Muse

He supposed you could call her his muse. Every night, as the haze cleared and his eyes adjusted to the lights of the stage, he’d find her. The one. The woman he’d sing to that night, pour out his heart and soul and passion to as he held her eyes.

The opening riffs of the first song in the set sounded as he scanned the writhing crowd that pulsed in the hot, smoky club. There she was. Tonight’s girl.

Blond hair, tiny, curves in all the right places showcased in clothes that revealed just enough. Her arms were raised above her head as she swiveled her hips to the beat that rocked the small club. And then she opened her eyes. Green, like the deepest sea after a storm. A slow smile crept across his face as his familiar opening rang out, " . . . and my name’s Spike," and the crowd cheered wildly. He locked eyes with the blond. He could see her reaction as she caught his gaze, almost a challenge as she returned his smirk and refused to look away.

Oh yeah, this was gonna be a helluva show.

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The club was dark during the set change, people milling around. She held her ground, wanting a good spot to get a look at the lead singer her friends had caught the night before, the one they’d raved sounded and looked like liquid sex. Well worth the cover charge. So after a few drinks at the bar while the earlier acts played, she jockeyed for a good location near the stage, praying she was about to be entertained after the killer week she’d endured.

The lights came up in a kaleidoscope of colors and the band began to play, a seductive hard rhythm that had her swaying to the music in minutes. She closed her eyes and let the sounds wash over her until he spoke.

That voice. Low, a bit of a rumble, a hint of a growl, a tinge of a purr. Seductive as hell. Her eyes opened to meet a pair of the most gorgeous ice-blue eyes she’d ever seen. And he was looking straight at her. She flushed but didn’t, couldn’t, look away.

And then he started to sing. They were on, the best band of the night for sure, but it wasn’t the music that kept her riveted to the floor, eyes never leaving the stage. It was him. He worked the crowd, his energy practically vibrating off him in waves as he crooned and wailed through the songs, amply rewarded with the screams of the crowd as they rocked out.

But it wasn’t just the energy, though she felt its tug like the rest of the mass on the floor. It was more. He always seemed to come back to her, to meet her eyes with a look that made her feel as though she was the only person in the room and he was singing just to her.

It was hot. Not just writhing, sweating, bodies moving around her hot. Internal temperature rising to the point of combustion hot. At the end of the first song, he did this thing with his tongue, while he looked head on at her, and it shot straight to her pussy, leaving her wetter than her ex had ever been able to in his sad attempts at five minute foreplay.

Her inner slut demanded reciprocity, and she slowly licked her lips, rewarded by the flash in his eyes as he smoothly began the next song. They teased back and forth as the band played on, to the point she started drawing evil glares from the other swooning chicks jockeying for attention. As the set drew to a close, Buffy knew she was more turned on than she’d ever been in her life, primed and ready for action. But the lights went dark as the last song ended and when they came back up, he was gone, leaving her feeling like a sixteen year old left stranded on second base.

She left the packed floor and headed for the bathrooms. Her whole body felt sensitized; every move sent a zing and crackle through parts she’d never considered erogenous zones before tonight. And those she had were tingling, begging for attention.

Her nipples were hard and heavy against the thin drape of the halter she wore, every brush making her long for harder contact, like fingers slightly rough from guitar strings, or a devilish tongue that could stroke and soothe.

She shifted against the wall as she waited in the insanely long lone for the ladies. Her thigh slid against the other as she propped a leg back against the wall, causing an involuntary shiver at the slight friction on her clit that was aching for contact. She welcomed the cool air that flowed up her brief leather mini, but the temperature change didn’t cool the fire at all.

She didn’t usually go for quick, anonymous fucks and bar pick-ups weren’t her style, but tonight she was giving it serious thought. She had an itch that needed to be scratched. And soon.

The line inched forward and she turned to scan the pickings. Too tall, too short, too psychotic, too needy. Damn, Goldilocks, pick a bed already,. But none of them were what she needed. None of them were the bleached blond, blue-eyed rock god that had set her world ablaze.

She gave up the search, She had her trusty vibe at home that would at least take the edge off, and she wouldn’t have to kick it out of bad in the morning. She could go home, close her eyes, capture him on stage, all sexy cheekbones and swagger, and catapult off the edge in record time. Probably multiples.

She wrenched away from the wall and headed for the back exit, away from the crowd, suddenly needing to be out of this place. The scene was dead, the new band flat, and there was nothing here for her.

The dark hallway was technically off limits to patrons, but she’d been here enough that she knew her way to the small door leading to the back alley without having to fight the crowd in front. She realized her hand had unconsciously moved to her breast as she reached for the door, grazing her nipple through the fabric as the images of him continued to swirl through her mind. She glanced around, but the hallway was deserted, no one had witnessed her little indiscretion. She pushed against the door, which seemed stuck, then gave a little shove and it swung wide.

The alley was equally shadowed, the faintest beams of moonlight barely illuminating the few boxes and the dumpster that occupied it. As the door shut, cutting off the echoed din of the music, she shook her head to clear her thoughts after the stuffy closeness of the club.

It didn’t work. She couldn’t seem to stop her fingers from darting to the other breast now that she was alone, tweaking the turgid peak roughly as she groaned with relief. She felt like a cat in heat, but she didn’t want to stop, needed to just take the edge off. She leaned back against the wall and slowly slid one hand up her thigh as the other drifted from one soft mound to the other. She slid her finger under the edge of the dripping wet thong and gasped as she brushed the sensitive bundle of nerves that sent shots of pure pleasure through her belly. She stroked herself, once, twice, three times and gasped as her head flew back, eyes closed against the sparkles behind her eyelids from the self-induced satisfaction.

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They were all wired by the time they left the stage, strung out on the feedback and exhilaration of a kickass performance. The next set was gearing up as they stowed their instruments and his mates pulled him with them towards the audience, looking for adulation and some easy pick-ups.

He stood at the edge, off to the side with the beer the bartender had cracked for him when they’d emerged from the back. He wondered if she was now doing a slow shimmy for the next lead singer, on to the next target like so many on the bar bunnies in the crowd. After a careful scan of the throng in front of the stage, he realized she was already gone. Unexpected disappointment surged through him.

He patted his pockets for his cigarettes, in need of the slow soothing slide of the smoke to settle him. The narrow hallway to the back was quiet for the moment, save one couple so deep into one another they seemed not to notice him until he was upon them. They broke their clinch and moved away as he shrugged an apology and headed out the door.

The alley was dark and cool. He leaned back against the door as he tapped his smokes and extracted a cigarette, flicking a bright spark to its tip as he inhaled the welcome nicotine. He wished she’d still been there. After the way they’d been going at it, he’d thought she’d have stuck around. They often did, his muse of the night, though he rarely did them. The fantasy that kept him going on stage infrequently inspired when he came face to face.

He flicked the ash from the burning tip before taking another long drag. She’d seemed different though. Fucking gorgeous for one, from the tip of that shampoo commercial hair to the toes of the come shag me boots that added a few inches to her diminutive height. But it was more than that. She’d had a sparkle in her eye, like she knew the game he played and she was going to best him at his own tricks.

And she had. She’d used every bit of body language known to woman to trumpet that she was ready, willing and able if he was man enough to take her, all while dancing to his tunes. It had been a real effort to keep himself under control up there on the stage.

He tossed the cigarette down and crushed it beneath his boot as he filched the next from the pack. Bleeding shame she’d left. He’d like to have known.

He felt the door move at his back and he jolted, realizing his quiet was about to be invaded. He ducked to the other side of the dumpster, into the deeper shadows as he crushed out his cigarette. He wasn’t up for idle chitchat at the moment.

He heard the door swing shut and the click clack of a single pair of heels on the pavement for a moment before they stopped. And then he heard her moan. Deep, breathy, orgasmic. He stepped to the side and nearly dropped the unlit cigarette he’d pulled out.

There she was. Muse of the night. And holy fuck, she was getting herself off, right there in the alleyway;. He watched her fingers slide deeper as her head fell back and she full out moaned her pleasure. His cock could have pounded nails at that moment as he watched the tremor, the twist of her lips as she peaked. He knew he had to have her.

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Clap. Clap. Clap. The sound of measured applause echoed loudly in the quiet alley as her eyes shot open and her hands flew to rearrange her disarrayed clothes. Oh shit. Could she get arrested for this?

"That, luv, was the finest show I’ve seen tonight." His beautiful growl sent sparks to all the synapses that were still firing in her already overloaded system, as she tried desperate to recover her equilibrium.

"Then I guess we’re even. You were the best show I saw tonight, too." She was surprised how low and husky and . . . suggestive her words sounded in her ears. He seemed to like as he stepped closer and tossed the unlit cigarette in his hand to the ground.

"You know what I think?" He was inches from her now, as he tilted her face up to meet his entrancing, hypnotic eyes. She couldn’t find her voice, her breath seemed gone in the tiny space between them, so she shook her head.

He dropped his lips to the shell of her ear, pinning her to the wall. "I think together, we’d be even better."

Her breath hitched in her throat as he waited, still, not moving away, but not moving towards her. Her brain was definitely mush at this point, reduced to one repeated exclamation of Yes! Yes! Yes!, but her voice didn’t seem to get the memo.

Instead her lips took action, meeting his in a clash while her tongue tattooed out her acceptance as they intertwined. He groaned as she ground her hips against his hardness, almost squealing at the solid length she found waiting for her there.

He broke away as his hand slid to caress her thigh, pulling it up to curve around his hip. "You want it here? Now?" he purred against her lips. "You want me to give it to you in this alley, up against the wall?"

She bit his lip as his words settled in, sliding her hand to pull loose the button-fly of his faded jeans, her fingers sliding down the smooth steel of his cock.

"Fuck me, now," she commanded in his ear, as he growled against her neck. "Such a dirty girl, gonna have to give it to you good, luv."

He thrust into her hand, lifting her easily and holding her against the cool roughness of the bricks. She locked her legs around his back as he pushed the nonexistent skirt away and shoved her thong to the side so he could plunge into her dripping depths.

He slid inside in one smooth thrust until he was buried completely in her welcoming body, and the frenzied pace of their coupling froze as their eyes met with the force of their joining. She knew her breath was coming in high-pitched, breathy gasps as she struggled to process the sensation, the way he filled her entirely, as though made for nothing but her.

He leaned his forehead against hers as he held her steady and withdrew, only to slide home again, slowly, almost reverently this time, as though savoring the experience.

"Fuck." His softly muttered exclamation caused her to open her eyes. "Never felt anything like this, pet, you’re like a kid glove wrapped snug round me." He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her throat, a rain of soft touches as he continue to murmur, "So beautiful, so much fire." She drew his face back up between her hands, and captured his lips again, unleashing the passion that had been overwhelmed by the sheer wonder of their joining.

His breath grew ragged as he began to increase the pace, long, deep strokes that had her shuddering as he hit that spot deep inside, pushing her to the brink as she bit his shoulder to muffle the scream that ripped from her lips as she shattered into a million pieces around him. She felt his answering shudder as he spilled inside her, hot and wet juices mingling to run down her thighs as he eased her down to stand on shaky feet.

They stood in utter silence for a few minutes, bodies still loosely intertwined as their breathing slowed, hands gently caressing in reassurance that this wasn’t a dream. She buried her face in his shoulder, relishing the hard warmth of his body as he sheltered her for the moment. She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to think about the fact she’d just screwed a stranger in a back alley like some sad groupie. As long as she didn’t open her eyes, the magic was still there, the feeling they’d just connected that made this more than some drunken encounter.

The door to the alley swung open, throwing a sharp square of light onto the concrete. "Yo, Spike, we’ve got the equipment loaded. You done with your smoke?"

There was a brief pause in which she knew they’d been spotted, still in dishabille, leaned against the wall.

"Oh, sorry man."

He straightened, pulling away from her enough to look towards the door. "Be with you in a minute." His tone was dismissive and the door shut abruptly, plunging them back into shadows that she welcomed now to hide the rising blush on her face.

"Sorry about that. . ." He paused and traced a finger down her cheek and across her swollen lips gently. "Don’t know your name," he murmured with regret.

She tried to pull away. "Maybe that’s best." Her laugh was as brittle as an old pane of glass. "After all, I think we both got what we were after."

She refused to meet his gaze as she stepped out of the comfort of his arms, trying to straighten her skirt and halter into something that resembled her pre-ravishment state. She could feel the stickiness on her thighs and the wild excitement that had run through her veins only minutes before seemed to have deserted her. Now she just felt dirty and a little stupid. She moved to walk away.

He caught her arm. "Please don’t go," He pinned her eyes with his, that same mesmerizing look that had enthralled her so when she’d first seen him on stage, as he echoed his words from that moment. "My name’s Spike."

She searched his face in the shaded light. There were a thousand reasons to walk away. But his eyes held the promise of a reason to stay.

She stepped back towards him. "I’m Buffy."

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He supposed you could call her his muse. Every night, as the haze cleared and his eyes adjusted to the lights of the stage, he’d find her. The one. The woman he’d sing to that night, pour out his heart and soul and passion to as he held her eyes.

There she was. His Buffy.

"I’m Buffy."

She stood there in the light of the alleyway, holding his gaze as she took him up on the implicit offer in the introduction.

He held out his hand and she placed hers within. "I think it’s to early to call it a night, don’t you?"

She nodded and he curled his fingers around hers. Such a simple thing, so basic, something a young teen might do on their first nervous date, but he felt a thrill run up his arm as she responded, the slightest of pressure. She followed him down the alleyway onto the side street that paralleled the club where his bandmates were waiting by a large white van.

He could feel her reluctance to move towards them, bashfulness creeping back over her. He found himself captivated by her contradictions, the siren on the dance floor, the wanton woman in the alley, and now the shy girl half hidden behind him.

He turned again, shielding her from view. "See that bike over there?"

"The silver one?"

"Yeah. That’s my ride. You want to wait for me over there?"

She nodded and crossed the street as he walked over to the van.

"Ohh, looks like someone got lucky tonight."

"Shut it, Harris and toss me my jacket. You guys good? The manager say anything else?"

"They said we fucking rocked, man. Want us to play again next Saturday." Harris threw his leather duster out the window and he caught it with one hand.

"Good to hear. Well, I’ll see you boys back at the house." He winked. "Don’t wait up for me."

He ignored the catcalls and hoots as he crossed the street to where she was leaning against the bike.

"Nice ride."

"Gets me where I need to go."

She straightened up. "There’s just one problem though."

He arched an eyebrow in question as she gestured down to her brief excuse for a skirt. He let his eyes wander down the length of her legs and found himself hardening as he remembered what it had felt like to have those very limbs wrapped around his waist just a few minutes before.

"They don’t look like a problem to me, luv. Not at all." He stepped closer only to find her hand stopping him.

"No, I can’t straddle the bike in this skirt without flashing everyone."

Oh. That turned him on even more. He could just see her, sprawled on the bike, tiny skirt hitched around her waist exposing those brief excuse for knickers. Course it wouldn’t do for her to be exposing her bits to everyone.

"Here." He thrust his coat at her. "Put that on."

She took the coat gingerly. It was a battered piece of leather, worn around the edges, but soft as butter. She slid it around her shoulders. It was miles to large, the sleeves covering her wrists, but even though he laughed at her, he helped her turn up the sleeves. She settled herself on the bike and draped the coat to cover her as she locked her arms around his waist.

"Ready?"

"Yeah, where are we going?"

"Little place out by the coast. You up for a ride? Thought we could go there, be a quiet place to chat."

"Sounds good."

He started the engine and they roared off into the night.

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She buried her face against his back as they rode, slightly sheltered by his body from the cool night air as it streamed past them. What was she doing? It was two a.m., she was riding a motorcycle with a man she’d just met, about who she knew barely anything, other than his name was Spike, he was in a band, and he was excellent in bed. Well, actually she wasn’t sure about bed, but he had the wall thing down.

She cringed again. She’d had alley sex. With a stranger. She was such a slut.

But it had been so good. Like Penthouse letter good. Like brag to her girlfriends good. Like she wanted it to happen again good.

She really hoped he wasn’t an ax murderer.

She sniffed his back surreptitiously as he steered them round the curves, inhaling the sweat and smoke that shouldn’t smell good, but did. Riding a motorcycle was like flying, the way they slid into turns, her whole body shifting with the machine as she held him tightly, her thoughts moving as swiftly as they were.. She could worry over what was happening, or she could make the most of it. Forget being Good Buffy for the night and enjoy being Decadent Buffy. Take what she wanted, and enjoy it.

Decadent Buffy won. Hands down. She was going to enjoy herself.

She smiled against him as her hands slid a little lower, creeping under the edge of his shirt to find his bare flesh beneath. Mmmm, ripped abs, she could feel the definition of his toned stomach under her fingertips and she began to explore further. Oh yeah, definite six-pack, she couldn’t wait to get a better look at him.

She suspected she’d be embarrassed whenever they finally arrived, because between the vibration of the motorcycle against her bare thighs and the fantasies spiraling through her head about what they’d done earlier and might be doing later, she knew she was going to leave the leather of the seat dripping. She wondered what it would feel like for him to take her on the motorcycle, drape her across the seat and plunge into her. She wondered if she’d have the guts to ask him to.

He slowed then, pulling into a small road that led off the main highway. The road had a chain draped across the access lane to block auto traffic after hours, but he veered onto the smaller bike path to the side and continued on until the main highway was no longer in sight. He pulled the bike into the clearing that connected to a small overlook and picnic area, entirely deserted at this time of night.

He cut the motor and she relaxed her arms slowly, adjusting to the lack of movement. He slid off the cycle and helped her off as well.

"You okay?"

She nodded, wobbling a little as she steadied herself on her heels again.

"C’mere, want to show you something."

He took her hand and walked with her over to the low stone wall that served as a barrier to the edge. She realized they were somewhere on the cliffs, high above the ocean. She looked over at the pounding surf that crashed below, as he slid his arms around her, anchoring her in place so she could lean even further.

She watched the power of the water as it assaulted the cliffs, forcing spray high into the air in burst after burst of energy. Further out, the moon shone on the water, creating a trail to the horizon on a surface that was deceptively calm. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

"Wow, this place is gorgeous." She turned slowly. "Thank you for bringing me here."

"You’re welcome."

The silence lengthened between them. He held her loosely in his arms, still draped in the heavy coat.

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you bring me here?"

He laughed a little then. "What kind of answer are you wanting, there, pet? I could give you several and they’d all be true."

"Surprise me."

"Well, I brought you here ‘cause I know how beautiful this is in the moonlight, and I thought you might enjoy it."

"And?" She cocked her head to the side.

"And I wanted someplace quiet where we could talk, without anyone interrupting."

"What did you want to talk about?"

He smoothed a strand of her windblown hair out of her face. "You. Me. What happened back there. Get to know each other."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

It was a good stopping place but she couldn’t resist. "Anything else?"

He smirked then, that sexy grin that had melted her from the stage. "Was hoping for a repeat performance, if you’re up for it. Something that good should never, ever, just be done once."

Her breath hitched a little as she watched his darkened eyes, "No?"

"Nope." He slid the jacket slowly from her shoulders, letting it slide to the ground as his face descended to hers. "I want to see what you look like naked, under the moonlight. Want to see what you taste like. Take it slow and sweet, get to know you, know what makes you all hot and bothered."

She felt as though she were blushing from head to toe as his hands loosened the halter top around her neck, but she didn’t protest as he slid the ties loose and exposed her breasts.

"Beautiful, just like I knew they’d be." He traced the crown of one rounded mound, lightly coasting over the rosy aureole that crinkled and hardened at his touch. She knew she was trembling as she listened to his hypnotic voice.

"Is this alright Buffy? Can I touch you like this?"

"Yes, please, Spike, more."

He didn’t need a second invitation and within seconds he’d swooped her and the jacket up and carried her back to the motorcycle.

"Can I take off your skirt, Buffy?"

She reached behind her and unsnapped the clasp herself, lowering the zipper as his fingers traced her hips and lowered the miniskirt. She stepped out of the material and pulled the remains of the halter over her head, leaving her standing in the nearly ruined thong and her leather boots. She couldn’t ever remember feeling so exposed, yet the heavy lidded gaze that assessed her made her feel as though she were a goddess. She arched her back, and leaned against the motorcycle.

"See anything you like?"

His snarl was answer enough as his fingers slid the thong off her legs, leaving him kneeling at her feet.

"Spread you legs for me."

She complied and moaned as his tongue buried itself between her legs, teasing and taunting her aching flesh there. She could almost feel the first spasm of a pending orgasm from his rough tongue caressing her flesh when he stopped.

"No, don’t stop, please, Spike, don’t."

"Not through with you yet, luv, not by a long shot. We’re just getting started."

He picked up the neglected jacket and folded it back against the handlebars of the cycle, then picked her up and sat her in reverse on the saddle.

"Lean back for me there."

She did, feeling dangerously exposed with her legs spread wide as she held on to the handlebars his fingers had curled hers around. She watched the stars above as he slid on to the cycle facing her, one finger tracing her skin starting at her shoulders.

"You almost glow, Buffy, did you know that?" His finger slid between her breasts, down her stomach, then traced the curve of her inner thigh. "All this pretty, pretty flesh. You gonna let me have my wicked way with you, pet? What do you want me to do?"

She didn’t even know where to begin. Her repertoire of talking dirty had pretty much been exhausted back there in the alley, she just knew she wanted him to keep doing what he was doing. She felt wildly out of control, naked, exposed and prone beneath his gaze as he continued to caress her flesh, small touches that inflamed her.

"More, that, whatever you want. Just don’t stop."

He leaned in and added his tongue to the mix, licking the soft underside of her breast, tasting the curve of her belly, the tautness of her hip. Her breathing sped up, as his nose brushed softly against the neatly trimmed curls surrounding her sex, but he kept going, teasing the skin where her hip met her thigh.

"Tell me what you want."

"My breasts, touch them."

His fingers were on her nipples in an instant, shaping them, twisting just enough that bolts of pleasure zinged through her. His lips followed suit, drawing sensations that had her writhing. She buried a hand in his hair and he instantly stopped. "Don’t let go of those handlebars, Buffy."

Her hand was firmly reattached to the bar in an instant. She was rewarded as he returned to worshipping her breasts, still sensitive from earlier. She shuddered against him.

"More."

"You want more? More what Buffy?"

"You. Want to see more of you," she panted. "Take your shirt off."

"The lady knows what she wants." He slid off the back of the cycle, pulling the t-shirt off in one fluid motion. "Anything else?"

She nodded. "Lose the jeans."

He tugged off his boots and the worn jeans slid down his legs, leaving her looking as a marble sculpture that almost seems to good to be true. His cock was hard, jutting out from his body as he stalked back towards her.

"Like what you see, pet?"

"Oh yes, yes, yes." Her affirmation became more of a scream as he slid two fingers inside her without warning, searching for just a moment until he found the spot that had her howling. Her body shuddered and twisted as she gripped the cool bars. She needed more.

"You, want you, now."

It was all the invitation he required. "Gonna turn you around, now, luv. Gonna make this so good for you."

He sat her up and swung her to face the front of the cycle, laying her in a similar position as before, arms holding the bars. He slid her back slowly, titling her pelvis as he slid home into her. She gasped. The angle was exquisite, every thrust making her body shiver and pull him back again. Her new position caused her sensitized nipples to scrape against the soft leather underneath her, sending tingles that joined the ones brought by his fingers which were slowly massaging her swollen nub with soft flicks time with every thrust. It was as though everything was reduced to the sensation of touch, every slide of flesh on flesh the only thing that mattered in the world. She felt the onset of an orgasm, then another as she felt him shudder against her, climaxing inside her.

He draped himself over her back as he slid out of her, gathering her up in his arms as she realized she was still trembling from the intensity of their coupling.

"Shh, shh, luv, it’s okay, didn’t hurt you, did I?"

She shook her head, burying her face in his neck as he rubbed her back, easing her back down.

Slowly she parted from him and slipped to the ground, searching for her clothes that lay scattered around without a word.

"Buffy, you okay?"

She nodded but didn’t glance up, still hunting for the lost thong.

"You remember what I said? About why I brought you here?

"Yeah. Repeat performance."

He caught her arm then, and forced her to look at him. "That wasn’t all and you know it." He cursed under his breath softly. "I’ve really bollixed this up, haven’t I? Didn’t mean to shag you first, planned to talk and whatall, but you," his voice lowered then, softened, "you do something to me Buffy. Set me on fire."

"Really?"

"Yeah, pet." He pulled her into a soft kiss that was different than their previous frantic liplocks, yet with no less passion. "Now what do you say we have that talk?"

She nodded, her world shifting back into equilibrium at his reassurances, and stifled a yawn as she handed him his jeans.

"Am I boring you, Buffy?"

She grinned as she reached to fasten her halter, "You really have to ask that after you had me howling at the moon? Nah, you wore me out."

She watched as he slid his T-shirt back on and finished the buttons on his jeans and knew suddenly what she wanted. She might regret it later, hell she might regret this whole night later. But Decadent Buffy still seemed to be in the driver’s seat. She opened her mouth before Good Buffy could jump back in.

"Spike? You want to maybe come home with me? We could talk in the morning."

"You want me to stay with you tonight?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Who knows, that bed thing could be really kinky."

He grinned. "I think I’d like that." He settled his coat around her shoulders. "Let’s ride."