NAUGHTY, DIRTY THINGS



A/N – many thanks, as always, to the wonderful Lou who delivered back a finished story that I'm proud of. Much love to you, hun and grateful thanks.







CHAPTER ONE




Spike sat on the edge of the mausoleum roof he'd scaled and lit a cigarette. He had a view over the entire cemetery from there. He considered the 'hunt for a slayer' urge that had led him here in the first place and the need for somewhere to hole up when the sun rose. And somewhere to lick his wounds. He fingered the deep gashes on his cheek left by Dru's sharp talons -- still there after almost three days as testament to her fury at him failing to off the Slayer -- and recalled the row that had him storming out of their lair and and heading to the cemetery.




/"Where is she? You promised me a Slayer, told me I would be able to drink her dry. You're covered in her... you reek of sunbeams and purity." She lashed out, biting and clawing at him until his face ran red with blood. He didn't want to hurt her, but when she was out of control like this it was tempting to punch her senseless. He managed to grip her wrists finally.




"Dru, love – she had her bloody mum there with her! I was just about to brain her when up trots Mum and smacks me over the head with a dirty great axe. I barely escaped with my hide!"




"Coward! Running away like a weak human. Angelus wouldn't run. Darla would feast on their flesh and bathe in their blood. BUT YOU…” she screeched. “You're beneath me!!” That was when she'd gone berserk and gouged the deep gashes on his cheek, so shocked was he that he'd let go of her hands and she was too quick for him.




Those words were destined to haunt him. Beneath her, was he? He'd show her. Thought he was weak? Well, just wait until he offed the Slayer and delivered the carcass to her as a love gift. That would shut her up. He was even more determined than ever to bag his third Slayer. He may be love's bitch but he was no weakling.




"Yeah? You think so? How many Slayers did Angelus kill, or Darla? Or you for that matter. The only one with any balls in this sorry family is me, so shut your mouth! And when I get back you'd better be ready to drop to your knees and beg to take back your words."




Snarling, Spike had strode out of their hideaway making sure that Dalton and the lesser minions not worthy of his notice would look after Drusilla until his return. Just because she'd made him angry, didn't mean he didn't love her. He worshipped her. And he'd prove that he was every bit demon enough for her by delivering on his promise./




He'd asked around after the current Slayer and found out a good bit more about her, other than she had a feisty mum. She was tricky, that was clear enough. He hadn't reckoned on a Slayer being aided and abetted in her slaying by her nearest and dearest. But they were only human, so therefore extremely breakable. Shouldn't be a problem for a master vampire; hell, he always did like a three course meal. And there was her Watcher, some guy called Rupert or something. Well that struck terror into his very bones! Not. He'd be your regular Watchers Council smart arse no doubt, equipped to read books and waffle like all the rest. Wouldn't be a problem.




And so here he was contemplating a plan. Or an opportunity. He'd take either.




Musing on his options, Spike noticed a flash of light and the sound of breaking glass coming from the large house beyond the cemetery walls. He stood to get a better view, eyes yellowing as he vamped out to take advantage of the enhanced eyesight afforded by his demon. He saw a figure, a girl, hardly pause as she crashed through the glass door and roll off the balcony to the ground below. A guy in a hooded robe followed her out and peered over the balcony then rushed back inside.




Spike switched his attention to the girl, now on her feet and sprinting for the trees that bordered the cemetery wall. Five robed figures burst through the door on the ground floor and chased after her, the girl risking a glance back over her shoulder that had her stumble. Panic giving her extra strength, she scrambled to her feet and continued her flight, reaching the wall and climbing over with the aid of a tree branch, dropping to the other side. The vampire watched with interest; looked like dinner was being delivered tonight. All he had to do was head her off at the – no! Some bugger had got there before him, one of the pack had raced ahead and she'd run straight into him.




Oh sod it, he could fight off a monk or whatever the hell he was. After all, the girl looked downright tasty and he was well overdue a treat after the hell of the last week… He dropped soundlessly to the ground and made his way towards the girl who was now surrounded by her pursuers. But before he could reach them, they started to lead her back to the house, discussing the forthcoming party at the Delta Zeta Kappa fraternity house and the ritual sacrifice to be made to Machida.




"Well, well, well Spike old son – looks like you've got yourself an invite to a fraternity bash. Been a while..." he muttered to himself as he watched them go, concealed in the shadows.




May as well have some fun while he tracked the Slayer, study her moves before he ripped out her throat. That first night he'd seen her at the Bronze had whet his appetite for some hand-to-hand knockabout with her, and their little snarkfest at the school had him even more anxious to slap her around a bit before delivering the coup de grâce. In the meantime, he'd heard of this Machida guy – half snake, half man and with a reputation as a big player among the rich and the ruthless. It would kill some time, get him some beer, maybe some drugs and fresh, young blood at the very least. It was an amusement he'd be foolish to turn down. Sensing the impending sunrise he returned to the crypt he'd chosen to bunk down in and curled up, wrapped in his duster, dreaming of Slayer blood sliding down his throat.




+ + + + +




Buffy and Willow chatted companionably on their way to class the next morning, clutching their books as they negotiated around their fellow students.




"You dreamed about Angel again?"




Buffy nodded. "Third night in a row."




"What did he do in the dream?" Willow was eager for details, the daily deconstruction of Buffy's dream world romance being her equivalent of teen magazines.




Buffy blushed. "Stuff."




"Oh! Stuff! Was it one of those vivid dreams where you could feel his lips and smell his hair?"




Buffy grinned, her smile a mile wide. "It had surroundsound. I'm just thinking about him so much lately."




In a burst of happy girly dreams, Willow sighed, her hand on her heart. "You two are so right for each other. Except for the, uh..."




"Vampire thing."




"That doesn't make him a bad person. Necessarily."




Buffy stopped in her tracks, eyes wide and her lips set in a pout. "I'm brainsick. I can't have a relationship with him."




Willow wasn't ready to abandon her version of love's young dream. She was hopeless at dating, but that didn't mean she couldn't assist Cupid and get some vicarious feel-good vibes.




"Not during the day, but you could ask him for coffee some night. It's the non-relationship drink of choice."




Clumsy feet caught them up.




Willow flashed Xander a shy smile. She still had dreams about him that she wouldn't share with anybody. Dreams in which Xander... did stuff. She carried on with her encouraging words. "It's not a date; it's a caffeinated beverage. Okay, sure – it's hot and bitter like a relationship that way, but..."




Xander butted in. "What's like a relationship?"




Buffy chuckled as they continued walking. "Nothing I have. Coffee."




Xander did his patented idiot boy double take, looking between his two best friends and coming up blank. "Huh?"




He'd never understand girls. And therein lay the problem...




Buffy tutted as she remembered she had elsewhere to be. "Oh! I told Giles I'd meet him in the library ten minutes ago! Aw, he won't be upset. There hasn't been much paranormal activity lately." Telling her friends she'd catch up with them later, she wandered over to the library as ordered.




She was dismayed to find Giles pacing and lecturing her, despite the lack of Hellmouth happenings.




"Just because the paranormal is more normal and less... para of late, it is no excuse for tardiness or letting your guard down."




Buffy tried her pout. It didn't work on Giles, but she lived in hope. "I haven't let my guard down."




"Oh really? You yawned your way through weapons training last week, you… you… you skipped hand-to-hand entirely. Are you going to be prepared if a demon springs up behind you and does this?"




Buffy easily grabbed the arm he thrust over her shoulder and pulled it up behind him, forcing him to bend over and wince in pain. She raised her eyebrow.




Giles voice was muffled with pain. "Yes, well – I'm, I'm not a demon. Which is why you should let go now."




Buffy walked away from him, turning to face him with her arms crossed.




"Thank you." He risked a glance at his Slayer as he straightened and rubbed his wrist. "When you live on top of a... a mystical convergence it's only a matter of time before a fresh hell breaks loose. Now is the time that you should train more strictly, you should hunt and patrol more keenly, you should hone your skills day and night."




Buffy flounced over to sit on the edge of the desk, exasperated by her Watcher's attitude. He really didn't get it.




"And the little slice of life that still belongs to me from, I don't know, seven to seven-oh-five in the morning, can I do what I want then?"




Rupert Giles ached for Buffy, he really did. But his job was not to cosset her and give in to her pleas. His job was to keep her alive. And he'd do that whatever it took. But still, sitting there, young and fresh-faced and with that damn pout...




"Buffy, you think I don't know what it's like to be sixteen?"




"No. I think you don't know what it's like to be sixteen. And a girl. And the Slayer."




"Fair enough. No – no, I don't"




"Or, what it's like to have to stake vampires while you're having fuzzy feelings towards one?"




Ah. He'd wondered how long they'd go without the subject of Angel coming up. So far Angel had proved rather useful with his information and hadn't made any attempts on their lives. But he still didn't trust him. If he had his way, the distance that had appeared between Buffy and her vampire suitor would remain the same, if not widen. He made a non-committal sound.




"Giles, digging on the undead doesn't exactly do wonders for your social life."




"That's exactly where, where being...different, uh, comes in handy."




"Right! Who needs a social life when you've got your very own Hellmouth."




A social life? A Slayer with a social life? Had he taught her nothing? Really, he did his best, but this was too much.




"You, you – you have a duty, a-a-a purpose. You have a commitment in life. Now how many people your age can say that?"




"We talkin' foreign or domestic? How about none?"



The pout was working overtime, and the attitude. God, she tried his patience. He may be tweed-clad and obedient to the Council now, but that hadn't always been the way. In days gone by he'd been quick to anger and even quicker to act. He tried to repress the Ripper-like thoughts that raced through his brain, and his voice was harsh when he spoke.




"Well, here's a hard fact of life: we all have to do things we don't like! And you have hand-to-hand this afternoon and patrol tonight. So, I… I suggest you come straight here at the end of period six – and you get your homework done. And don't dawdle with your friends."




More pouting. He tried to look away, he really did...




"And, and don't think sitting there pouting is gonna get to me, because it won't."




He risked a glance. That bloody lip!




"It's not getting to me..."




+ + + + +




It was as a result of Giles’ endless ragging on her about her training that she'd half agreed to go to the fraternity party with Cordelia. She was still thinking about it to be honest, and the longer she thought about it the more attractive it seemed. The guy, Tom, was hot and nice and he seemed to like her. And really, what else was on offer? A night of patrols and ‘constructive criticism’ from Giles, followed by a brief non-confrontation with Angel, wherein they chatted aimlessly about nothing much before he disappeared into the night. That was what. Way to go good-time girl!




Still, after some more hand-to-hand training with Giles, which resulted in him nursing bruised ribs, she was now patrolling. Alone. Again.




A glint of something shiny caught her attention and she stooped to pick it up; an identity bracelet, broken so that she couldn't read the inscription. Vampire tinglies at the back of her neck made her aware of Angel's presence before he even spoke.




"There's blood on it."




Buffy turned to face him, a smile creeping across her face despite her not wanting to make him feel too certain of her delight that he was there. And despite her protestations to herself, she was really pleased to see him.




"Hi. It's nice to... Blood?" She looked down at the slender bracelet in her hands; she couldn't see any marks on it at all.




"I can smell it."




Ewww. "Oh. It's pretty thin. It probably belonged to a girl." Babbling now, Buffy tried to keep her heart from racing and her face from showing a blush.




"Probably."




Well, this was awkward. Buffy felt compelled to break the silence; maybe she should follow the advice she'd given Willow so long ago and seize the day.




"I - I was...just thinking, wouldn't it be funny sometime to see each other when it wasn't a blood thing. Not funny ha-ha..."




Angel creased his already furrowed brow and dipped his head. He'd been afraid of this. "What are you saying, you wanna have a date?"




Buffy sighed. "No."




"You don't wanna have a date?"




"Who said date? I – I never said date."




"Right. You just want to have coffee or something."




Spike listened from the shadows. He'd discovered the Slayer's address by systematically dusting a nest of vamps until one of them squealed. Of course, he'd just carried on and finished the rest of them off when he had it, just for the hell of it. He had a reputation to keep after all. So, he'd lurked outside until she slipped out of the window and followed her to the cemetery. He was just getting an idea of her style when he realised she was being followed, and by a vampire of his line no less. Seemed the rumours he'd taunted his pussy whipped grandsire with were right. Not only had Angel permanently lost the 'us' that made him marginally interesting, he was now moping round after the Slayer like a lovesick puppy. Made Spike want to puke.




He watched his bloody poofter grandsire failing to get groiny with the Slayer, despite the fact that she obviously had the hots for him. It made him sick, really, and ashamed – Peaches couldn't even get into the knickers of a willing teen. Loser. Now he was telling her he was too old for her, saying he was two hundred and forty one. The girl was pouting and all but stripping herself bare, offering herself to him but to no avail. Angel. What a tosspot. But, still – knowing the Slayer was up for some vampire loving was good to know. This could work to his advantage; if Peaches wasn’t willing to oblige, he wouldn’t say no to a taste of prime Slayer if it was going begging.




It could be fun – shagging a Slayer instead of just offing one. Maybe this sojourn to Sunnydale was going to have an upside after all.




Spike considered having another go at his former mentor once the Slayer had skedaddled, finish off the fight they'd started in the high school when his grandsire had tried to trick him by pretending to offer up the Slayer's soppy friend. But he had other things more pressing to deal with. Time enough to see to the ensouled vampire when he was back in Dru's good books. Maybe he'd even take her daddy to see her if she behaved. He knew he could best Angel now having seen how whipped the sad git was, and that would wait for one good day.




So he let the dark haired vampire go, heading off in search of the town's demon bar.

 

TBC...

CHAPTER TWO




Buffy cried herself to sleep that night. She was destined to always fall for boys she couldn't have or didn't want her, and the sitch with Angel was getting her down. He always seemed to be stalking her and they were hovering on the brink of a relationship but never quite taking that step. It was frustrating, and painful and she was done with it. Tonight was the last straw; she was all set to get snuggly with him, even going so far as suggesting a date at the risk of seeming forward, and he’d as good as blanked her. Well, tomorrow she'd start getting over him. Just see if she didn't.




Morning came after a sleepless night, and Buffy was up and out of bed before her mom called her for once. No point lounging about in a pit of despair; life was too short. Well, hers would be anyway. It was her destiny to die young. And here she was with nothing to look forward to except slaying and school. Life sucked.




Classes went by in a blur, even Willow giving up eventually when Buffy was monosyllabic in response to any questions. She was just so sick of playing by the rules, being the dedicated Slayer, the attentive schoolgirl, the considerate friend. So when Cordelia cornered her and laid out her entire plan for going to the frat party, Buffy surprised the cheerleader by agreeing. She stunned herself too – listening dazedly to Cordelia’s lecture on what not to wear and the dos and don’ts of dating frat guys. All Buffy could do was nod in agreement. It felt as if somebody else had taken charge of her body and was doing the driving.




And she was enjoying it. And Angel? Who was Angel?




+ + + + +




The frat guys in question were in the middle of a big marking ceremony, all knives and scars and hooded robes, when Spike sauntered into the basement. There was some oily geek in the centre of the circle being marked with a sword, the scent of his blood making Spike's nostrils twitch. He wasn't really partial to biting blokes, but he’d never been one to turn down an easy snack… waste not, want not!




The boy holding the sword had a fancier robe than the others and was obviously the boss, speaking a form of words that led the others to reply in harmony. When it was over, one of the Delta Zeta Kappa members tossed over a can of beer, but before the leader could catch it, Spike stepped forward and plucked it from the air.




"Hey!"




Spike pulled the ring tab and calmly drank down the entire can, crumpling it when he'd finished and lobbing it over his shoulder. The nervous boys now surrounded him, and the leader was still holding the sword. He wasn't too worried. Didn't look like the git had a clue how to use it, and he'd bet he could drain them all before they could get to him with anything like a threat. He eyed them, one by one, and when he had their full attention vamped out. Cue the lot of them taking a step back.




Yeah, he was the Big Bad.




"So. You guys are all worshippers of Snake Boy, yeah? When's he due to make an appearance? I'm just askin' because I've heard a lot about him and I think we'd get along. Course, he'd have to share his harem. He does like young girls, doesn't he? It's what I've been hearin'."




The leader, who was called Richard by his followers, took a few steps forward his chin jutting as he brazened it out. He was scared, his heartbeat and scent told Spike that much, but he had enough bravado to answer him.




"We are followers of our Lord, Machida. We act in his name. Who are you?"




"Name's Spike. And I hear you're planning a party. I'll be there."




The girl he'd watched pursued through the cemetery was chained up against the far wall. She was begging to be freed, her voice raw with tears and fear. Spike wandered over to her and trailed cool fingers down her face and her torso, his tongue curled behind his teeth as he sneered at her. She closed her eyes and tears ran down her face.




Delighted with the response, Spike turned to his newfound acolytes. "So. When do you gather in the rest of the girls?"




Richard grinned. "I've already got two picked out. A blonde and a brunette, and they're young and ripe. Just what our Lord needs to feed on. They'll be along later, and we've prepared a cocktail to knock them out."




"Right then. But just so you know, I get first dibs. S'only fair, as the guest."




+ + + + +




Buffy got out of Cordy's car on unsteady legs after it had slammed into the parked car by the frat house. Cordelia wasn't in the least bit perturbed that they'd hit the car, in fact blaming the other driver for getting too close. It must be great to be that sure of yourself, Buffy thought, as she followed the ever-confident prom queen into the party.

They passed through the doorway, Cordelia leading the way, and walked through the buzzing throng to a vantage point by the far wall. Cordy's eyes were narrowed speculatively as she surveyed the room, mentally assessing and rejecting all but the most influential and wealthy of the fraternity. She didn't mind if Buffy were to hook up with her rejects, she wasn't a complete bitch – but only the best would do for Queen C. This was her world.




"You know what's so cool about college? The diversity. You've got all the rich people, and all the other people. Richard!" Richard definitely featured on the Cordelia digs list. She turned on her best fake smile and prepared to dazzle.




"Welcome, ladies."




Buffy took the proffered drink warily.




"Oh… i-is there alcohol in this?" She knew from past experience with eggnog that Buffy and alcohol were definitely not mixy. She felt Cordelia's glare but avoided looking at her.




Richard smiled and took a sip of his own drink before he replied. "Just a smidge."




Cordelia almost fried her with her penetrating stare. "C'mon, Buffy, it's just a smidge." Buffy was killing her!




But Buffy was the Slayer. She wasn't going to be browbeaten into drinking when she didn't want to. "I'll just..." her words tailed off as she set down the drink. Cordelia almost snarled. If Buffy put this yummy hunk off with her goody two shoes act she'd...well, she'd do something.




"I understand. When I was your age, I wasn't into grown-up things either. Have you seen our multimedia room?"




Cordy stepped in front of Buffy, anxious to save the day and chugged down her drink to prove that she, at least, was plenty old enough to be of interest to Richard and his influential friends.

"Oh, the one with the cherry walnut panelling and the two forty-eight inch televisions on satellite feed? No. Wanna show me?"




Richard blinked at the dazzling smile that was inches away from his face.




"What about...?"




Cordy dismissed Buffy with a wave of her hand. "Oh, her? She's happiest by herself."




Richard found himself gripped by Cordy's well-manicured hand and dragged off, leaving Buffy trying to fade into the background and plan her escape.

Spike eyed his prey from the shadowy corner of the room. When the pair had appeared at the door, Richard had indicated to him that they were the chosen girls who would feed his master later, along with the one already shackled in the cellar. So, the Slayer had delivered herself up to him and he hadn't even had to make an effort! A smug grin on his face, Spike had left Richard in no doubt that the blonde was his. Richard could do what he liked with the brunette. Flashing some fang to underline the threat, he'd been gratified at the sweet smell of fear that emanated from the boy and the hastily stuttered assurance that once drugged, Buffy Summers would be delivered to him for his pleasure.




But the chit had turned her nose up at the tainted drink, leaving her unaffected and entirely in charge of her actions. Bugger. It wasn't that he didn't think he could take her, it was just that he wanted to take his time, preferably without an audience, when he did so. If she was knocked out, he could easily whisk her away and toy with her at his leisure. It became even more pressing when he spotted her male sidekick, the one with the floppy brown hair and an obvious crush that she ignored, crash the party.




As one of Machida's followers strolled past, Spike grabbed him and whispered instructions in his ear. Eager to be released, Tom nodded and scurried off to do his bidding. Spike smiled. He always liked having minions to scurry and do his bidding. The twits were falling over themselves to do as he said. And that was as it should be. All he had to do now was wait and Miss Buffy Summers would be trussed up and unconscious and at his mercy.




+ + +




Buffy felt completely out of place, like she'd forgotten how to have fun. Not that she'd ever been to a party like this before. Suddenly she felt so young and stupid. But Tom was nice. He'd come to her rescue as she was about to be pounced on by an enormous thug and whisked her away, dancing with her and making her feel almost normal. She cradled the glass he handed her before recklessly guzzling it down even though she knew it was more than just soda. But as soon as she'd swallowed the drink she regretted it. It tasted yuk. She didn't like it or the after-effects -- even less as things started to go woozy. At least there was no danger of her becoming a drunk, because one drink and she was out of it. She needed to lie down. Room. Need a room, with a bed...stairs...upstairs...




Spike watched as she lurched along the corridor towards the stairs, knocking drinks over as she went, her eyes unfocused and heavy. Tom followed her at a distance until Spike once again dragged him to one side.




"Thanks, mate. I’ll take it from here. And what was that you slipped her? A bit of roofie? Need to know what to expect, I'm on a restricted diet you know." As the boy nodded, Spike let him go, patting his shoulder. "We'll be off then. Good luck with the get-rich-quick ritual; thank Snakey for the carry-out."




Tom scuttled off to find Richard, leaving Spike to scale the stairs in search of the hopefully comatose Slayer. He found her easily, following her scent to a room shrouded in darkness and occupied by her and the brunette from earlier. He stepped over the girl on the floor, not concerned with her and wanting to grab his prize and get out of there. The scent and sound of so many young and horny partygoers was messing with his head; he struggled to focus. With the Slayer slung over his shoulder, her pert butt nestled at the side of his face, he cast a glance back at her slumbering friend. Not bad, quite a looker. Nice long legs, enticing rack. Machida would feast well tonight.




He made his way downstairs and through the throng of revellers. A snort of laughter escaped as he saw the Slayer’s pal had been set upon by the college kids and dressed in a curly blonde wig and a huge bra over his shirt, dancing and prancing for their entertainment. Thank god they hadn't had fraternities in his day and age. He frowned and bit his lip as he slinked away. Chances were that if anybody had been ridiculed and made to prance it would have been William the Bloody Awful Poet. That thought had him pissed; maybe when he'd finished with the Slayer he'd come back and eat a few of the fuckers, strike a blow for the underdog. Over-privileged bastards.




But right now he had other things on his mind. Delectable things. Rounded and pert things. Depraved things. Her scent was assaulting his nostrils, and he was starting to drool. He offered up a silent thank you to Dru for her insanity and her ravings. He'd show her how grateful he was once he got back to her, but not before he'd done the Slayer. In every way possible.




+ + + + +




Angel, Willow and Giles bumped into Xander as he was walking away from the house, dressed in one of the hooded robes he’d seen some seniors wearing when he'd spied on them earlier. There'd been no sign of Buffy. Nor Cordelia. And that bothered Xander more than he cared to think about.




"Hey, guys! What are you doing here?"




Willow looked chastened, her cheeks red as she responded. "I kinda told them that Buffy was here."




"Yeah? Well, she isn't. Cordy neither. I've looked everywhere. Bunch of guys drinking deep of icy cold brew and shaming unsuspecting victims, but no Buffy and no Cordelia. And no orgies." He looked at them from beneath his hood. "Don't think these frat parties are as good as they're cracked up to be."




Willow tilted her head quizzically. "Xander. Are you wearing makeup?"




He wiped at his face, eyes widening as he noted the pink smear on the back of his hand. "Makeup? Nah, just...Gatorade, that's all. Come on, let’s head to the Bronze? I'll bet the Buffster's there already, dancing and snuggling. Or not."




He bit off his words as he saw a flicker of amber in Angel's eyes. That guy was scary! Definitely not one to piss off. But really, where else would Buffy be? She'd be in the Bronze or at home. That was all. Laughing at them for ever thinking she was incapable of looking after herself.




+ + + +



Spike settled back into the ancient armchair he'd procured from the city dump and watched the Slayer for signs of her awakening. The young girl lay resplendent on a satin comforter, liberated from the city dump and a little worse for wear, her head resting on a bundle of old clothes. He'd actually considered leaving her unbound, up the ante a little, but he'd finally opted for caution and manacled her wrists together and tied her ankles with stout rope. It wasn't enough to stop her entirely – hell, he quite fancied a round of chase me, catch me, round the crypt anyway, get her blood pounding – but it should at least slow her down a bit. She looked delectable; naked, of course, her hair spread out in its golden glory on the makeshift pillow and her cheeks flushed.




He'd laid her on top of a sarcophagus, a bed would have been too much bother for this quickie in his hidey-hole, but he felt sure the Slayer wouldn't mind. Tough if she did. He chuckled, eager now to get on with his games.




It was ten minutes later that he sensed the increased heart rate and breathing that signalled her awakening. He leant forward to watch her first reaction, noting the soft curves of her young body, the sheen of her skin as she stretched. His cock hardened in his jeans and he shifted to make himself more comfortable so that he could enjoy the show.




Buffy's eyes fluttered open, and she swallowed around a swollen tongue. Her throat felt like sandpaper and she struggled to moisten her mouth, groaning with pain as she swallowed. Vague memories came back to her, tattered snippets of a spinning hallway and the urgent need of somewhere to lie down. And she'd found it; a nice soft bed with warm covers. Belatedly, she felt the chill of the air that whispered over her body... her decidedly nude body, and she finally registered the fact that her hands and feet were bound. And what happened to the soft mattress? This was as hard as... stone?




Buffy tried to sit up but her muzzy head wouldn’t cooperate. She managed to roll over onto her side and peered into the darkness.




"Hello..." she shouted tentatively. "Is there anybody there? Hello?"




Scuttling sounds echoed round the room and Buffy shuddered – rats and Buffy were definitely not of the good. But where was she that had resident rats?




She shouted again, her befuddled brain finally making the link between the echoes and her whereabouts. There was only one type of place that lent such deathly tones to the human voice. She was in a crypt.




Suddenly wide-awake and clear-headed, save for a dull throbbing around her temples, Buffy tested the efficacy of her manacles. Top grade steel, no doubt about it. Whoever had her bound was a professional, well used to tying people up and meaning it. Which put her, him, or it in either the box marked demon or the box marked evil.




Come to think of it, there was a definite tingle running down her spine, and it had nothing to do with the surroundings. Vampire. Master vampire at that. Good thing she did listen to Giles sometimes -- the hone your skills mantra was a favourite. But hey, sensing a vampire by stretching out her senses – check. Just call her Buffy the bloodhound.




Despite her nudity, her anger came out top over and above her embarrassment, and she kept yanking on the metal links, which jingled and creaked but didn't give way. The rope at her ankles was another matter however, and it soon snapped. She jumped to the floor, assuming a fighting stance as she tried to spot the vampire who'd dared to truss the Slayer up like a Thanksgiving turkey. No way was she going to be someone’s celebration dinner!




"Listen, I know you're there. You obviously know who I am, so let's get right to it. You give me my clothes back and undo these manacles and I promise I'll stake you quickly. But if I have to hunt you, you’ll really wish you’d gone with my first offer before you're dust. What'll it be?"




Spike chuckled to himself. Took after her mum, that's for sure, feisty. Dangerous. Exciting. He got to his feet, the creaking of the chair betraying his whereabouts. All of a sudden he was backing away from a furious Slayer as she rushed him. Naked, warm flesh knocked him backwards into the chair he'd recently vacated and he ended up sprawled, half-sitting, with the Slayer struggling to get her manacled hands around his throat. He deflected her easily, gripping her wrists in his hands and pulling her face tight against his.




"Slayer!" he growled, "quit the heroics. Stop the struggling and we'll talk. You're not exactly in a position to argue with me, now, are you? Play nice...there's a good girl."




Buffy continued wriggling, but the grip wasn't loosening and she couldn't get any purchase with which to break free. She definitely didn't have a stake hidden anywhere, and Spike – oh, she recognised him all right! - was strong, almost as strong as she was. She didn't have any choice.




"Okay! Let me go. And the first thing you'd better tell me is where my clothes are or so help me I'll…"




"Do what, exactly, Slayer? No, I'm interested, really. Seems to me that you're not quite at the top of your game. Out of practice maybe, or could it be that the sorry vamps in this town don't stretch your slaying skills? Or maybe you're frustrated, want more than a slap around with a cold body. Ah, maybe I'm right – see that struck a chord. You're up for a good tussle as much as I am. I knew I sensed something other than anger from you that night at the school. Vampires get you hot."




Spike shoved her away from him and stood up, arrogant and sure of himself… and sexy as hell.




Buffy snorted. "They so do not! Don't flatter yourself. And even if they did, it wouldn't be you. You must be really pathetic if you have to drug a girl and chain her up. Call yourself a master vampire? Angel's more of a .."




"Angel's a prissy wet misery guts and you know it. Tell me, Miss Summers – he made it to second base yet?"




Buffy scowled, tried to place her hands on her hips but was caught up by the manacles, which reminded her that she was naked and shackled and trading barbs with a dangerous master vampire who had tried to kill her the last time they'd met. Her pulse was pounding and she found her breath coming out in little gasps, and despite her attempts to attribute it to her anger and embarrassment, she couldn't quite fool herself. Spike was looking her over with burning eyes, and that damned tongue of his was sweeping his full lips and making them glisten. She was oblivious to what he was saying now as he did that thing where he ran his hand all the way down his chest and stomach to rest framing his crotch. He'd done that at the school and she'd barely managed to pull her eyes away from his bulge then; now it was totally impossible for her to do so. What the hell was going on? Oh, right. She'd been drugged.

TBC...

CHAPTER THREE




Nobody messed with the Slayer.




Especially not a Slayer who was frustrated by lack of boyfriend-type kissage and seemed to have a yen for vampires. Apparently.




Shaking her head in wonder she threw herself at Spike, hands reaching to grab him, but he laughed and sidestepped easily, swinging around to wrap a cold hand around one of her biceps. She stopped sharply, the shoulder wrenching with the force of the tug. Without pause, she bent at the waist and kicked backwards, catching him under the chin and sending him sprawling to the floor. She thought he'd be pissed and whirled around to fight him, but he simply sat where he'd landed, rubbing his chin and licking the blood from his split lip off his fingers.




"Oh, Slayer – I knew we could dance together. Come on, love, give us your best shot."




"You ...you..."




"Me… me...." Spike sniggered. "Cat got your tongue?" Suddenly on his feet with panther-like grace, Spike whipped off his red shirt to reveal a skin tight T-shirt that outlined his muscular chest and abs perfectly. Buffy's steps toward him faltered as he gripped the bottom of the shirt with one pale hand and swept it up and over his head. His skin shone in the half-light of the crypt, the shadows and candlelight defining his muscles sharply. She froze, staring, and felt her cheeks burn as her eyes refused to look away.




Spike's nostrils flared as he noted the subtle shift of scent emanating from the Slayer; there'd been a slight overlay of arousal even while she was asleep, and it had been growing steadily all the time they snarked and circled each other. He'd been puzzled at first, but as he sat and waited for her to wake he'd pondered on the fact that the other two slayers he'd met had also reacted to him unconsciously. Maybe it was a demon thing, dark side of the Slayer needing a bit of monster. That made sense. He bet he knew more about her dark side than she did. She was just a bit of a kid after all. Nicely rounded in lots of womanly places, but barely the right side of adolescence. Ripe. Juicy. Smelled gorgeous, she did.




He kept watching her as he cupped himself through the thick denim of his jeans and ran his hand along the outline of his erection. Her eyes widened, unblinking as she focused on his crotch, her chained hands falling to hang in front of her pelvis limply, her little pink tongue darting out of her parted lips to wet them. What had been in that drink? Essence of ho? Skanky chick juice? What on earth had her hot and horny for Spike? It couldn't be her own natural reaction because for one, she was in love with Angel and for two, she wasn't that kind of girl. Spike had been eerily accurate when he mentioned second base earlier. Kissing – yeah, she could do that in spades, practised for hours with a mirror and the fleshy part of her hand – but the touchy feely stuff? She was still a little hazy on the details.




But suddenly she was ready and willing to learn. And with a teacher who was so obviously ready to teach!




"Spike..." her voice was breathy, very low, barely stirring the air, but he heard it. Oh yes, he heard it. And he heard the unspoken plea she uttered, craved it, needed it. Maybe the demon in the man needed the Slayer as much as the Slayer needed it.




Oh hell, he’d had enough dancing.




In three strides he had her in his arms, his hands gripping her shoulders so hard he bruised her flesh, his mouth on hers and his teeth nicking her lips to let her Slayer blood tease him with the promise of delights to come. She was so warm, her blood pounding through her veins, her heat searing his skin where his bare chest touched hers. Hardened nipples, hers and his, scraped across sensitised flesh and his hands tangled in her hair, ran up and down her back as he kissed the breath out of her. Her manacled hands beat on his chest and through the haze of lust he realised that she needed to draw breath and raised his head, reluctantly, to gaze down into green eyes flecked with golden lights. Beautiful. The Slayer was beautiful.




Goddamn the sodding poet! Kept squashed down so deep for years, he suddenly wanted out. And Buffy the Vampire Slayer had him metaphorically dressed in frilly shirts and with ink-smudged fingers like William had never left him.




He couldn't help himself, he fell to his knees and buried his face against her soft belly, his arms wrapping her close. His nose brushed the curls at the apex of her thighs and Buffy's moans sounded soft in the cool air when his tongue parted her virgin folds and flicked over her clit. It was ice, it was fire, and had her limbs spasming. Her knees shook and failed to hold her up, her torso slipping through Spike's grasp so that the soft skin of her stomach then her aching breasts drew level with his hungry mouth. And then they were facing each other, both on their knees, both panting though one didn't need to, eyes wide and scared and hungry and naked.




What the fuck was this? Since when did William the Bloody get on his knees for a woman? Even Dru had to beat him to the floor and he got off on that. But Buffy Summers...




"What is this? Spike... I'm the vampire slayer, and you're..."




"I'm a vampire. I know. Buffy… I've no idea. Just need to touch you."




A shy giggle. "You called me Buffy."




"Yeah, well your mum gave you that name, don't blame me that it's daft."




Buffy struggled in his grasp but he held on and tackled her to the floor.




"Don't talk about my mom like that. She whupped your ass, and don't you forget it."




They were both aware of the fragile nature of this unexpected truce. Each of them was in equal parts aroused and anxious, Buffy not sure how to deal with the unfamiliar waves of lust that threatened to swamp her and drag her down. And she couldn't rely on Spike to turn into a perfect gentleman at the thought of her virginal modesty; hell, he was more likely to revel in it.




And worst of all she couldn't find it in herself to put up much of a fight. She’d never felt so alive before. Giles and his lectures in the library, her friends, Angel – so far away, so inconsequential compared to the sensations that were racing through her shivering body.




Spike reached behind him, still gazing at Buffy's flushed face as she lay beneath him, and snagged the key to her manacles from his back pocket. While Buffy's brain was still struggling with her predicament, he reached between them and released her from her bonds. The snap of the lock caught her attention and she looked down at her hands dazedly as he gently unhinged the cuffs and threw them to one side.




Here was her chance - she could use her newfound freedom to overpower the vampire and send him on his dusty way. So why had she stretched out her hands and gently moved them down from his shoulders, along his chest and hard stomach, and why was she even now tugging at the button on his waistband until it popped?




Spike drew in a useless breath as the zipper rolled down, Buffy pulling at his jeans. He had no use for underwear, so her deft fingers found wiry hair to tangle in when she delved beneath the thick cloth. She hesitated, her heart racing, before shoving her hand fully inside his jeans and gripping him in nervous fingers, wriggling as the consequences of her actions made themselves known by the hot wetness between her thighs. She had no conscious idea what she was doing, but judging by the way Spike's eyes were rolling back in his head and his grunts and groans, she was doing it right.




"Yeah, love, harder... yeah, oh god! Feels so good...mmm."




Buffy alternated between watching her hand move in and out of Spike's fly, and the engorged flesh her fist encircled, and watching his face as he moaned and writhed. His eyes were closed, his teeth catching his bottom lip and holding it there before releasing it on a moan and parting his lips to show his agile tongue flicking as if in search of something. She lowered her eyes and looked up again through dark lashes to find him gazing at her. The look almost stopped her heart. Intense and hot but a little unsure. Not quite what she'd expected from a vicious monster. But then again, none of this was what she'd expected.




She hesitated, her hand stilling as their eyes locked. She didn't know what to do next, the impetus that had her following her instincts disappearing. She'd never done this before, never so much as looked at a man in that way, never mind touched him. And this wasn't even a man staring down at her with something nameless in his eyes; it was a demon, a soulless thing.




What the hell was she thinking?




"I… I can't...” She tried to scoot away, but Spike's iron fist gripped her arm and held her fast, both of them ending up kneeling, facing each other.




"Where d'you think you're going, Slayer? We've unfinished business here. Not done with you yet."




His voice was hard and cold, and it belied the glimpse of passion she'd seen in his eyes just moments before. Truth was, Buffy Summers had gotten beneath his skin and it had all happened too fast. It was all he could do not to start spouting poetry when she'd slid her hands along his body and glanced at him with emerald green eyes, and when she'd inched her hand inside his jeans and cupped him...well, apart from the fact that he nearly shot his load there and then he had to bite his lip to stop himself becoming William again. It had him scared. And Spike wasn't scared of anyone or anything.




And now the tricky little bint was trying to leave him hanging. Not going to happen.




"Get your hands off me! You poisoned me with some mind-bending drug or something, didn’t you? I’d never have done... that ... if I was in my right mind."




Spike snorted. "Yeah - right. I can smell how excited you are, and..." he reached down with his free hand and rubbed a finger along her opening, forcing her thighs apart. “...I can feel it."




He was delicately tracing the outline of her pussy, and despite her words, Buffy was leaning into his touch, her hips rocking barely perceptibly but enough to encourage more. Spike gripped Buffy's upper arm with one hand, tugging her towards him and down so it was easy for him to roll her fully on to her back without breaking the moment. Buffy's eyes flittered closed, her mouth open slightly as she let her body's yearnings take control and banish any conscious objections she had.




Spike grinned as he felt Buffy relax, her legs parting more as he slid two cool fingers inside her tight quim. He'd had the odd virgin over the years, although it wasn't his particular kink. But somehow the thought that he'd be her first was intoxicating, and he wanted to make it memorable. Not for long, granted, given that he was going to drain her and add to his tally of slain slayers. But she would die happy; he was going to make sure of it.




"You like that, love? You want more?" His voice was like molten chocolate, hypnotic and low and Buffy heard herself answer without consciously doing so.




"Yes... more..."




Spike's head dipped as he fastened his lips on one pert nipple, licking and suckling at her while at the same time increasing the pace with which he was finger-fucking her, his thumb keeping up a steady rhythm along her clit. Buffy's breathing was coming in short little gasps, her back arching as she lost herself in the moment, and Spike couldn't help but be fascinated by her reaction to the slightest of his touches. He hadn't really begun the seduction yet, and she was already trembling and moaning and drenching his fingers with her juices. Who knew that the only thing better than killing a slayer would be fucking one?




Urgent pressure at his groin reminded him that he still wore his jeans, his rock-hard cock pressing painfully against the serrated edge of the open zipper as every whimper that came from Buffy's hot little mouth had him throbbing and hard. He wanted to bury himself inside her heat, tear at her throat with lethal fangs as he flooded her womb with his seed. He wanted it more than he could remember wanting anything else -- and he would have it.




Just the thought of her blood flowing down his throat brought forth his demon, his brow ridging as it rested against her breast, his fangs descending as he suckled. As he pierced her nipple she cried out in pain and pleasure, the one warring with the other as she bucked beneath him, her body convulsed by the fierce orgasm that ripped through her.




Amber eyes gazed down on her hungrily as she relaxed back, ripples of pleasure still shooting along her nerve endings, her skin flushed and damp with sweat. Spike swiftly dragged off his jeans and settled back between her open legs, ignoring her mewls of uncertainty as he poised at her opening just barely pressing the tip of his cock inside her. Buffy lifted her head, eyes now wide and fearful as she noted his demonic countenance, and she struggled to get away. But Spike wasn't letting her go, not now, not ever. The only way she was leaving his embrace was when she was no longer breathing.




He gripped her shoulders and held her down, thrusting inside her tightness, sheathing himself to the hilt and marvelling at the feel of his cock gloved in warm flesh. Buffy cried out as he broke through her maidenhead, tears slipping from her eyes at the pain like none other she'd felt; but as he began to withdraw, then thrust forward ever so slowly, again and again, the pain gave way to intense pleasure and she couldn't help but start to thrust back, her hands creeping up to stroke along his bare back. More than anything she wanted this feeling to go on, the fluttering that was building where they joined was elusive and she ground down on his cock as he pounded into her, her nails digging in as she begged him wordlessly not to stop, to never, ever stop, to take her over the edge and never let her fall back.




Spike fought against the urge to bury his face in her neck - not to bite her, but to whisper poetry in her ear. He was losing his grip, switching from his human visage to his demon without any effort or control. What the fuck was happening to him? This tiny human was messing with his heart and his head and he hated it.




He did. Loathed it.




So why on earth did he so desperately want to mark her and make her his when moments ago her death was the only thing on his mind?




It was the gasping that did it, breathy moans that culminated in "Spike!", counterpoint to the pulsating grip of her pussy when she came; it was the sound of his name on her lips that sent him over and released a stream of his semen and babbling words of love and lust and passion in equal measure. He slumped on top of her, still bound in the circle of her arms and her legs and warmed by her heat, breathing to match the rise and fall of her chest.




Until reality set in. He'd just fucked the slayer – no, he'd damn well made love to the slayer. And what's more, she was still breathing and possessed of most of her blood. It was wrong, and he knew it. Vampire. Slayer. The natural order of things made them mortal enemies whose sole aim should be to kill the other.




He jumped back, shoving her away roughly and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Buffy sat up quickly and clasped her knees to her chest, covering herself as best she could and looking up at him with confusion. She was barely a woman, had just lost her virginity to a creature she loathed and knew not at all. And she had the same thoughts and fears that any women would have at such a moment.




"Was I not...good? Did I do something wrong?"




And there, finally, she had him. There was nothing he could do about it and he was damned forever. The slayer held his unbeating heart in her hand and he knew without any doubt that he would be hers always. Bloody poet, wouldn't do the decent thing and leave him be.




In an instant he was on his knees in front of her, blue eyes searching for a connection, hands reaching for and cupping her face to tilt it upwards. Buffy blinked, eyes misty with tears and wary.




"No, love. Nothing wrong. It's just... this – you and me. It's not right. I know it; you know it. I was gonna shag you and drain you, notch up my third slayer. But something happened to me here and I don't know what I'm gonna do about it. Never imagined I'd be having this conversation with the Slayer. Dru never saw this coming." He chuckled, wryly.




Or did she? Maybe this was why she'd kicked up such a fuss when he'd failed to off the Slayer that first time.




Buffy froze in the vampire's arms. Every part of her told her to kill him, to do her duty. But there was a louder voice that came from within, drowning out her instincts. She'd heard his words that this was wrong, and she believed him. She knew it. But then it shouldn’t feel so right to be held by him, like she'd found a part of her that she’d never realised was missing. She felt whole, complete.




"So what are you saying, Spike?"




"Don't rightly know. All I do know is that I don't want to kill you any more. I think I'd like you to stay like this, warm and tight and... what? I'm still a vampire, love, a demon. I'm not some bloody poofter with pretty words, I say what's in my head.” Well, he did have pretty words, he just kept them hidden away with the poet. “You can't tell me that wasn't the best shag of your life because I know it was. And yeah, okay – so it was the first shag of your life. But believe me, it only gets better from now on in."




Buffy shivered, partly from cold but mostly from anticipation of regaining the feeling of him inside her. Spike was right. Something had happened; something huge. They had to find out what this was all about. Her teeth chattered.




"You cold, Slayer? Here – wrap this around you." Spike slipped his duster round her shoulders, smiling when he saw her bury her face in the soft leather and inhale his scent. He almost missed the words she uttered.




"What, say again?"




"I said – Buffy. Call me Buffy again." She looked up at him shyly, clutching the coat around her. "You can't keep on calling me Slayer if we're gonna... well, you know."




Spike's throaty laugh echoed round the crypt as he gathered her to him, nestling close. "I take it you've decided to give me another go, then Slay...I mean… Buffy?"




He found himself flat on his back and straddled by a very horny and curious, recently deflowered woman with Slayer strength. "I need to do something to keep me warm. And it's still early. Wanna show me whether all this is drug real or real real? I've read about vampire stamina, you know?"




Spike smiled widely, grabbing her and rolling her to her back. He'd no idea how this was going to end, no idea if he'd been hit by the roofie when he'd guzzled some slayer blood earlier. But he had a warm and eager lover in his arms, one he felt something for, although at the moment he wasn’t sure what. He wasn't one to overanalyse. Seize the day, grab it by the throat and throttle the life out of it. For tomorrow, you could die. Again.


His voice rumbled against her throat as he kissed along her jawline to whisper in her ear, "Oh, baby – you've no idea."

THE END

So...here it is; my Spuffy twist of “Reptile Boy”. Hope you liked it, and thanks for your kind