Word count: 650
Summary: Spike and Buffy go out on the town in San Francisco, at a drag bar.
Buffy felt pretty fly in her shiny gold pants and strappy sandals. A gauzy top floated around her hips as she danced. Spike looked good, too. He'd made a small concession to date night, and was wearing a shirt with just enough buttons undone to make her want to undo all the rest. Yum. Also, she was pretty sure he had on eyeliner. Add all that to the fact that he was actually dancing with her — and not just the slow dances, either — and she had to admit he was pretty much the perfect man.
Then the drag queens stepped onto the dance floor. Glittering and absolutely perfect from their glossy bewigged heads to their perfectly pedicured toes. Each one was approximately 2 feet taller than Buffy, partly because of the shoes that made her dizzy to look at. And they had moves, all slim hips and eloquent gestures. Buffy sighed. The perfect woman was probably a man, too.
Spike was not as distracted by the beautiful queens, so he was the first to notice the vamp. He tapped Buffy and jerked his head toward the creature, prowling the perimeter, looking at the dancers like the predator it was. But beautiful. Tall, shaved head, leather jumpsuit, tasteful ink. Very chic.
Buffy headed over and stopped in front of the vampire, hands on hips. She could feel Spike just behind her, to the left.
“I've got a bone to pick with you,” she shouted over the music.
The vamp looked at her with mild interest, and then at Spike, who got the full once over. Buffy rolled her eyes.
“Hey! Down here.”
The vamp dragged its eyes back to Buffy and managed to look thoroughly bored. Buffy grabbed it by its elbow and firmly marched it out the exit and into the alley. It didn't run, just pointedly adjusted the sleeve Buffy had been holding.
She and Spike faced it and crossed their arms.
“The owner tells me you're not playing by the rules.”
“Yeah, I'm a rebel,” drawled the vamp, its tone musical. Spike growled.
“Yeah, well, that makes you my problem. I've got enough problems,” said Buffy.
“So I see. Maybe I can help you out with that,” said the vamp, looking at Spike again.
“Look. I'm being more than fair here. Harmony, of all people, has laid out the guidelines for peaceful coexistence between...” she pointed at jumpsuit vamp, "vamp...” she jerked her thumb back at the club, “human...“ she pointed at herself, "and slayer. You're obviously not a zompire, so why not just get with the program?”
“Honey, my whole existence has been about not doing what everybody tells me to. What makes you think I'd listen to that little...blonde...suburban...dingdong?” It waved its forefinger with its long, glittery nail from side to side with every pause.
Ouch. Buffy narrowed her gaze and scowled. “She's your queen, right?”
“Her? Vampire Queen? Ha! I'm the real Vampire Queen!” It paused. “Her hair is good, though.”
“Well, okay, that's fine. But if you're going to keep chowing down on the humans, you're going to be an ex-vampire, PDQ. You got me?”
“Sure, Barbie. I got you.”
The vamp lunged for Buffy's throat, and met with one of her uppercuts instead. Its arms pinwheeled as it staggered back, which had an interesting effect when Buffy kicked it onto the stake Spike held before him. The dust whirled around in a way that was sort of ... flamboyant.
“I thought that one might have been reachable, you know?”
“Liked her outfit, did you?”
“Yeah,” she admitted.
“She was still a nasty bloodsucker.”
He looked at her and hesitated before speaking.
“Buffy, these...ladies 'round these parts,” he started. “They're quite...something. Point is, they've got nothing on you. You'll always be my queen.”
She thought about it and smiled. They went back in and danced until last call.
AN: Having gone (twice!) to the absolutely wonderful drag version of Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Live! last month, I felt that our local girls should get some appreciation!