Buffy fiddled with the melted wax candle that had adorned her birthday cupcake, and stared vacantly out at the empty street in front of her house, trying her best to block any negative thoughts from her mind.

Impossible.

The cupcake had felt like ashes in her mouth, been dry, tasteless, nearly impossible to choke down. She’d made the happy face and licked off the frosting, and talked about creamy goodness just so her mother wouldn’t ask any more questions. Not that she would have, if she hadn’t commented on the stupid “I got older” comment, she wouldn’t have mentioned an uneaten cupcake. But, Buffy had finally swallowed it, and then she’d gone up into her room, stuck her finger down her throat, thrown it up, then collapsed on the bathroom floor and sobbed quietly for hours.

She was tired, so tired, every muscle and nerve and bone in her body hurt. Wait, can bones hurt if they weren’t broken? Well, if they could, hers certainly did. Yeah, you could bruise a bone. Giles said that once. Whatever. She hurt. And she could hardly keep her eyes open, but when she tried to close them, the events of the last few days would just play over and over in her mind.

Angel.

Angelus.

Sliding into her, deep, quick, causing her pain, kissing her squeezed shut eyelids and whispering his love for her.

Then her foot sinking into that same part of him, showing him exactly what she thought of him.

It was a lie, of course. Well, a facsimile of a lie. Giles used that word a lot, pretty sure this was the right context. If not, whatever. Not like she was actually talking to anyone. Just herself.

What did she think of him? How did she feel? She loved him, she hated him, she feared him, she wanted him. Dead, alive, she wanted him. But she could never have him, not now. Not after what he’d said, what he’d done, what he’d continue to do until she could stop him.

Buffy buried her head in her hands and cried.



Fucking Angelus. Coming back all big and bad in those bloody stupid leather pants with his stupid spiky hair and his stupid tiny shrunken penis, whisking Dru away to bed because poor Spike couldn’t get out of his wheelchair to stop it.

Which was a lie. They didn’t know that, of course, but it was lie. He’d regained use of his legs, and tonight he’d been planning to take Dru out hunting, celebrate his recovery in style, fuck her against some dirty alley wall while standing over the bleeding and dying and crying body of some nubile young thing. Oh, they’d paint the town red, they would, both finally strong and ready to take on the town. As it should be.

But no. She was off chained to the bed, naked, screaming, “Harder, Daddy! Harder!” and he was horny and fucked right over. Sod it all.

Spike strolled the streets of Sunnydale, his legs a little weak but certainly working, keeping his eyes peeled for a scrumptious morsel to take out his aggressions on. But he saw nothing remotely appetizing, and the one girl he’d considered suddenly sneezed and coughed like she had diphtheria, and he had no desire to drink tainted, disgusting, bacteria infested blood. He had class, after all.

He made his way through a residential area, contemplating lighting a house on fire just to watch it burn for a speck of entertainment, when the scent of a certain little Slayer caught his attention.

Oh, yes. He was weak, sure, but he could at least taunt the chit. Get in a few good punches. Make the bitch cry. It was her bleeding fault, anyway. Bringing back Angelus because of that sweet little pussy of hers. Fucking women.

Sniffing deeper, Spike turned left and walked a bit quicker, the muscles in his thighs protesting at the unfamiliar strain. He made his way to the sidewalk in front of her house, and saw her there, curled in a ball, blonde hair hiding her face. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped short. Salt was in the air. She was already crying.

Well, that was no fun, then.

“What’s the matter, Slayer? Bad night?”

Buffy lifted her head quickly and stared directly at him, face wet with pain, eyes bright and aching. “What do you want, Spike?” She asked hoarsely. His heart seized a bit. Never could resist a pretty, crying girl.

Sympathy. Not what he wanted to feel. “Came to get a few licks in, but I can see they won’t be very satisfying. Not letting the great poof get the better of you, right? I’d be right disappointed, thought you were stronger than that.” He moved forward purposefully, but yet, not menacingly, and stopped just out of striking distance.

“Go away,” Buffy said softly, her Slayer senses abandoning her. She didn’t think she could fight if she tried, she’d have to run into the safety of her home like a weak little victim. “I don’t want to fight you right now.”

“Who said anything about fighting?” Taking a great risk, Spike sat down on the porch next to her, chuckling inside at the look of total surprise that replaced the sadness on her face. That was a step in the right direction.

Build the bitch back up to her fighting attitude, then kill her. Not as fun when they’re all weak and teary. And at least this game was distracting him from Dru.

“You said. With the licks.”

“Who said I meant punches?” Her young eyes widened. Excellent. “Don’t look so surprised, Slayer. With all the talk Angelus did about your special, special night, thought I’d come see for myself if he was making it all up. Said you were pretty boring, all limp and cold, can’t imagine that’s the truth.” Her face crumpled. Well, damn. He didn’t get as much pleasure saying that as he thought he would.

She choked back a sob and scooted away from him, dropping her candle to the ground. Stupid vampires. “Fuck you.”

“Slayer! Such language. Never heard such a word cross your lips. But, if you insist…” he walked his fingers across the step, towards her thigh, trying to get her to punch him, to react in her normal Slayer way. She slapped his hand away, weakly.

“You’re a pig, Spike.” Her breath caught in her throat. Why couldn’t he just go away?

“You know it, baby.” His un-beating heart went out to her. Fuck. Screw his plans.

They avoided looking at each other for a minute, staring in opposite directions. Suddenly, Spike turned and cleared his throat.

Buffy watched him curiously, without fear, as he pulled out a cigarette pack and offered her one. She wrinkled her nose, he shrugged, and started to light his own, then thought better of it, and put the cancer stick back.

“What are you doing here anyway?” She finally spat out when curiosity overtook her pride. “And where’s your wheelchair?”

“Don’t need it anymore. Keep that just between us, yeah? Was out for a stroll, saw you all pathetic and weepy, thought I’d offer you a bit of company.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Because you hate me.”

“Don’t really hate you, so much, want to kill you, big difference.”

“Oh, I’m so flattered.”

Next, out of the depths of his pockets, Spike extracted a silver flask. Again, he offered it to her. Again, her nose wrinkled, but as he started to shrug and put it to his own mouth, she snatched it out of his hand.

C’est la vie. Or, carpe diem, or, let’s get drunk. She just had to make it to the front door if he started to get bitey. No problem.

Just a second later, after a deep gulp, she was coughing her lungs out. “Holy crap, what is this?” She shivered exaggeratedly.

“Bourbon.” She looked almost…cute, grimacing like that. Huh.

“Ew.”

“Don’t drink it if you don’t like it.”

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it!” She defiantly took another long swig, and kept her face as straight as possible.

“Slow down, now,” he said warningly, pulling the flask away before she could take a third gulp. “This is strong stuff, with your tiny little body might just knock you out cold, then I could have my wicked way with you.”

“I’m the Slayer, three sips of alcohol isn’t gonna hurt me,” she huffed, blatantly ignoring his last comment, which had sent a strange and unfamiliar spark through her.

“I’m just looking out for you.” He took his own deep drink. “How much have you eaten tonight?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Empty stomach, alcohol hits you faster.”

“I ate…nothing. A birthday cupcake. Then I threw it up.”

“It’s your birthday?” He said in surprise.

“Was,” Buffy said quietly, picking up her candle again, twirling it in her fingers, caressing the melted wax. “A few days ago.”

The light bulb went on in Spike’s head. Shit. Fucking Angelus. “Happy Birthday, Buffy.”

The sound of her real name in his voice surprised her, and him, and they just stared at each other for a moment.

A car door slammed across the street, and the sounds of a laughing couple could be heard in the dark. Spike smirked and lifted up his flask. “Someone’s getting a shag tonight.”

Why is he talking about sex? Don’t talk about sex. “And how do you know that?”

He tapped his nose with one finger. “Can smell it. Some bird’s all hot and bothered.” Spike grinned lasciviously.

“You can…smell that? Specifically? Ick.” Oh. Oh. No. Bad.

“That I can, pet,” his eyes raked down her body, suddenly forgetting permanently about his devious plans when that very scent started emanating from the body of the girl next to him. “Can tell when a woman’s all…wanting.”

“Oh, you can not,” she shook her head, finding her mind already a bit clouded. Wow. Not lying. Strong alcohol. “You’re lying.”

“Vampire senses.”

“Seriously, why are you here?” She changed the topic quickly. “Being…almost nice to me.” And he was. Being civil and nice and…not trying to kill her. The world was all out of whack.

“Got nothing better to do, since Drusilla’s off shagging Angelus.” The sobs were back then, quickly, unexpectedly, and he muttered a curse, as the image of that very thing flashed in his mind, and he heard her pained cries. They were the same, the two of them. Feeling just the same. “Sorry, pet. Shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Yeah, no kidding Captain Sensitive.” Her words held no power when she whimpered them.

Stupid crying women Achilles’ heel. Spike reached out awkwardly and patted her back. And then said something stupid. “Don’t be sad, kitten. He’s not worthy of you.”

She laughed, a bitter, sad laugh beyond her years. “Right. I’m so valuable, says the evil soulless vampire.”

“I may be soulless, but I’m not blind.” And he wasn’t. Never had been.

Buffy stuck her hand out, and Spike relinquished the flask to her. After another deep gulp, she giggled, “This is definitely better than a cupcake.”

“No, it’s not, pet,” he said softly. “Gives you a different kind of rush, sure.”

“What, you like cupcakes?”

“Love ‘em.”

She giggled again. “William the Bloody Cupcake Lover.”

“If you tell anyone, I’ll have to kill you,” he growled.

“Promises, promises,” she reached out a hand and pushed him lightly, the alcohol making it’s way through her veins and lightening her mood, lowering her inhibitions more.

“I just growled at you, Slayer, you can’t pretend to be a little scared?” He stuck his lip out in a pout.

Buffy fixated on that lip for a moment, before snapping back to attention and saying, “You like cupcakes, and you’re pouting, and you’re being nice. You’re not remotely scary.”

He’d noticed. He’d noticed where her gaze was. “Take it back, little girl.” Sliding closer to her, Spike lowered his voice, and menaced, “Better be careful who you talk to like that.”

“What, you’re gonna bite me? I’d stake you so fast you wouldn’t have time to open your mouth.”

“Oh really?” He lunged at her, and suddenly, a chunk of wood was pressed against his chest, and Buffy’s eyes were wide with fear, and the scent of it replaced that tantalizing promise of her arousal. “I was joking, pet, okay?” Spike backed away slowly, raising his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Don’t want to hurt you.”

“You don’t?” She almost believed him.

And she should. Last thing on his mind was biting her. Unless she wanted him to, of course. “Truce. You don’t hurt me, I don’t hurt you. Till tomorrow, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Lost my yen to kill something, enjoying talking to you. That so hard to believe?”

Lowering the stake, she smiled weakly, “Little bit.”

“Well, it’s true!” He scoffed. “Don’t know why, though. Really did want to fight you at first. Wanted to eat you right up.”

“That is your nature.”

“Don’t forget it.”

“Won’t ever,” she said softly. Couldn’t ever. For the rest of her life, short or long, she’d never forget what truly lay at the heart of a vampire. She’d seen it. Tasted it. Felt it. Couldn’t ever forget.

Spike felt her shiver next to him, and almost without thinking, slid off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Buffy stared at him as if he’d just started speaking Spanish. Or, no, she at least knew a few words in Spanish. Greek. A totally foreign language.

“You were cold,” he said defensively at her curious look.

“Yeah…thanks.”

Mind going a million miles an hour, Spike watched the Slayer out of the corner of his eye. The alcohol was getting to him. So was the anger. The months in a wheelchair. The frustration. And she was sitting next to him, face wet with tears, but her eyes dry at the moment, trying her hardest not to look at him, the smell of sex a hint in the air.

She wasn’t going to look at him. No, Buffy would keep her eyes firmly on the ground about five feet in front of her, and she would list the multiple reasons why Spike was probably plotting to try to kill her, and she should just get up and go inside. Now.

He suddenly became aware that he was hard. It wasn’t an altogether uncommon occurrence when he was around the Slayer. Fighting such a foe, tits bouncing, hair shining, sure, it made him hard. Fighting and fucking, intertwined in the mind of a vampire. But they weren’t fighting now. No, no they weren’t. And, he hadn’t really had a proper erection in months, what with the paralysis and all that. This was interesting.

The alcohol was definitely having an affect, Buffy realized. She felt a little like she was swaying back and forth, but she was sitting firmly on the ground. And her chest felt all warm. And, for the first time in quite a few days, she was kind of in a good mood. As long as she didn’t think too much about who was sitting next to her, and who was across town having sex with---fucking---screwing the vamp ho girlfriend of the person who she was pretending wasn’t sitting next to her. Oh, but that didn’t work. It’s like the pink elephant, when someone says not to think of a pink elephant, that’s all you can think about it, and once she told herself not to think of Angel that’s who she was thinking of. Yep. Drunk.

“Spike?” Buffy said softly.

“Yeah, love?”

“Why…what else did Angel say? About me…not being good.”

Oh, fuck. He’d told her about that, hadn’t he? Stupid tosser, that’s what he was. “You don’t want to know, pet, he was just being Angelus. Not important.”

“It is, though. It is…I mean, if your first time turned out so very, very badly wouldn’t you want to know---“

“It was your first time?” he blurted out. Oh, bloody hell. Angelus must have mentioned that, but he had to have blocked it out. Didn’t always want to listen to the great poof, especially when he was yammering on about his Slayer and her…virgin little pussy? Christ.

“Um. Yeah? So, if I was bad---“

“You couldn’t have been,” Spike insisted, turning and sliding towards her. “If you gave the prick his one moment of happiness and all that rot, you weren’t…couldn’t…you must have been…” Glorious.

A jolt of electricity zinged through her lower belly. “Must have been what?”

“Perfect.”

Oh, there it went again, that bolt of energy. Buffy could feel it. Spike could sense it. Smell it.

“Can I have the flask again, please,” she asked politely. He obliged, not tearing his eyes from her face. They were sitting close together now, almost touching, Buffy wrapped in his leather, him drowning in her eyes.

She took a deep gulp of the liquid, ignored the burn as it went down her throat, then leaned in, and kissed him.

Buffy kissed Spike.

He’d sensed her arousal, he’d sensed his own, he knew she was slowly approaching drunk and was clearly depressed, but this was not what he expected.

Oh, not that he minded it.

Buffy pulled away, and became slightly afraid when she saw the vampire’s eyes dark with lust.

“I’m…Oh, GOD!” She burst out, standing up quickly as she fully realized what she’d just done. The movement was too fast, however, with the alcohol coursing through her veins, and she wavered on her bare feet, and started to fall back down.

Spike was up in an instant, grabbing her to hold her steady, then attacked her mouth with his own.

She struggled, pushed against his hard chest with her usually strong, formidable fists, wriggled her hips as he pushed his own into her, whimpered pathetically around the harsh melding of their lips.

“We can’t, Spike, don’t---“ She insisted when she managed to pull away for a moment, gasping for air. But he didn’t let her continue her objection, and kissed her again, forcing his tongue into her mouth as she protested.

Oh, God. He tasted like…the bourbon and cigarettes, which, ew, she’d always heard kissing a smoker was like licking an ashtray, but there’s no way licking an ashtray could ever taste like this. There was some other flavor there too, rich and hot and no, a flavor can’t be hot, and did she just moan? She may have, oh, she must have, because he heard it and now he’s pressing her up against the front door, rough, something hard pressing into her---

“NO!” She pushed him away with that Slayer strength she’d been missing, panting heavily.

And he was panting too, panting for breath he didn’t need, eyes glittering almost amber. But still beautiful.

Bloody hell. He’d imagined it, sure, kissing the lips of a Slayer. His fascination with them had occasionally turned sexual, not that he’d ever acted on it. Wasn’t ever time, really. But her lips, sweet, soft, her innocence, her stupid fucking innocence and those wide green eyes staring angrily and lustily at him, the smell of her want. The violence he wanted to inflict and his desire for her melded into an unavoidable deep ache in his gut.

“No?” He said, voice low and throaty, slowly moving back towards her, closing the few feet of distance she’d managed to gain with her last bit of energy.

“We can’t.”

“You won’t.”

“No, we!”

“Well, I can, and will, do whatever I want. And so can you.” He placed his hands on either side of her head, put his face a few inches from hers, and said in that same deep voice, “You started this, Slayer. Not me. You offered up that sweet little---“

“I didn’t offer anything!” Buffy squeaked nervously. “You got me drunk, and I’m just---“

“So wet you can’t stand up straight?”

She gasped and wrinkled her nose. “I’m standing fine.”

“Really?” His voice was coy, teasing, as one solitary finger lightly touched her shoulder, then began to creep down her chest, between her breasts, across her flat stomach to dance at the edges of her pajama pants. He moved to lick her tears off her cheeks. “So your legs aren’t all quivery and weak with wanting me?”

Her eyes had begun to drift closed, until that cocky comment came out of his stupid smirking mouth. She pulled a fist back to punch him directly in his nose, but he caught that fist mid-air.

“I hate you,” Buffy spat.

“So you keep saying,” Spike replied, bringing her fist to his mouth and kissing it lightly. “Remember the truce, pet. You don’t hurt me, I don’t hurt you.”

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

He shrugged. “Could swear on something. Could make you a promise. But really, Slayer, you either believe me, or you don’t. Doesn’t matter either way, not planning on leaving…” His voice trailed off as he became entranced by her chest, rising and falling quickly with her rapid breaths, and he bent his knees to nuzzle between the soft slopes of her breasts.

An unintelligible moan slipped out of Buffy’s parted lips, and her fuzzy mind couldn’t come up with another objection. “Spike?” It was clearly a question, her voice void of all her previous bluster and confidence, searching for some sliver of honesty from him.

He straightened up to look her dead in the eyes. His face was slack, no smirks, no raised eyebrows, making him look so much younger, almost…innocent. He lifted one hand, and lightly rested it on Buffy’s cheek.

“Yes?” Spike said softly.

She didn’t say anything, and so he kissed her again.

There was no way to tell how much time has passed, how long they’d been kissing, standing against her front door, Spike’s arms crushing Buffy to his chest, her hands awkwardly resting on his shoulders, her own fear keeping her from moving them as she wanted to.

Spike would have none of that, though, and took one of her hands, pressed it to his chest, then slid it down his torso to rest at his belt buckle. When she didn’t take the hint, he pulled away from her swollen, overworked lips.

“Slayer…” Spike scolded teasingly, as his devil’s lips moved from her mouth to her cheek, to her ear, to her throat. And that’s when she balked.

“Wait, stop!” Buffy pushed him away again, heart pounding from lust, with a healthy side order of fear and nerves, fear from having an evil soulless vampire next to her jugular. All her experience and training and reading, well, the reading she was supposed to have done, told her that an evil vampire by her neck was definitely, definitely not okay.

“Haven’t we already moved past that nonsense, kitten?” Spike murmured, hips gyrating against hers in a rhythmic, circular, insanity-inducing way. He breathed in deeply, drunk on the strong scent of her arousal. He pressed his knee between her thighs and almost groaned aloud at the heat he felt there. Right then he decided there was nothing that could stop him from burying himself in her sweet, nearly virginal pussy. He wanted her, and he would have her.

“I…I can’t…” Buffy gasped as feathery light kisses crept up her shoulder to her throat again.

Spike moved to her mouth and, suddenly bit her lip, roughly, but not quite hard enough to draw blood, then stole her breath with another demanding kiss, sucking the air out of her into his own useless lungs. “Yes, you can, and you will,” he growled once he pulled away. He kissed her throat gently, laved it with his tongue, his ministrations a promise that she needn’t fear him being there. He moved to her ear, voice low, demanding and laced with lust, “Now invite me in.”

“Invite…no!”

“Is that your favorite word?”

“No,” she whimpered, as his hands grasped her hips to pull her harder against his pelvis, and dipped under her pajamas to caress her ass. “No…”

“Well, then stop me, Slayer,” Spike just laughed at her. Her taste on his lips, the smell of her want, and he was back to his former self, the self before the wheelchair and Dru’s traitorous dalliances. He was on top of the world with a Slayer in his arms, a Slayer melting at his touch, but trying to resist it. Which just wasn’t allowed.

“I…my mom. Is in there,” Buffy protested feebly.

“Is she now…” he mused, fingers dancing up and down her side, tracing light patterns, playing with the edge of her tank top. “Does she sleep soundly?”

She was distracted for a moment by the dance of his fingers, drowning just a little bit in the blue of his eyes. He pinched her side, lightly, repeated his question, and she stuttered, “Um…yes? Sort of.” It was practically a lie. Her mom slept like the dead, actually. Well, not Spike’s kind of dead. The real dead.

“Well. We’ll be very, very quiet, quiet as little mice, and she falls under the category of the truce. Won’t touch her. How’s that, pet?” When she didn’t say anything, he said smoothly, “Come on, kitten. Stop thinking so bloody much, you’re taking all the fun out of this.”

Buffy suddenly snapped back into herself, still suffering from waves of lust but far more furious at the condescending tone in Spike’s voice. She pushed him away again. “Shut up. I hate you.” She moved to punch him directly in her favorite vampire target, the nose, but her slightly drunken self was slow enough that Spike dodged, and her fist landed on his temple.

“No you don’t. And, ow!” He rubbed his head gingerly, eyes shooting daggers at her. “That wasn’t nice, Slayer. You should make it up to me.” He raked his eyes over her body lasciviously, not remotely deterred by her apparent rejection of him.

“You’re a pig, Spike. Go away.”

“Oink, baby. And, not a bloody chance.” The vampire moved to kiss her again, but found himself thrown back a few feet, teetering on the edge of the porch steps. “What’s your problem?” He spat, then suggestively dragged one hand down his torso, and spread his palm against the hardness in his pants. “I know you want it.”

Without him touching her in his infuriatingly distracting way, Buffy had the faculties to smirk, “It? Doesn’t look all that impressive from where I’m standing.”

His eyes flashed yellow for a moment, his demon raging inside him at the girl’s insult, the man inside him feeling hurt and confused. “Oh, I’ll show you how impressive I am, Slayer,” he snarled, choosing to respond with anger as opposed to the offense he felt, lunging for her again.

But before Spike could reach her, Buffy snaked one arm behind her back, opened the door, and stepped behind the mystical, invisible obstacle keeping the stupid sexy vampire away from her.

“Ha.” She smirked happily, enjoying the astonishment in his gaze.

“Not funny, woman,” he placed both hands on the unseen wall keeping him out, finally realizing maybe force wasn’t the way to worm himself into this girl’s pants. Spike softened his tone to a purr, began to seductively stroke the doorframe, and tried a new tactic. “Please, baby? Let me in? I just want to make you feel good.”

“I feel fine without you, thanks.”

“Liar. I can smell how much you need to come.” He curled his tongue suggestively.

A devilish thought entered her mind, one that went against her virginal purity. Because, you know what, hey, not a virgin anymore. Says Madonna. “I do, you’re right. Maybe I’ll just go take care of that myself.”

Stunned beyond belief, Spike hardly registered when Buffy stripped off his duster and threw it at his head, then shut the door in his face. After a few seconds, he roared, “Bloody hell!”

Wincing at the loud noise, Buffy glanced at the ceiling, praying to the Powers That Be that the stupid idiot undead hadn’t woken her mother. She scurried up the stairs and lingered at the master bedroom door. Good, her mother’s familiar slight wheeze was audible. Not awake.

Listening carefully, she tried not to be disappointed when she heard no signs of Spike rampaging outside, demanding to be let into her room and between her legs. She tiptoed into her room, shut the door behind her and leaned against it with a sigh.

Then jumped a foot in the air when an insistent tap at her window made her head snap to the left. Spike was on her roof, clearly furious.

“Open the window or I start yelling and waking dear old mum,” his muffled voice came from the other side of the glass.

Reluctantly, against her better judgment, against any judgment at all, really, she moved to the window and slid it open. “Can I help you?” she asked politely.

“Real cute, Slayer,” he sighed. “You didn’t start without me, did you? Not that I’d mind watching you slide those fingers into that delectable wet little quim---“

“Ew! God, Spike, graphic much?” Buffy shuddered. In disgust. Not because of the image he painted. Guh.

“It’s all your fault, pet. You put those lovely images in my mind when you so rudely locked me out of your house.”

“Didn’t lock you out, just didn’t invite you in! Jerk.”

Spike smirked at her, being uncharacteristically patient, and pulling out his flask to take a shot. Seeing her eyes follow the metal container, he thought quickly and remarked casually, “Too bad you can’t handle your liquor. Got a few shots left, at least.”

“I handle my liquor fine!” Buffy snapped, refusing to take the insult. She reached out with Slayer speed and grabbed the flask, thinking she was quick enough that Spike didn’t even register it had happened.

Oh, he’d registered it alright. Mission accomplished. “What, you’re going to drink it all? Good luck with that,” Spike snorted derisively.

Defiantly, Buffy raised the flask and, after making a preemptively disgusted face, chugged down some of the bourbon. “Oh, that is foul,” she whined, shaking the flask gently and wincing at the sound of plenty of remaining liquid.

“Should loosen you up a bit, though,” he grinned, now seeming perfectly content perched on her roof.

“I’m perfectly loose,” she spat.

“Actually, you’re tight as a virgin. Or, almost a virgin.” An angry glare later, and Buffy was taking another deep gulp of his flask. He felt oddly guilty again, and said “Sorry, pet. My mouth sometimes runs ahead of my brain.”

“Really? Never would have guessed that,” Buffy mumbled, far less incensed than he expected her to be.

“You know, you’re better off without the tosser,” Spike offered kindly, now missing the flask Buffy was making short work of. “I mean, really. He’s all…moody and superior. With bad hair.”

“Says the Billy Idol wannabe! I like his hair.”

“I’ll have you know that thieving bloke stole his look from me, thank you very much. Can I have the bourbon?”

“No.”

“Well, is there any more liquor in this house you could fetch? I’m feeling parched.”

“Deal with it. And Angel’s not moody.” The second the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was a total lie, but tried to save face. “He’s…deep.”

Spike practically giggled, something Buffy found almost adorable, and said, “Yeah. Deep as a well, that one. He’s just weighted down with the redemption and the soul and all that rot.”

“Or, he was,” Buffy sighed sadly, drinking down the last of the alcohol and making another face.

“Now, now, don’t get all pouty. It could be worse. For instance, you could have been with a woman for a hundred years and done damn near everything to make her happy, then she up and starts shagging her precious sire in your bed.”

“Raging slut.”

“Hey! Drusilla is not a...alright, she’s a slut, but she’s my slut.”

“Oh, because it’s so nice to have a slut of your own.”

Abruptly, seeing the girl swaying a bit on her feet, Spike asked, “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine. Good. None of your business.” Buffy sat heavily on the ground, the alcohol hitting her like a brick wall, warming her skin and making her limbs tingle. And other things, definitely still tingling.

“Well, you look good,” he leered, peering down at her from behind the infernal barrier, still suffering from an insanely hard dick and an infuriatingly bruised ego from her rejection. “All mussed hair and flushed skin. Makes a bloke want to---“

“Shut up, Spike.”

“What?” He asked innocently. “I was going to offer to play chess.”

“If by chess you mean…something sexy.”

“Very witty, Slayer.”

After a brief moment of quiet, Buffy blurted out, “Okay, and no.”

“No…what?”

“You and your stupid skank of a girlfriend? So not worse than me and Angel. We’re like…tragedy. And you’re comedy,” Buffy nodded proudly at her assessment, moved to take another drink from the flask, and frowned sadly when she remembered it was empty. “I mean, it’s not like you guys really loved each other. You don’t even have souls.”

Bloody stupid fucking Slayer. “You don’t know anything,” Spike growled, dangerously close to vamping out, body suddenly tense with anger. “You don’t need a soul to love someone. In fact, without one, I’d wager you can love a hell of a lot more deeply since you’re not all wrapped up in right and wrong and morals, and you know what, Slayer? I love Dru with every sodding bone in my body. She is my black goddess, my salvation, my—“

“I’m sorry!” Buffy whispered, painfully sincere, seeing in the flash of Spike’s eyes the pain she didn’t think anyone else was feeling. Could feel. Her soft words cut through his tirade instantly, and he snapped his mouth shut. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to make you…mad. Or sad.”

He shrugged, her sweet apology robbing him of his righteous indignation. “It’s okay. I’m sorry your ex is a pillock.”

“Well, I’m sorry your girlfriend is a great big ho.”

“Excellent. Now that we’ve cleared that up, can I come in?” His simmering rage over Drusilla’s infidelities certainly did nothing to bring down his boiling desire. In fact, it probably just contributed to it. Love and hate and rage and sex? All one and the same, especially when you had a hot little morsel sitting on the ground, just waiting for a ravishing.

“Now, really, why would I do that?” Buffy shrugged. “You seem perfectly comfortable outside.”

“Well, I’m not. The bed looks much better. You, me, the mattress, some dirty little nasties, what do you say Slayer?”

“I say, shut up.”

“Invite me in, then make me.” He wiggled his tongue.

Buffy sat on the floor, legs crossed, alcohol coursing through her veins, desire and his gorgeous accent distracting her. She bit her lip nervously, her mind battling with her heart battling with her body and why, oh why, did she drink that disgusting bourbon? She couldn’t seem to focus long enough to convince herself that soulless demon in her bed equaled bad. Not with the way he was looking at her. The way he’d touched her. The way they were having a…conversation, a conversation that made her forget he was an evil soulless thing. He was just…a guy. A hot guy.

Annoyed with her silence, he ordered, “Invite. Me. In. Now.”

She wanted to. And he could tell she wanted to, but clearly, demanding things of the Slayer was not the way to go, as her eyes hardened and she hissed, “Don’t tell me what to do! You’re not the boss of me. I’m the boss of me. And…go away.”

“Not a chance. Kitten,” he sighed, the man inside of him finally gaining the confidence to speak to her honestly, without any more games. “I think it’s pretty clear that I want you. I’m not out to hurt you or…hell, I don’t know, ruin your precious reputation or whatever plot you think I’ve got cooked up. I’m just…here. And I don’t understand it anymore than you do, so don’t ask me what the fuck is going on, but there’s something going on with us, yeah? And we’re both hurting, and…this’ll help. It will. So, please, baby?” Spike stared her directly, intensely, eyes naked, devoid of artifice or manipulation.

She stood slowly, her own expression unreadable, and steadied herself with one hand on the windowsill. “We’re kind of a sad pair, aren’t we?” she sighed after a minute.

“Yes, love. We are.”

She was quiet again. “Come in,” she finally whispered, the words almost pulled out of her by his eyes.

He had to have thrall. Really.

Spike refused to give her a second to change her mind once the words were out of her mouth. He clambered through the window like a man on a mission, devoid of his usual cat-like grace in his hurry to get to her. He pulled Buffy into his arms as if the minutes of separation had been hours, kissed her once, and tossed her on the bed. Then, he was pressing himself on top of her, the evidence of how much we wanted her situated right between her thighs.

“You taste so sweet, you dirty little vixen,” Spike murmured as he licked a path from her chest to her ear, lingering a bit at her throat, where, despite her insistence to the contrary, he knew she wanted him. “Did you have fun teasing your Spike? I should really punish you, but I can think of far more interesting things to do.” Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she had to say was swallowed by another fierce kiss from the vampire.

Each touch of tongues drove her wild, each purr into her lips made her shiver, each caress of his hands made her ache. When they parted, she let out an unintentional moan, surprised at how vocal she was being, surprised at the reactions Spike was causing her to have.

“Now, now, kitten,” Her visitor cautioned, listening intently for any sounds of stirring from the elder Summers’ room. When he heard none, he continued in a whisper. “Have to keep it down, yet? Don’t want mommy dearest knowing what you’re up to. Although, seems like she’s a right heavy sleeper. Which will come in handy when I’m making you scream.”

“I don’t scream,” she insisted firmly.

“Oh, you will.” Spike returned to his worship of her lips, hands roaming over her breasts, through her hair, and across her flushed cheeks. He grabbed one leg, wrapped it around his waist, and made obvious what he wanted to do to her by slowly thrusting his hips against hers.

And suddenly, unbidden memories of her recent night with Angel assaulted her.

Angel hadn’t panted like Spike was panting now, he hadn’t murmured how good she was going to feel as he fisted her tank top and tore it away, he hadn’t let out low, throaty moans as she’d dug her nails into his shoulders, and scraped down his arms.

But he’d told her he loved her, he’d kissed her gently, he’d asked constantly if she was okay, if she was sure. He’d thrust against her, just like this. He’d held her like she would break, like she---

Spike sensed instantly the moment Buffy’s mind drifted away from the present, left him behind, and frowned his annoyance into the breast he was currently kissing.

“Don’t think about him,” he growled around her nipple, interrupting her thoughts, before biting it lightly and eliciting a high pitched squeak. He raised his head, and looked at her flushed, nervous, excited face. “Think about me. Think about how I’m making you feel.” He slid one hand down her pants to play with the edges of her panties, then dipped one finger in to find her wet and wanting him. “How does that feel, Slayer?” He grinned as she began to mewl.

“Umm...good…” Buffy sighed, all thoughts of Angel pushed away as Spike’s fingers stopped their slow stroking of her sex and moved to yank her pants and underwear off, leaving her bare and naked to his gaze.

Spike had always been appreciative of her cute little body, showing it off as she did in those tight tops and tiny skirts. But he wasn’t prepared for the perfection that laid before him, tanned and toned, her chest rising and falling with the force of her lustful pants. He let out a shuddering breath, drank in the sight of the goddess spread out on her bed waiting for him, and began to unbuckle his jeans.

He was looking at her as if she was lunch, and it really shouldn’t have made her shiver as much as it did. A wave of self-consciousness crashed over her, and she moved to cover her body with a pillow, but lightning quick Spike snatched it out of her hands and tossed it across the room.

“Don’t,” he said softly. “Don’t cover yourself up, kitten. You’re…” His voice trailed off as he got distracted by the light dusting of hair between her legs.

“I’m what?” Buffy asked challengingly, eyes widening as Spike abandoned his belt and moved to pull off his t-shirt, revealing a perfectly sculpted torso that she suddenly had the perverse urge to bite and lick.

A laundry list of over done adjectives popped into Spike’s lust addled brain, none of which he thought described what the Slayer was. He went for simple. “Bloody beautiful.”

Well. That was certainly not a phrase she’d ever dreamed Spike would use to describe her. But any further musings on the absolute insanity of her current situation were cut short as Spike returned to his pants, and pushed them down his hips to reveal…well, he didn’t wear underwear, that was her first thought.

Second thought? No way that was going to fit in…there.

Buffy let out some sort of noise that was probably supposed to be a word, but for the unlife of him Spike had no idea what it was supposed to be. He grinned, that cocky grin of his, proud of the reaction he’d brought out of the girl before him.

“Like what you see, Slayer?” He teased.

“I…shut up...and you…stupid…” she babbled as he knelt on the bed and slowly crawled up her body until he was hovering over her, resting on his hands and feet, his flesh not even touching hers.

The smile shifted from cocky to…affectionate? Yes, affectionate, as he lowered himself down and kissed her softly on the lips. Then softly on the cheek, then the neck, then her chest, then he slid back down until he was facing her pussy, and he started to pry her legs apart.

“No!” Buffy blurted out, slamming her thighs back together again, then slamming her hand over her mouth when she realized how loud she’d been.

“And we’re back to that bloody word,” He growled good-naturedly, hands forcing her knees to separate again. “Don’t worry, Mum’s still asleep, can hear her breathing. Now come on, baby, let me make you feel good.”

“I…I haven’t…done…” she stammered, heart thudding wildly in her chest.

A spark of excitement lit up Spike’s blue gaze. “Really? Well, then you’re missing out, Slayer. And I won’t take one of those infernal ‘nos’ as an answer. Come on, pet. Let me show you.”

She was silent, so Spike gently ran his hands up her thighs, finishing revealing his prize to him, and let loose a sigh of appreciation at the sight.

“Buffy.”

He snapped his head up to look at her curiously. “What?”

“Buffy. Not Slayer….Buffy,” she insisted, raising herself up on her elbows.

Spike froze for a moment. To call her Buffy would be to cross a line he hadn’t even realized he’d drawn, it would take this strange affair from an experiment to something more. It would rock the foundation of how he saw her, how he understood her, how he knew her. To use her name would be to admit something.

“Buffy,” he said slowly, carefully, before lowering his head to lick her from bottom to top, eliciting a soft, surprised and satisfied cry as she fell back to the pillows.

His first taste of Buffy Summers and he couldn’t imagine how he’d survived so long with out it. Spike purred into her pussy, perfectly content, proud of the pleas he heard from above him.

“You’re beautiful here, too,” he sighed, before reaching up to stroke her gently with one finger. “Taste so good…”

His tongue darted out, lightly tapping her clit, then running up and down her folds, seeking every bit of that delicious moisture. Buffy raised her hips, seeking more contact, more pressure, and he chuckled, a chuckle that turned into a moaning of her name, her name, not her title, as he slid a finger inside of her and discovered how tight, how hot, how perfect she was.

He growled. And then he devoured her, tongue and fingers and even teeth all working at her pussy until she had to put her hand over her mouth again to keep from screaming.

The things he was doing with his tongue had to be illegal. He sucked her clit into his mouth, two fingers curving to reach some spot inside her she didn’t even know she had, then he switched, fingers on her button, tongue diving inside her, mouth and hands working in tandem to make her feel as if she was going to die from pleasure.

She was feeling something so unfamiliar, something so intense, that she almost felt like sobbing. Every limb was tingling, her muscles were tensing, her skin was on fire.

Then he stopped.

“Spike…please…” she gasped through her fingers, raising her hips up to his face. She opened her eyes, and looked down at him.

He was smirking at her.

“Spike!” Buffy insisted desperately. “Please?”

“Just like hearing you beg.” He obediently returned to his task.

“Stupid jerk,” she spat. But within seconds, she’d exploded, something inside her broke, fireworks, whatever you want to call it. She choked on her scream, mindful of the fact that they were definitely not alone in the house, and satisfied the need to release the tension that comes from unbearable pleasure by digging her fingers into Spike’s hair and holding him tightly to her pussy. Not that he was trying to escape.

He continued sucking her gently through her orgasm, continued as she came down, then quickly, with the addition of a third finger in her cunt and renewed attention paid to her clit, brought her off again with hardly a warning, groaning in time with her.

Spike couldn’t remember a time when he’d been this turned on, this hard, as he reluctantly abandoned her delicious sex and instantly moved to kiss her still gasping mouth.

“This will kill me. You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered when their lips parted, voice rough and harsh with desire.

“You’re already dead,” she reminded him teasingly, voice shaking just a bit. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed the taste of herself on his lips, but that thought faded as she was suddenly very aware of what was to come.

“Good point,” he grinned, shifting a bit, “When I’m inside that hot little quim of yours,” he poised his cock at the entrance to her sex. “I’m gonna burn.”

With the head of his penis lightly grazing her, with a flashback to her first time just nights early, the enormity about what she was going to do---what they were going to do---hit her full force, full stop. This wasn’t a possibility anymore, it was a reality, a reality that terrified her.

As their eyes met, the games, the playfulness, the domination lost their allure. The scent of fear, usually so delicious, replaced the intoxicating ambrosia of her arousal, and he suddenly realized she was probably reliving her night with the great poof.

Spike didn’t want her like that. He wanted her right there with him, grabbing him with those gorgeous legs, moaning his name. He wanted to show her how good he could make her feel.

“Relax, love,” he brushed her hair out of her face, surprised at this sudden rush of tenderness he felt. “Not going to hurt you, I promised, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she whispered. One gentle touch from him and her nerves were almost totally soothed, a soft kiss on her forehead and she was almost totally relaxed. It was insane. “Yes…” she said again.

Thrall. It seriously had to be thrall.

It didn’t hurt. Not really. There was a moment of pain, sure, when he suddenly slid inside her, inch by agonizingly slow inch.

Oh, but it didn’t hurt, it almost felt…good. So good. She was deliciously stretched, and filled, and she was pretty sure she must have cried out, because suddenly there was a warm, firm, but gentle hand pressed over her mouth, and she bit it instinctively.

“Fuck, kitten, do that again and I won’t be able to keep my mouth shut either,” Spike groaned out, rotating his hips in small circles as he pressed up against her, fully inside her now. The circles…they were good too. Tingly. It was pretty much all good, at this point. Spike equaled good. It was the weirdest equation ever.

“Since when do you ever keep your mouth shut?” Buffy arched her back, hard nipples brushing against his chest, nails scraping down his back.

“Valid point…fuck…” He almost laughed through his moans.

She’d bit him, and she was scratching him, and she was tighter than any woman he’d ever taken before, and so damn wet. She was choking him, drenching him, making him lose control, and it had been ten damn seconds. This was unbelievable.

Her entire body suddenly tensed, choking the life out of his dick and her eyes narrowed at him, no longer filled with lust. Fuck. He’d vamped out and lost control like some new fledgling, allowing passion and hunger and his demon to take over and she was frightened. Of him. That’s not what he wanted, not anymore.

He returned to his human face instantly, and stared down at Buffy glaring at him, a stake in her hand. What, did she have the damn thing beneath her pillow? She must be damn scared, from the sudden sharp, rich scent in the air, but her jaw was set and he had no doubt she could stake him in a second.

God, he liked this girl. When did that happen?

He tried to figure out how to soothe her, because he was really enjoying the start of what promised to be the best shag of his un-life. And besides, Spike enjoyed being solid and non-dusty, and he didn’t exactly fancy dealing with an extremely brassed off, drunk slayer with a stake. Normally he’d enjoy a bit of roughness before his tumble, but in order to do that he’d be forced to pull out of the heavenly inferno he found himself in---and that wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.

“Sorry, pet. But it was all your fault.”

“My fault?” She loosened her grip on the stake the second his eyes faded back to that clear blue, and he was looking at her so…reverently? Teasingly? Kindly? Was it just her, or were his eyes really expressive, even when they’d been gold? Why was she thinking about his eyes, anyway? Vampire! Had to be thrall, or the liquor, or some combination of the two. So really, all of this was totally and completely Spike’s fault.

“You just feel so bloody amazing, Slayer,” he purred into her hair, then moved to flutter a light kiss over her throat. He sighed as he ground his pelvis into hers, and lightly scraped one nail against her sensitive nipple. He smirked when she arched into his touch. He savored. He memorized. “Now, do we really need weapons for this?”

“I do?” Her voice was a little too high and whiny, and she cursed her body’s intense reaction to his clearly well-practiced seduction skills. Not that they were that great anyway, really, but...they did work. Okay, they were great. Monumentally great.

“Mmm. Couldn’t control myself…you feel like. Like…” His poetic skills failed him, so Spike chose to just move, and Buffy sighed her approval as he began to slide himself from within her depths, tearing away the last thin threads of her self-control as he moved.

Buffy could feel his fingers curling around the safety net of the stake in her hand, and she wanted to tighten her hold. She did. She really did. But when he kissed her softly, her hand went limp, and he tossed the weapon away. She didn’t hear it land, and realized he’d thrown it right out the open window.

Her body stayed tense for a bit, getting used to the sort of familiar, yet still brand new sensation of the heat between her legs as he pumped his hips. But quickly, she melted in his arms, pliant and desperate for the pleasure he was giving her.

“Bloody hell…Buffy…Jesus…so damn good…” Spike could barely think, much less come up with anything intelligent or sexy to say to her. Although she seemed to like what he did say, if her heartbeat was any indication. He was panting so hard he was almost dizzy from too much unnecessary air, his dick was on fire, just like he knew it would be, oh but the pain was so damn good as her tiny pussy squeezed him and she clawed at his arms.

He had to stop, slow down, regain control, and he hadn’t needed to do that in…decades. More than decades. Sex with Dru was familiar in its debauchery; he knew exactly what she liked and exactly what she’d do, and he was always in control. Not that he didn’t love being with Dru, but the novelty of this blonde human being was driving him wild. And he wanted it to last, last until every tremor of pleasure was sucked from her flesh and she was begging for him to stop. That’s what he wanted.

“Spike…oh God, oh…yeah…”

She was a good fuck sure, laying there writhing and moaning his name and shit, she was squeezing hard with those muscles, and her eyes really were pretty…but she wasn’t so special. He shouldn’t be so damn turned on. Yeah, she was the Slayer, but…oh fuck, she bit him again, right on the shoulder to muffle a scream. That was it. That. Was. It.

Suddenly, Buffy felt herself yanked up, and she was astride Spike’s lap, cradled in his arms as he panted into her ear. His cock was still rock hard inside her, pushed deeper by the new position and causing a tiny bit of pain, which…she kind of liked. She slid her hands from his shoulders up through his hair, holding tight, as she buried her face in his neck and felt her breath speed up so they were breathing in unison.

It made Buffy feel…peaceful. Well, no, not peaceful, because she was a Slayer having sex with a vampire she’d hated two hours ago and there was nothing peaceful about that…but it made her feel connected. As they breathed, she was more aware of the tight pressure of his fingers gripping her hip, the gentle brush of his other hand against her hair, the slickness of the sweat on his chest. And, of course, the slow slide of his cock as he lifted her up, and down. Up and down.

“That’s it, baby…yeah, that’s it, Slayer…” he praised when she found a rhythm, his words making her shiver, even more so than she already was. “There’s a good girl.” Spike suddenly sunk his teeth into her shoulder, hard, before worshipping the area with his extremely talented tongue. The pain wasn’t altogether uncomfortable, and when he started to nibble a path up her neck to her ear, where he purred as he chewed on her earlobe…it felt better than good. His teeth created little shocks of electricity wherever they scraped her flesh.

A few minutes in the new position, and Spike realized it was a really good one. Which also meant, a really bad one, depending on how you looked at it. She was so close to him, close enough that he could inhale the scent of her shampoo, her perfume, her breath. He could explore her face up close, study the adorable faces she made when he did something she particularly liked. Such as slipping his hand between them to cup her breast. She liked that. She liked it a lot, as a matter of fact, and he could feel her pussy clenching tighter around him as she approached orgasm, hips moving faster, Slayer speed coming in damn handy.

All of this meant he was closer and closer to losing control again, close to losing himself in her before he was ready. But that didn’t worry him nearly as much as the rush of affection he felt when Buffy pulled away a bit, pupils blown and lips swollen, looking thoroughly violated. She simply reeked of him, and he stared, transfixed.

“What?” She stilled her hips and frowned at him, when he’d frozen in place for too long. Not staring in the way he had earlier, all seductive and cocky and hard. His gaze was as naked as their bodies, raw and pained, glittering with a kind of awed disbelief.

It hurt her a little, to see how he was looking at her. Like she wasn’t real, like he was already afraid to let her go. And she felt it too, a strange connection that went beyond the joining of their bodies, that shook her foundation and made her question just why this whole thing was so wrong.

It wasn’t even a full second later that the smirk was back and she found herself facedown on the bed, with Spike driving into her from behind, a low growl emanating from him, hands digging hard into her hips. She should have been scared, or maybe offended, but she wasn’t. The new position made her bury her face into a pillow to muffle her screams, and she instinctively thrust her hips backwards, against his thrusts, wanting it as hard as he was willing to give her, body electric, mind devoid of protests.

He didn’t want to look into her face anymore, he wanted to distance himself from his random moments of supreme bliss. He wanted it raw and hard and now, no more of this aching affection in his chest, fuck her and leave her. That’s the way it was supposed to be. But he didn’t quite like this position either, as much as he loved the view of her luscious ass, and the sight of himself disappearing inside of her, he felt his level of passion falling. As much as it drove him crazy, he needed to be closer to her, touching as much of that golden skin as he could, see her eyes and see if she was as confused, as affected, as lost as him.

Spike’s movements were again aided by his vampiric speed, and he pulled the girl up, turned them quickly, and settled her on top of him again, this time as he laid back against the pillows, giving himself a perfect view of the goddess riding him. He sighed, heart clenching again as he watched her, but knew this was how it had to be. He had to see her.

Buffy adjusted to the new position quickly, liking the way she was in control, as she bounced and cried out softly, choking on the sounds in an attempt to keep quiet. Her entire body was on fire, but mostly where he touched her, fingers on her thighs, hard cock inside of her. It was odd, that someone who was basically room temperature was making her hotter than she’d ever been. Beads of sweat trickled down between her breasts, breasts that she grabbed to keep them steady as she moved up and down. The feel of her own hands on her chest caused a contented sigh, and she began to squeeze lightly, head rolling back in pleasure. She was completely unaware of the show she was putting on, but it was driving the vampire beneath her crazy.

“Talk to me, kitten,” Spike urged her, reaching up to smack her hip commandingly. “Tell me how it feels.”

Buffy didn’t even consider resisting his demand, didn’t balk at his rough treatment, just said softly, a little shyly, “Feels so good…Spike…”

Not exactly what he wanted to hear, but it would do. God, she was a sight, touching herself and arching that slender body, embarrassed to talk dirty. A wanton sex goddess one second, a demure, enticing girl the next. She was perfection in every way. Spike studied all of her intently, but his eyes constantly drifted towards one part of her body.

The column of her neck was beckoning to him. It would be so easy, to pull her down, sink his teeth into her flesh and feast, gorge, satisfy.

Inside, Spike was screaming. His demon was raging against the man, horrified by the tenderness with which he caressed this human. Not just a human, a Slayer, whose blood called to him like a siren’s cry, humming just beneath the surface of her golden flesh. He wanted it all, wanted to make her scream and fill her with his cum and drink her essence and drown in her, forever.

Forever was a possibility for him. Dru was his forever, the cheating bitch, or she should have been. That’s who he should want to claim, want to bind to him for all eternity. But the word “mine” was repeating over and over in his head, lips twitching with the struggle of keeping it inside, as he stared up at the writhing body of his mortal enemy.

“God, I…I think I’m going to…please…” she breathed out, fingers twisting her nipples, hips moving impossibly faster. Every bit of her was sensitized, cells quivering in anticipation, and one firm twist of her clit by Spike’s talented fingers had her coming hard, lost in her own lust. She slowed the movement of her hips and clenched her inner muscles as tightly as possible, clinging to the tremors of her orgasm. She wasn’t the Slayer anymore, she wasn’t even Buffy, she felt connected to something deeper. It was pure, aching, all-consuming need.

“Fuck!” Spike hissed, wide-eyed at the pleasurable torture she was inflicting on him. “Do it again, do it again…”

“Do…what?”

“Squeeze me just like…yes, Buffy!” She squeezed him again, even harder this time, as she shoved her own fist in her mouth to muffle her cries.

He was going to come soon, and nothing in Heaven or Sunnyhell was going to stop him. As the last tremors of Buffy’s orgasm faded he flipped her over on her back, brought her legs to his shoulders and began to slam in and out of her, a low purr resulting as he attempted to stifle his growls. The vibrations spread throughout their bodies, making them quake and feel connected as one.

Buffy was limp and submissive, thoroughly sated and willing to let Spike do whatever he wanted with her body, after giving her such incredible pleasure. He was claiming every inch of her flesh with roaming fingers, pressing kisses to her parted lips, laving her neck with desperate licks. Spending a lot of time at her neck, actually. Nipping, sucking. But she wasn’t afraid of him being there. He wouldn’t hurt her…she didn’t think. It made her heart beat faster, sure, to have him there…but in a good way, God, her body was on fire. And he was talking, the sound of his low voice soothing her, as his evilly wonderful cock pushed inside again and again.

But as Buffy came back into her body, and started to finally understand the jumble words coming out of the vampire’s mouth, she felt her heart clench.

“Mine…mine, my baby, my Buffy…so good, so God damn beautiful…mine, fuck, fuck, love this…want you, always gonna want you…Slayer…”

Spike came, hard, brains coming out his cock as he sunk blunt teeth into the pillow underneath her head. His cry of completion was riddled with pain, his undead heart aching to beat in his burning chest. His demon begged for the chance to claim the Slayer as its own. This was paradise, or as close as he could ever hope to come.

He became aware of Buffy beneath him, body shaking violently, and he rolled off of her, murmuring, “You okay, pet?”

“Yeah, fine,” she lied as she sat up, grabbing a pillow to shield her nude body from his eyes. Her afterglow was brief, and she suddenly felt completely sober and panicked as she thought about what she’d just done. She needed to think, needed to breathe, and she couldn’t do either with Spike so close to her. She was struggling just to remain outwardly calm, and could feel herself breaking apart. She tried to figure out a way to ask him to leave, and settled on, “You can…go now.”

The vampire gaped at her for a moment, as the unfamiliar feeling of happiness and warmth seeped from his body at her words. “Oh, can I?” He finally snapped. “Thanks ever so much for the permission, and for the shag.” He rose and grabbed for his jeans, the man in him crushed by the sudden dismissal, and he responded the only way he knew how. Cruelty. “You know, Slayer, didn’t peg you for a wham-bam kind of girl. Did you kick Angel out of bed this fast? No, wait, he left you.”

Buffy threw her pillow at him, leaving her body once again naked for his viewing pleasure. He raked his eyes over her body, smirking as she hissed, “Stop looking at me, you pig! Get out before I throw you out.”

Within seconds, they’d managed to revert to form, powerful feelings from their coupling fading in the face of their harsh reality.

“You sure you want me to leave?” Spike leered as he pulled up his pants, but leaving them unbuttoned with his still hard erection poking out. He fisted it and stepped a foot closer to the bed. “Sure you don’t want a taste?”

Buffy scowled, and managed to sound almost believable when she said, “I don’t want you. You’re disgusting.”

“Yeah, real convincing, Slayer,” he snarled back. “Try it again when my cum isn’t leaking out of your cunny.”

“Fuck you.”

“Already did.” He was dressed now in his shirt, boots, and jeans, though they were still open to reveal his hard length. A few buttons and he would be ready to leave, but he found himself trying to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. Maybe if he pissed her off enough, she’d fight him and he could stay with her longer.

And kill her, of course. That idea was back in his brain as well. Stupid little bitchy Buffy, thinking she could reject him? Thinking she could pretend what they’d just shared didn’t mean anything? Thinking she was better than him? Instead of letting the man feel distraught, he wanted to let the demon rage and plot a slow, torturous death. But the demon was silent, now, and he couldn’t find the deep fury he wanted.

“Your mum’s still asleep, Slayer,” he taunted like a petulant school-boy. “I could wake her up, tell her all the little nasties you whispered in my ear…”

“Spike, please. Go.” Buffy’s hands were shaking as she gripped the sheet tightly, her control slipping, the threat of angry, scared, sad tears pricking her eyelids. “I need you to go.”

The mask of anger dropped from his face and he looked at her pleadingly as he realized his error. She didn’t really hate him. “Buffy, I---“

“Don’t,” she whispered as she moved back closer towards the head of the bed, away from his reaching hands. “Don’t, just leave.”

God, he felt like an ass. She was trembling, she was upset and he’d missed it entirely. “I’m a bad rude man, baby. Can we---“

“What? Can we what? This is so wrong, this is…you’re an evil th-thing, and I’m the Slayer, and you need to just get out of my house before I---“

“Stake me?” He interrupted. His voice wasn’t challenging or threatening, just soft, as he knelt on the bed beside her. “Could you do that, pet? Kill me?”

“Could you kill me?” Buffy replied in a small voice. She didn’t really want to know the answer to that. Did she?

Spike took a deep, unnecessary breath, and shook his head. “No, love. I couldn’t.”

“You’re supposed to want to,” she insisted weakly, energy fading. “So you have to go. This is wrong, you have to know that.”

He didn’t know what this was. Did she mean just the sex, the two of them being civil, or something else? Something like what he was feeling, that maybe she was meant to be his, and he hers. But whatever she meant, he didn’t want to leave. That elusive happiness he’d felt was coming back, as he looked at Buffy, beautiful and, maybe, still wanting him. He had so many questions, so many hopes, and probably just as many worries. There was so much he didn’t know, but what he did know was that he loved her. As bloody wrong as that may be.

They sat silently for a moment, then Spike began to remove his clothing again.

“What are you doing?” Buffy sighed, too weak and tired to fight any longer, emotions run ragged and body succumbing to the pull of an alcohol-induced slumber. She knew she should protest, but her body was relaxing as more and more of his pale skin was revealed.

“I’m going to sleep, Slayer. Suggest you do the same.”

“You can’t stay, Spike, you can’t---“

“I’ll be gone by morning, pet,” Spike soothed as he slid under the sheets next to her, skin to skin. He wrapped her possessively in his arms, hoping his fear that she’d reject and punch him wasn’t obvious. “Just want to sleep next to you. Nothing more tonight. But I’m telling you, this isn’t over.”

She couldn’t fight it. He felt so right holding her like that, body still warm from being next to hers. Unwillingly, she was sinking into sleep almost immediately, fear and panic and shame fading into oblivion.

Spike was surprised she fell asleep so quickly, then slightly amused as he realized it was probably the bourbon’s fault. She’d passed right out, probably why she was so damn agreeable there for a minute. He pulled her tighter against his chest, brushing a kiss to the top of her head as he glanced at the clock.

Had a few hours till sunrise. Could do a lot of planning by then, make plans he’d stick to.. On how to tell her he was pretty sure he was falling in love with her, a fact that made him smile every time he thought of it, and how best to rub it in Angelus’s poncy face. That’s what he chose to focus on.

Not the gnawing fear that she wouldn’t want his love. Like Dru, or hell, Cecily. Hadn’t thought of that bint in years, oddly enough, not until he was holding Buffy and realizing how pale his feelings had been back then. Huh. Maybe Buffy wasn’t the only one who’d had a bit too much liquor, if he was only looking on Cecily with amusement instead of pain. And Dru…she could have her damn Daddy if she wanted to. He didn’t give a damn. Yeah, he was a bit drunk.

Spike didn’t sleep a second of the night, too fixated on savoring every moment, too busy . Before dawn, he dressed silently, then knelt at the side of the bed to brush a kiss on his girl’s forehead.

As she stirred slightly, he whispered, “Be back soon.”

With one last glance at her from the window, he disappeared into the night.


Buffy awoke alone.

Her mouth was dry, her head was fuzzy, and her entire body ached in a kind of delicious way. As she opened her heavy eyes she saw the other half of her bed was empty, and the window was still open, the curtain gently wafting in the cool morning breeze. The entire night rushed back in one burst of memory, and she gasped at her actions.

Okay. Well, Spike was gone. Which was good, totally of the good. He shouldn’t have even stayed the night, anyway. Or come back. Or been in her room at all, or sat to talk to her on her porch.

The whole night was one big mistake, and she should just forget about it. Instantly.

But she knew Spike wouldn’t. He’d said as much, said it wasn’t over. He’d stopped fighting with her, just assumed he was welcome in her bed and took advantage of her sleepy state. He wouldn’t just let this go. He’d be back, and they could talk, and maybe…

No. No. Bad thoughts. Bad Buffy. Bad, very bad Slayer.

He’d left. Sure, he’d said he would, but waking up alone like this, again, made her heart clench. It didn’t have anything to do with him, it was just…the principle of thing. What kind of guy just up and leaves? An evil guy, that’s who. So, really, there was another reason why she shouldn’t care about him, at all. He’d left.

They always left.

Buffy sat up, vision clearing, grateful that super-powered healing seemed to help in the prevention of hangovers. It also, apparently, prevented that pesky blacking out she’d heard girls talk about in the locker room.

She could go for a black-out right now. She didn’t want to remember every single detail of the night before. Not just the physical stuff, although she could certainly remember that well, even without the aid of her sore muscles. Her skin still burned.. But no, mostly she didn’t want to remember the way he’d looked at her with awe, eyes so blue and kind and completely focused on her. She didn’t want to remember all the things he’s said, sweet and dirty both, in this tone of voice that was so…affectionate.

The way he’d called her his…there was no amount of alcohol in the world that would have wiped that from her mind.

But he’d left. And that was that, so no more pensive Slayer, thinking sweet thoughts about that stupid man. Vampire. Stupid vampire. He’d left, and that was that.

Thank God she was alive. Giles would have brought her to life and killed her again if she went and got herself eaten. In the…bad way. Well, badder way.

As she swung her legs over the side of her bed and moved to stand, Buffy stopped abruptly, eyes fixated on her vanity, mental babble ceasing. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

Sitting on top, next to Mr. Gordo and her stake from the night before, was a small white cupcake.

Buffy rose and moved towards it slowly, eying it warily. Because, well, there was a possibility it was going to jump at her viciously. Enchanted cupcake maybe? Okay, she was way definitely off her game. If Spike had wanted to kill her, he would have bitten her. Sucked her dry. Simple as that.

No, it was just a cupcake, fluffy and perfectly frosted.

Buffy couldn’t help the smile that slowly spread across her face.