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I'm on a submarine mission for you baby
I feel the way you were going
I picked you up on my TV screen
I feel your undercurrent flowing

Submission going down down
Dragging me down submission
I can't tell ya what I've found

You've got me pretty deep baby
I can't figure out your watery love
I gotta solve your mystery
You're sitting it out in heaven above

"This music sucks. He can't even sing!"

Spike shot Buffy a quick dirty look from the driver's side of his car. "You're just too young to know good music when you hear it. And stop insulting Johnny Rotten."

"Rotten is right," Buffy muttered.

"Do you want to ride the rest of the way in the trunk? Besides, the 'rotten' was a reference to his teeth, not his singing ability."

"Oh, ew." Buffy leaned forward, her hand on the radio. "I don't want to hear this."

Spike slapped her hand away. "Too sodding bad. Stay over there on your side."

Buffy moved back, pouting as she rubbed her now sore hand. "Can't we just listen to something else for a little while?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I said so."

"That's a crappy reason."

"Well, then, because I'm the one who's driving."

"So let me drive."

Spike glanced over at her, eyebrow cocked. "Do you even have a license?"

"No. But I bet you don't either. Vampires don't even show up on film."

"Yes we do," Spike said. "That just came from Twentieth Century film makers trying to extend the whole bit with the mirror. And when I learned to drive, you didn't need a license, so sit over there and shut your gob."

Buffy sighed heavily, pouting again for a few minutes before blurting out, "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Didn't you go before we left the motel?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I didn't have to go then."

Spike sighed, glancing down at the gas gage. He probably could use a stop to fill the tank since the last thing he wanted was to get stranded wherever the hell they were. "Fine. We'll stop at the next gas station."

Buffy didn't say anything after that, and Spike assumed she was placated—at least for the time being. He turned off the highway at the next exit and pulled into a gas station. He parked at one of the pumps and turned off the DeSoto's engine before reaching into his duster pocket and pulling out a wad of bills. "Pay for the gas after you're finished in the loo," he said as put the money in Buffy's hand. "And get whatever else you might need in there, too."

Buffy looked down at the cash. "You actually use money? I pegged you for more of an 'I want it, I take it' kinda guy."

"I only use it when I don't feel like calling any attention to myself. And it's not like it's my money anyway."

Buffy tried not to think about the most obvious place for that money to come from—off the body of one of his victims. "Oh."

"Hurry up then. We've only got a few more hours left until dawn."

Buffy got out of the car and walked towards the gas station, happy to be at least stretching her legs. She used the bathroom first then went over to the snack food, getting a few things since she didn't know when Spike would feed her again.

She looked over towards the counter, noticing the clerk and the way he was watching her every move. At first she thought he was expecting her to steal something until she realized his eyes were directed towards on her chest. She shifted uncomfortably, cursing Spike and his trashy taste in clothes.

Deciding to do something about it, Buffy surveyed the small store, smiling when she saw a display of California souvenirs. She picked out a bright pink sweatshirt, smirking at how horribly ugly it was. On the front was the flag of California with the bear done in furry brown fabric, and beneath that the state's name was printed in three-dimensional paisley letters. It was possibly one of the most hideous articles of clothing she'd ever seen, and she draped it over her arm as she walked over to the counter.

"And the gas for the DeSoto at pump four," she told the clerk, putting the food and the sweatshirt on the counter. The clerk gave her another look-over, but when he saw her face and caught her glaring at him, he quickly turned his attention to handling the sale.

Once she had paid, Buffy ripped the tags off of the sweatshirt, putting it on before picking her bag and the change off the counter. Spike was leaning against the car when she came out, and she put what she had left of the money in his pale had. It had been bad enough spending that blood money. She didn't want to keep the rest of it with her.

"What the hell is with that shirt?" Spike asked, scarred eyebrow raised.

Buffy stuck her chin out with defiance. "I'm cold. The heater doesn't work in your stupid car."

"It's hideous. Take it off."

"No. I'm cold."

Spike sighed. "If you're cold, I'll give you my coat—just take that thing off. It's hurting my eyes."

"I don't care if it hurts your eyes, and I'm not wearing that coat," Buffy said. "Who knows where that ratty old thing came from."

"'S not ratty," Spike said defensively. "And I pulled it off the body of a dead Slayer."

Buffy's eyes narrowed, her expression growing completely cold. "I hate you."

"Is that supposed to hurt my feelings? Get in the bloody car."

Buffy glared at him before turning around and marching over to the passenger's side of the car, slamming the door behind her as she got in. Spike sighed as he got in as well, wondering for the millionth time why he'd let himself get into this mess.

*** *** ***

Buffy had fallen asleep by the time Spike stopped at another motel for the day. After getting a room, he parked the DeSoto near their door, bringing the few things Buffy had in before getting her, lifting her out of the car and carrying her in to the bed. He took her shoes off, then brought the covers up around her, tucking her in. She murmured softly in her sleep before settling down, curling up on her side.

Spike smiled tenderly, pushing Buffy's hair away from her face. She was a beautiful little thing, especially when she wasn't glaring at him or threatening his unlife. If he could just get her to stop being so bloody defiant and simply realize she belonged to him now, then maybe this wouldn't be so bad. The sex was incredible, after all.

At the mere thought of that, Spike felt himself harden instantly in his jeans. He stripped off his clothes before joining her in the bed, pulling Buffy into his arms. She muttered slightly in protest, her eyes still closed, but when he opened up her jeans and found her clit with his fingers, she began to moan.

When Spike looked at her face again, Buffy's eyes were open, though slightly glassy. Spike pulled off both her sweatshirt and the red top under it, leaving her chest bare. He ran his hands down her ribcage, feeling the bones against his skin. "Need to get you fed more, pet," he said softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against her side. "Need to get you healthy."

Spike realized as he touched her then how little time he'd taken to explore her body. Every time between them had been quick and desperate, fueled by a need greater than either of them. He cupped his hand around one of her breasts, flicking the nipple back and forth with his thumb. Buffy arched into his hand, moaning at the touch, begging through ragged breaths for more. Spike leaned down and took the pert nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. Buffy tangled her fingers in his platinum blond hair, holding him to her chest. Spike contented himself with her breast for a while, loving the throaty groans she was making and the way she was thrusting herself against him.

When the scent of her arousal became too much for him, Spike's fangs elongated, piercing her breast and allowing him to suck her blood into his mouth. Buffy cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain, her whole body spasming with the force of her orgasm.

Knowing that it was the feel of his fangs inside of her that had made his mate come, Spike couldn't hold himself back any longer. He pulled her jeans down her legs, revealing the rest of her body to his heated gaze. Buffy's legs immediately went around his waist and she grabbed on to his shoulders, pulling him closer. "Inside me, please…" she begged, panting. "I'm so empty. Need to be…need to be full."

Spike pushed himself inside of her, filling her as she had asked, making Buffy arch off the bed as he did. He leaned down, licking a trail up her neck to her ear. "Like that, luv?"

"Yes…oh yes…Spike…"

Spike trembled at how his name sounded coming from her lips. She'd said it so few times and never when she was like this. He sped up his thrusts, desperate to be inside of her again as soon as he pulled out. It turned him on so much to see her like this, to know she wanted him like he wanted her. In that moment, he could admit to himself that it was more than the claim that fueled his desire, that he was attracted to her. She was a hot little thing—both literally and figuratively—and having her in his bed was the definite upside to the situation he'd found himself in.

He didn't love her—Spike held on to his conviction that Drusilla was the only woman he could ever love—but he wanted her. And the way Buffy was responding to him now could only mean that she wanted him just as much.

Spike brought his mouth to her neck again, licking and sucking on the marks he'd made there. Buffy's movements grew more enthusiastic as he did, her nails digging into his skin to score his back. Suddenly, she leaned up, taking his neck into her mouth and biting hard enough to draw blood. Spike lost all control then, his demon roaring to the fore as his hips slammed Buffy into the mattress when he came.

Spike figured he must've blacked out for a moment, because the next thing he knew, he was on his back with Buffy nestled at his side, asleep. He pulled the sheets back around them, then leaned over to press a soft kiss into her hair. She nuzzled against him, and Spike began to purr. Usually, that response embarrassed him, but now he didn't mind it as much. His demon was content with its mate, and Spike had decided to give into that for the time being. This felt nice—peaceful.

He closed his eyes, holding Buffy against him as he slept.

*** *** ***

Spike was awakened suddenly by Buffy scrambling to get away from him. She pulled the sheet up over her body, glancing between the two of them in horror. "What's your problem?" Spike asked, scratching his chest.

"You—you're my problem! You…took advantage of me again!"

"Took advantage?" Spike sat up. "And how exactly did I do that? You bloody asked me for it last night. You wanted me."

"No," Buffy snapped, holding her hand up between them. "I never wanted you. You disgust me. The only reason I've ever touched you is because you've been taking away my free will with your damn claim!"

"I've never done that for sex," Spike replied, obviously offended. "Your free will has been very much in place every time we've shagged, so don't even try to say otherwise. Besides, the first time, there was no claim."

"You forced yourself on me then!"

"I did not!" Spike stopped. "Okay, yeah, maybe I did, but you still liked it."

"You're sick. I can feel you forcing your lust on me, making me all…crazed," Buffy accused.

"That's not when you're crazed," Spike said. "And I'm not forcing my lust on you. You're going to feel it through the claim, yeah. Our emotions are linked now. But your own lust is right there with mine. I can feel it."

"The only lust I feel for you is the lust you make me feel by forcing your lust on me!"

Spike frowned for a second as he tried to make sense of that sentence. When he thought he had it sorted out, he said, "That isn't how it works."

"You're lying."

"No, I'm not. Just face it Buffy—you want me."

Buffy shook her head. "No. I hate you."

"You may hate me, baby, but that doesn't mean you don't want me." To emphasize his point, Spike pulled her into his lap, kissing her hard until she responded, her body molding itself against his. When he finally broke away, Spike smirked at her. "Told you you wanted me."

Buffy stared at him, her expression one of horror before it changed to anger. Spike expected some sort of verbal response, but instead she reared back and punched him in the nose.

"Bloody hell!" Spike exclaimed, clutching his wounded nose as Buffy got off the bed. "That fucking hurt!"

"I don't want you," Buffy ground out, pulling the sheet off of the bed and wrapping it around her. "You're an evil, disgusting thing." She stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Spike wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Bloody women."

*** *** ***

I don't know if any of you will like it as much, but that was one of my favorite chapters of this story to write so far. Maybe it was the image of Buffy in that sweatshirt… Anyway, I hope you're all still enjoying this, and please remember to leave a review!

The song used is "Submission" by the Sex Pistols.





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