I opened my eyes one day and you were there, and then I blinked and you were gone. If I close them again, will you come back to me?
Laughing, you pull me from my circle of friends, your hand, insistent, wraps around mine. Cool fingers grip me too tightly, over familiar. Your smile tells me that you’re already halfway to that place that only we know. In your mind I’m lying, boneless on silken sheets, my clothes a jumbled heap on the cold stone floor. Laid out for your pleasure, aching for your touch.
You smile again as you steer me through the crowd, your fingers, possessive on my back. The lightest of touches that binds me to you more securely than the ropes you once used to tie me to your bed. Your gentle caress lures me with promises of dark pleasures, marks me with an invisible brand. Just for now, I’m yours to do with as you please and your icy stare warns away anyone who dares to think otherwise.
Your deceptive gentleness is my undoing. I’d rather be fighting you, and you know that.
A headlong clash of bodies, greedy and insistent, taking with no thought of giving. That, I know. That, I could cope with. That would excuse this perverse obsession with a creature of the night that I should be turning to dust and ashes, not following blindly because, when I am within sight of you, I have no will of my own.
Death and destruction, the raw violence of my trade remind me always of who I am, and make me forget who I might have been.
But you never do. You are the only one who sees it and you exploit it ruthlessly. Like the cold blooded, undead creature that you are, you delight in torturing me with visions of softness and calm. You give me order when my life is chaos. You touch me when all I want is for the world to go away. And afterwards, you hold me and tell me that you will never stop doing it, and that I will never stop wanting it.
You know that it scares me more than any of the monsters and demons.
And that’s when I hate you the most. Because I know that it’s true.
No matter where I hide you will find me. No matter how fast I run, you will catch me. And no matter how well I disguise myself, you will always know who I am.
Outside you back me against the wall. Your hand slides over my heated flesh, lifting my skirt, you slip you fingers inside me and you ask me if I’m ready for you. I shake my head, but my body says otherwise. You bring your wet fingers to my lips, sliding them inside my eager mouth. I taste of desire and want and need. You call me a liar, then you turn and walk away leaving me trembling and exposed.
And I have no option but to follow you. I run after you, and your hand snakes out behind and takes mine. You do not turn around, but pull me along to a place I don’t want to go, but that I cannot resist.
The first time I went out of curiosity, the second because I had to.
In the dark shadows of your crypt you kiss me. Holding my head, you keep me still because you want to tell me something and you need all my attention.
I nod, my heartbeat fluttery, my breath shallow because I know what you are going to say. You don’t use words because we don’t need them. Your kiss tells me everything that I need to know.
It tells me that only you can make me feel like this. Only you can make me feel anything. I keep very still, as your cool breath fans across my face and your icy lips slide across mine. I open my mouth and warm you as your tongue slips inside, and I catch it with my own.
You kiss me with a slow, steady rhythm, your tongue moving against my sensitive flesh in a promise of what is to come. And I whisper yes, please, and now, because you make me want it so very badly.
I move then and you pull me against you, growling because you are starting to lose control.
This little game you play, master and willing slave. And you play the master so well, Spike. You pull me in and reach deep inside me, to a place where no one else has ever been.
Beyond sex, beyond the banging of bodies on tangled sheets, beyond whispered endearments and I love you, and I want you. We go beyond that.
You tell me you want it all, you want to reach into every corner of every part of me. Deeper and harder until I weep and cry out for mercy.
And you do it all with just a look, a touch. But your soft gaze is the sharpest of knives, the gentle brush of your fingers, an earthquake and your cool breath, a hurricane. You cut me and shake me and blow me away. Then you heal me and put me back together again. You set me back on my feet and show me how to survive.
Your fingers are on my shirt, each button opened carefully, methodically. I want to scream at you to rip it from my body, but instead I watch, mesmerised, your trembling fingers as you work. You smooth the material over my shoulders, and it drops soundlessly to the floor. Your cold hands burn me as they graze my flesh and I wonder if you can feel it. This heat. This smouldering, base carnal thing that you are about to unleash.
Does it not worry you Spike? If I catch fire, then you will die. Don’t you know that every time you do this you are playing a game of Russian roulette? That one day I might consume you in an inferno of our own lust?
You think you know what there is inside, but you have no idea. You think that you are prepared to go there, but if you do, you will never come back. I will keep you prisoner, you will be my slave, a hostage to your own weakness.
Master, mistress, which will it be?
You start this, Spike but you know who will finish it. As you remove the last of my clothing and run your fingers over me, I can already feel the subtle shift of power. I move to the bed and lie down, my knees bent, legs apart making sure you can see me, all of me. And for a moment all you can do is stand and stare.
Why do you breathe, Spike? Why do you labour to drag unnecessary air into a body that doesn’t need it?. Look how tense you are. I only have to crook my finger and you will come to me, and then I will be the mistress and you the slave.
My body is filled with a languid warmth as I contemplate the enigma that is Spike. My blue eyed boy, all innocent vulnerability as you stand before me, waiting for my command. Showing me a part of you that you really shouldn’t. Where’s my monster now? My ruthless killer.
It’s not the chip that stops you being a vampire, Spike. It’s me.
I am the Slayer, Spike. I kill your kind. Don’t you know that I could kill you now, while you are like this. That you wouldn’t stand a chance.
I nod my head and you begin to undress, slowly, because you know I like to look. You know that just the first glimpse of your thick hard cock can make me come. As you stand beside the bed and watch my fingers moving over the place where I desire you most, I know that I have you.
What would you do if I said no? If I simply took my pleasure without even letting you touch me, and then calmly dressed and left, leaving you standing there?
Would you ever move from that spot? Would you stand there and die from a broken heart, for me? You told me that vampires could love, and I never believed you, until now. As you stand there, your gaze as naked as your body, begging me without words to let you in, I find myself softening and melting.
How do you know, Spike? I don’t want this, this quiet, this slow seduction, this sweetness. I don’t want it. But I need it. How do you know that?
I leave you standing there, anticipation building, and we make love with our eyes. The way your cock jumps and twitches as you think of what you are going to do to me, drives me into a frenzy of wanting you, but still I keep you waiting. You watch as I writhe and wriggle against your satin sheets. You listen as I moan and gasp out my release and you lean forward to suck my fingers as I press them against your lips. You take my hand and press your open mouth to my palm, reminding me of why we are here and I whisper yes at last.
Come to me now my beautiful vampire and let me show you what I have deep inside me. It may burn you but you will die of divine ecstasy. Let me drown you with my passion, enslave you with promises of erotic delights, because I can play this game too.
When you call me, I have to come, but you cannot leave until I let you.
Fill me up, slide in, slide out. Hard against soft, always a perfect fit. Touch me with every part of you. Your hands, your tongue, your skin, your hair. Give me your deep, velvet kisses, let me smell your arousal. Push me against downy pillows and kiss me again. Slow, drugging kisses that make me forget that a slayer and a vampire shouldn’t be doing it like this.
Shouldn’t be doing it at all.
What would they say if they knew? My friends and yours.
‘Poor Buffy, how can you bear the cold, hard cruelty of it?’
‘Give it to her good, Spike. She kills our kind.’
But they don’t know do they?
They don’t know how gently you bite, or how alive I make you feel.
They don’t know what sweet music we make when you are thrusting deep inside me.
They don’t hear the words, spoken in lust but meant, every one of them.
They don’t hear you say that will never stop doing this. And they don’t hear me reply that I would never want you to.
They don’t see the look in your eyes as I dress.
And they don’t see that it is you who cries when I leave.
I think I hate you Spike. For making me feel all this. I think that one day I will stake you, because I can’t bear the truth any more.
I walk back into the world, leaving you behind, and go back to my life. Back to the killing. Back to the ashes and dust of my existence. Until the next time you catch my eye across a crowded room, and I feel that familiar pull.
And you take me once more to a place I don’t want to go.
