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“Spike,” she said softly as his eyes flickered back and forth between the door on the other side of the room and the bloody wound in her arm. He began panting slightly in uneven, unnecessary breaths.
He licked his lips and looked down.

“I’m trying, Slayer.”

He went to turn away, but she stopped him, extending the unwounded arm and grasping his wrist. He threw her a nearly panicked look.

“What are you doing?”

She knew it. Despite all his confidence about her willingness to let him sink his fangs into her, he was hesitant to attempt or accept it.

His eyes flickered gold to blue to gold, then remained gold. She met them steadily and drew her gory arm up to head level.

Spike looked toward the door again, his demon involuntarily fully coming forth at the heady scent of her blood.

Buffy clenched her fist around Spike’s wrist, sensing that he was on the verge of bolting. Her knuckles were beginning to turn white. If Spike had been human, the circulation to his wrist would have been distressingly cut-off, but he wasn’t so there was no problem.

“Slayer...”

Her hand left its hold on his wrist and quickly traveled up his arm until it rested at the nape of his neck. Winding her fingers into his hair, she raised her bleeding arm to her own face and ran her tongue over the bloody outskirts of the wound. Keeping its warm substance on her tongue, she pulled his mouth to hers before he could glance toward the door again.

The shock of her kiss and the alcoholic taste of her blood mingling between them was enough to push Spike over the edge. The kiss grew harder, more brutal, as his tongue stole every remnant of blood from her mouth.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. His ravenous demon tore his lips away from her kiss and flew to her arm; the scent and taste of Slayer blood overwhelmed his senses.

A volt of arousal sent crackles straight to her centre as he started to lick and suck at the blood.

His hands held her arm still, and she gasped in some air. She shifted forward slightly so she slid onto his lap, a leg on either side.

When one of his hands released its grip and his arm wound around her waist, she looked down and was met with his vivid, yellow eyes peering up at her.

His licks had become gentler now, less ravenous as his lips and tongue caressed and cleaned her wound.

“Want more?” She said with a coy smile and she tilted her neck sideways, her hair shimmered off her shoulders.

“You’re like a drug,” he said with a chortle.

Sitting up, he drew her in for another blood-laced kiss.





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