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It's not supposed to be this complicated, this difficult. It's supposed to be sex and violence not hearts and roses or like going into bloody battle. A good spot of violence and shagging the adrenaline out is the way a demon's meant to do it. Still there are always exceptions to the rules, as Spike knows.
He stares down at the small offending object and curses, he can't stop looking, stop waiting for something to happen. He keeps checking even when he's only left it for a moment or two. He keeps wondering again and again, small paranoid thoughts entering his mind and he curses again. He blames Xander; in fact no, he blames Dawn too.
The all-too-annoying human who's turned his un-life upside down and now dictates his every thought and the way too enthusiastic teenager who's introduced him to the rules.
Rules...
His mouth screws up in annoyance; his eyes flashing golden slightly as he checks the mockingly silent object again and reaches for a cigarette. He tastes the flavour on his tongue and instantly feels calmer; the familiar act eases his tension. He's a demon for bollocks sake not some poncy human, he shouldn't have to feel this way. He should be bending Xander over backwards and introducing him to his shaven John Craven not lounging about getting more frustrated by the minute.
He sighs and takes another drag. It's all Dawn's fault, before she'd put her oar in Xander and him had been going fine. Granted Spike isn't been sure where they were going but he was well up for the ride. A few stolen kisses, teasing glances and touches had meant differently then, they'd meant 'keep this up and well be shagging soon' not is it just pulling, or seeing or bloody dating.
He sighs, sometimes being a demon is better. You take, you give, sometimes you both enjoy, nuff said. He's a demon, an old demon, relatively speaking. He isn't one of the 'newbies', the fledges, with their flash technology and sayings, their rules and provisos and their general stupidity; despite having a chip in his head he's no more human.
He takes another drag and stubs it out. Dawn had introduced him to the 'new way' of doing things a few days earlier- straight after she'd caught him and Xander becoming repeat offenders at giving blow jobs around the side of the house.
Not that she'd seen anything, Spike had smelt her in time to pull Xander up and had been in the process of struggling with his flies when she'd caught them. But the nibblet wasn't stupd, still isn't stupid despite the rules and Spike knows this. It's the only reason he's actually going along with them, at least that's what he tells himself, that and Xander. He knows Xander's one thing he definitely isn't willing to give up, that's why he's playing by the rules.
And getting pissed off by them.
The whole 'no sex before the third date' rule had already been thrown out of the window when Dawn confirmed that foreplay counted. The whole not dating till actually asked, not tied down and able to see other people thing is still a little confusing for him but despite that rule he already knows if he smells someone else on Xander he'll go crazy, though he's not sure where the boy stands on it. He cracks open another bottle.
It's playing games and Spike doesn't like to play games, not unless they are proper head games that only a demon can do and there's shagging to be had afterwards. He growls down at the object again. He'd been given an intensive introduction to the games courtesy of Dawns lectures and her magazines and now they were grating on his nerves. Not all of them, half he could give a flying fuck for but the one that really gets to him, the one rule that has him upside down and all but crawling on the ceiling is the phone rule.
The most innocent one that apparently 'everyone goes by'. The three-day rule.
It's been one day since he last saw Xander (according to Dawn patrols do count) and now he has to wait three days before contacting him again. It wouldn't be so bad if Dawn hadn't managed to convince Buffy to get him his own cellphone, now he has his very own accursed thing to avoid and check and growl at. Now he has to wait three days before contacting his boy. Any more and he's not interested, any less and he's entering stalkerville. If Xander phones him, all is well and the three-day rule is void but if he texts him, according to Dawn, Spike has to wait at least two hours to text back.
He growls slightly, he knows Xander won't contact him, won't do the chasing. That's what he's for, what he enjoys. He growls again and whirls around at the phones innocent beeps, possibly proving him wrong. With a suprisingly nervous stomach he picks up the phone and reads the innocent message.
With a growl he tosses it onto his bed. Fucking mobile updates.