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Author's Chapter Notes:
Italics shows what Spike is imagining or remembering, whereas bold shows his general thoughts.
“Oi! I’m gettin’ parched, here! A vampire needs to eat sometime!” Spike shouted angrily, and Buffy heard the distinct sound of chains rattling. How Willow could say that out of all her enemies Spike was the least icky was beyond her. None of her other enemies had ever been chained in her former Watcher’s tub. None of her other enemies had ever begged for blood and called her names and rattled chains. None of her other enemies had made her feel so blissfully good with his hands ghosting across her body, mouth greedily attacking hers, while she babbled on about her wedding plans. She had never had to kneel on cold tile and watch any of her other enemies drink preheated blood from a straw.

So Spike was pretty much on the top of her list of most evil, annoying, icky bad guys ever.

She watched as the yellow novelty mug Willow had given Giles for Christmas last year lazily spun in the microwave. It was sad that she knew just how long to cook blood in order to get it to 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit.

“Bloody hell! Hurry up, Slayer!”

“Shut up or I won’t even bother!” he shouted back, glaring at the wall, pretending that he could see her through the thick wall. Unless Spike had gained a new ability at x-ray vision, however, the glare would remain unnoticed.

She heard a very loud and distinct growl from the bathroom, and a long strain of rattling and banging. Buffy nearly snickered at the image of Spike throwing a fit in the bathtub. She supposed she should have felt bad for depriving him of his natural food source. Thinking on it, she couldn’t remember the last time she had fed him. She remembered why her mother had never allowed her to have pets--after the fiasco of three dead goldfish, her mother thought it best not to upgrade to the more fuzzy variety of pets.

The microwave beeped and Buffy groaned. She opened the microwave and held the almost too hot mug in her hand, grimacing when she managed to get a whiff of the hot pig’s blood. Blood wasn’t especially strong in regards to scent, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t smell it every now and then.

She opened the door to find Spike’s eyes fixated on her, looking expectant. “’Bout time. You gonna feed me or what?”

“Patience is a virtue,” she snapped, striding over to the helpless vampire she wished wasn’t helpless so she could kill him.

“Not one of mine.”

“I wasn’t aware you had virtues.”

“Then why bring it up?”

Buffy sighed. She really wasn’t in the mood for this. She probably never would be in the mood for Spike. Ever. Would he be forever chained in Giles’ tub? Perhaps it would be a mercy killing. That excuse could work if he ever pissed her off to the point she couldn’t take it anymore.

She knelt beside the tub and put the mug in front of him. He immediately surrounded the straw with his mouth and began sucking, his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously with his gulps. Buffy had to admit, he didn’t look too good. The last time she remembered him drinking anything was when she was settled on his lap, him drinking out of it casually as if it were a cup of coffee while she wrapped her arm around his shoulder. She shuddered at the memory. Yesterday had been one of the best days of her life, which actually meant it was the worst day seeing as all the happiness she’d felt had been spell-oriented. She wondered if he’d had anything to drink since then, and she figured he probably hadn’t, seeing as he was obviously weaker. She hadn’t thought one day would affect him so much, but thinking on it, he’d been really weak before he’d come to them.

Watching him drink blood out of the straw was a bit disgusting, so she grimaced and looked away.

Yeah, that’s right. Look away. Pretend you’re not feedin’ me. Act like you never dated a vampire before. Act like you haven’t watched Angel tear into a blood packet and drain it. Hypocrite.

She glared at him, then yanked the mug away, pursing her lips in his direction, the straw dangled dangerously between his lips, as if it was going to fall, and he tried to prevent it and suck the remnants of the blood out of the straw. “Oi! Why you gotta do that all the time?”

“I did not watch Angel drink,” she snapped.

He raised his scarred eyebrows at her, looking ridiculous with the now-red straw dangling precariously. “Bit late for that argument, y’think?”

“I don’t think so. How ‘bout you stop being a pest or I won’t feed you?”

“I wasn’t bein’ a pest!” He didn’t sound angry and taunting so much as it sounded like he was pleading. She wondered just how much Giles had been feeding him. She knew Giles would never purposely deprive the vampire of food, but Spike had been weak when he first showed up. Maybe they hadn’t been giving him enough to heal.

More because of the tone he’d said it in than the words, she yanked the straw out of his mouth. He made the most pathetic whining noise she’d ever heard and she stuck the straw back in, putting it in front of his mouth. He began drinking again, just as hungrily.

She couldn’t believe how degrading it was. She was kneeling on the floor feeding Spike. She watched his lips encircle the straw. They were cracked and pale. She remembered they had been chapped when she kissed him yesterday. She remembered offering him some of her lip balm, and how he had complained it stung, and that she’d offered to kiss it better. Which, of course, led to a really disturbing memory.

Staring at his lips wasn’t helping any, so she quickly looked away, finding the wall suddenly interesting. Instead of thinking about what she was doing, she thought about Riley. Good, reliable, safe Riley. Tall Riley. Cute Riley. Awkwardly funny Riley who was totally crushing on her. Her maybe-boyfriend Riley. Yes, those were good thoughts.

So good. So damn good. God. Tastes fantastic. Bloody ambrosia.

“Has it really been that long since you’ve had blood?” she asked, turning back to him. Did he have to be so verbal about it?

His eyes snapped open and met hers, but he didn’t let go of the straw. A second later, he pulled away. “Huh? Well, yeah, haven’t had anythin’ to drink since--” He cut off, but then a slow, malicious smirk spread across his face. “Not since you sat in my lap and fed me. Care for a repeat performance?”

“If you don’t shut up, you can wait just a little bit longer. What was it you said? Walking skeletons?”

He jaw clenched suddenly, and his dark blue eyes narrowed. Were his eyes always that dark and noticeable? Must be in contrast to the wrinkly red shirt that was draped over his shoulders. Now that she thought about it, she noticed that the blue veins in his temples were more noticeable too, against his alabaster skin.

God I wanna kill her.

Buffy blinked. She’d heard his voice. She’d heard it, but his lips hadn’t moved.

Tear into her throat. Just rip out the flesh. All the blood spurtin’ out . . . Hot and thick just pourin’ into my throat . . . Listening to her scream, pound my chest, cry . . . Watch her die. I would love to watch her die.

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. She couldn’t be hearing thoughts again. Was it some sort of side effect? Was it like a virus? Would it come back every now and again and she’d have to go make that antidote? And why on earth could she hear Spike’s thoughts--Angel had said she wouldn’t be able to hear what a vampire was thinking.

She suddenly wished she still couldn’t.

She thrust the mug in front of him again and he drank, eyes fixed on hers. She tried to keep her breath steady, but her heart was pounding so hard she could feel her fingertips throbbing with each beat. It couldn’t be true. Not unless Angel was lying? Why would he lie? Had he been keeping his thoughts from her? What had he wanted to hide?

“He was thinking about Faith!” she proclaimed suddenly. “Son of a bitch!”

He pulled his lips off of the straw, and she just realized that he’d be thinking about how good it had tasted. “What was that? Faith who now?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just . . . thinking out loud, I guess.” No way was she going to tell Spike she could hear his thoughts. Spike would find a way to turn that against her, she knew it. Spike was already cutting with his words; she didn’t need him to be cutting with his brain, too.

What a crock. Prob’ly thinkin’ about Angel. Bloody typical. Faith. Faith’s a girl. Oh-hoh.

“What? Peaches not exactly runner-up for boyfriend of the year? Whose Faith?”

“If you wanna feed, I’d suggest shutting the hell up,” she managed through clenched teeth.

Oooooh. Seems I got it in one. Soft spot. Well, let’s see how she likes . . . Damn. Blood. Keep your mouth shut and drink. Stupid chit.

His lips surrounded the straw again, and he began drinking silently. Buffy was trying her hardest not to run away from him.

What a bloody idiot. If Angel slept with this Faith chit, he didn’t go and re-lose his soul. Obviously nothin’ for her to worry about, then. Either she was a terrible lay, or he didn’t touch the girl. Or maybe she thinks he was thinkin’ o’ Faith the night he did lose his soul. Hah. Yeah right. God, all the wanker talked about was her. Buffy, Buffy, Buffy. Today, I wanked in Buffy’ lawn. Today, I saw a bird and it reminded me of Buffy. Oooh, I’m gonna torture Buffy. Blah, blah, blah. As if I wanna hear about the bloody chit.

God this blood is fantastic. Not as good as a human, though. Still, it’ll do. Better than orangutan.

Oh right. Kill Willy. Soon as this chip is out, you rip out his throat. Bloody orangutan. Stupid, greasy git. Don’t drink him, though. Just snap his neck. Bet the bugger tastes like . . . car oil.

Buffy didn’t want to hear his thoughts. She didn’t want anything to do with him. She had had enough of doing anything with Spike during their engagement. Listening to him think about her problems with Angel wasn’t exactly on the top of her to-do list. She didn’t need to hear about what Angelus had said or done and she definitely didn’t need to hear about how he thought Willy tasted. Why Spike? Why did her ability have to come back just as she was talking to Spike? God, why did Giles have to go to Olivia? If Giles were here, he’d know what to do.

His eyes were still on hers, as if daring her to pull away. He was afraid she was going to jerk the mug away for no reason.

To think that yesterday she was sittin’ on my lap, kissing me. God, I wanna puke. I can still taste her, in my mouth . . . Smell her, on my skin . . . Feel her arousal on my lap. She’d kill me if she knew I’d looked down her shirt. Why the hell did Red have to do that? Stupid bint, all grinding against my knee, snogging me senseless . . . Good kisser though . . . I hate my life sometimes. I hate her. I hate her friends, I hate her town, and I hate her stupid, pert li’l breasts and bloody hell she’s got scars on her neck.

She was pissed off. She didn’t need Spike thinking about her breasts or the way she’d been getting off on his knee. That had been a spell, and if he thought she’d enjoyed it any more than he had, then he was wrong.

Then she remembered he had seen the scars on her neck, and his eyes were focused on her jugular.

Hmm. Angel. He tasted her. I bet you anything. Slayer neck. Slayer blood . . .

Oh, great. Now he was going to go off about her blood, and think about nipping at her skin and drinking her. God, she didn’t know how much more she could take of this.

Spike grabbed her wrist and yanked her into the tub. She let out a scream; a harsh, loud scream. He buried his fangs into her neck, tearing the flesh, her pounding futilely on his chest while he drank, holding her still, ignoring her cries of pain, ignoring the tears streaming down her face--

“Oi! Watch it!” Spike shouted angrily.

It was then Buffy realized she had jumped at the sudden flash of imagery in her head. That certainly hadn’t happened before. She had spilled some of the blood on his hands, and he was licking them, although he was still staring at her like she was a loony.

“What the hell is your problem tonight, Slayer?” Oh right. The sodding spell. Prob’ly all bothered by it still. Hell, I am too. The way she looked at me . . . The way I looked at her. God, somebody stake me. “Slayer, if this is about--”

“No,” she interrupted. She did not want to talk about their engagement. Ever. “Just . . . Here.” She thrust the mug into his hands, which were cuffed together. He stared at her, confused, but then he shrugged and started drinking the blood out of the mug hungrily.

Buffy stood up and quickly left. When she shut the door behind her, she pressed her back against it and closed her eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"





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