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Author's Chapter Notes:
Extra special thanks to souloftherose for help on this chapter. Without her, I'd have been lost. Thank you sweetums!
He was a man lost he decided. Just the simple act of her arriving at his apartment to get ready for their night out, with her cheeks flushed from the cool air outside and even with the black winter hat on her head; and her smile, God her smile . . . She called to him, beckoned him. The primal male in him said "Mine."

And all she did was enter his apartment.

He knew he had to be really under it when simple things made his heart swell.

"I'll take the bathroom," she told him and started on her way. He grabbed her and pulled her to him before she could get too far. He kissed her hard and thoroughly, assuaging the primal male in him that wanted to stake its claim on her.

He left her breathless with his passion and he couldn't help the surge of male pride. "I missed you," he said softly.

"You just saw me a few hours ago."

He shrugged, "Can't seem to get enough of you kitten. If I had my way, you'd never leave."

She ignored that comment and he kicked himself for coming on too strong; and he had if the sudden distant look in her eye said anything. He swatted her bum and grinned rakishly, "Go ahead. I'm gonna get ready too."

She nodded, grinned, and went on her merry way.

He sighed heavily and headed to his room. He felt . . . tense. He felt as if something inside him was desperately trying to claw its way out of him and everytime he shoved it down, it just howled and clawed all the more.

It was his love for her. His desperate, growing by the day, unyielding, all-encompassing, possessive love for her. He'd told her was falling only because he didn't want to frighten her. He'd gone way beyond falling. He'd fallen already. Hard. He was on his ass gazing up at her, reaching for her and she was standing a few feet from him with a hand out. There, but not quite . . . there. And it was that not quite . . . thereness? That frightened him.

The whole pregnancy scare had keyed him into how not ready she was to realize the full extent of his devotion. He'd gotten a glimpse of a future with Buffy that day; a future in which they had a little girl that was a mixture of them. But mostly Buffy. A little Buffy running around, tugging on his pants, calling him 'Daddy' and then he'd seen Buffy, pregnant with his child, and a house, a house with a yard and a swing set. He'd seen it all and ached to reach out and grab it. But she'd taken the idea and shoved it away forcefully with both hands.

From her perspective he could understand. She was young and she was still in school. She had goals and wanted to meet them. She saw it as a kind of death for her to have children at this point in her life. She didn't see that there were ways to work it out and that she wouldn't be alone in it. She'd have him with her every step of the way to support her in school--hell he'd hire a damn tutor if that helped. He'd have done anything to make it as easy and as comfortable for her.

In him, she had a willing slave. And she didn't have a clue about it.

He felt a distance between them at times, felt as if she were pulling away and it scared him. Made him feel desperate. He did not like that feeling at all. It didn't sit well with him. He could honestly say that it was all her that brought it out in him. Not even his first love, Isabel, had made him feel the same kind of desperation he felt with Buffy. It made him hold on to her tighter and, he feared, that would drive her from him if he wasn't careful. So he tempered it as best he could. Tried to let her guide them until she was sure of him, of herself, of them.

Tonight served to do just that. It was a testament to him that Buffy indeed want to be sure of them. She was eager to enter his world and let him be the guide. Her insatiable quest for knowledge turned him on. And, the fact that her quest included him turned him on even more. He knew what kind of girl Buffy was. She was a knowledge seeker, a truth seeker. It would make her a damn good attorney. Wanting to be part of his world brought her closer to understanding him, and that's what Buffy ultimately was seeking to do. It thrilled him to no end to see her want to embrace him in such a manner. It meant that she was on her way to being sure that what they had could last and, if he had his way, it would last until they were old and gray.

Whistling to himself, William changed himself into Spike. Tight black jeans, a tight black Ramone’s t-shirt from back in the day, black combat boots, and his duster. Ah, the black duster. It had been at one time his second skin. It was like meeting an old friend when he slid into it. Memories of his teenage persona came slamming back to him and he grinned to himself. Yeah, he'd definitely been a shit. He'd had fun though. Slicking his hair back, he whistled to himself and reached for the black liner he'd gotten after work that day. Lightly, he lined his eyes with it and grinned. He was ready.

Stepping into the living room and not seeing Buffy, he called out to her.

"I'm coming! Just got to finish up," she called out.

He couldn't wait to see his Golden Girl. He drew a breath when he heard the bathroom door open. Soon, she came into vision and his jaw dropped. She was bloody gorgeous, and oh God, sexy as hell. Her hair was pin straight so that it almost looked like jagged eges at the ends. And it had bright red streaks in it that somehow made her gorgeous green eyes pop out even more. Her make up was dark for her, black liner and mossy green shadow. And her outfit, oh boy her outfit. She wore a red and black plaid, pleated mini with zippers on the sides and large safety pins randomly adorning it all around, and a skintight fishnet shirt that didn’t leave much to the imagination for he could see her black bra underneath and the swell of her milky white breasts calling him. She wore black thigh highs and chunky black boots.

"Do I look all right?" she asked and looked him up and down, licking her lips.

He was on her instantly before his mind knew what he was doing, his body was moving forward and grabbing her to him and kissing her amorously. "Fuck, Buffy," he breathed when he'd released her. "You look bloody gorgeous. A wet dream come to life."

"William!" she admonished him.

He leered at her, "It's Spike now baby."

She giggled and kissed him. "So I pass?"

"You more than pass, baby," he purred. He let his hands wander down her sides and to her ass, which he cupped in both his hands, and brought her closer so she could feel the erection he was now sporting.

She gasped and he watched in pleasure as her eyes glazed over with lust. He leaned in and kissed her voraciously. "I want you," he told her huskily. "I want to bend you over the couch, lift up this pretty little skirt and take you from behind. Can I Buffy? Can I take you like that?"

He was sure he had her, was sure she would say yes from the dazed look on her face. She surprised him by pushing at him and holding up her hand, moving her pointer finger back and forth and tsking him. "Naughty boy, wanting to make me all . . . dirty."

He growled, loving the vixen coming out in her. He moved forward to take her back in his arms when she stepped back, "Now, now," she scolded him. "Take me out and show me a good time and I might just let you take me from behind."

His eyes fluttered shut, hearing it from her lips drove him clear round the bend. "Buffy," he groaned, "What are you doing to me?"

"Giving you an incentive. Come now . . . Spike."

"I would like to come--"

She laughed and started for the door and, he was sure, wiggling her ass for him as she went.

"You are going to be the death of me," he muttered and followed her. Bloody slave all right, he thought to himself.

***********************************************************************************

Buffy felt stupid. Stupid because her first instinct upon walking into the underground club Wi--Spike had chosen was to cower in fear. It was ridiculous, they were people just like her, some of them just happened to look a little. . . different. Different as in scary. You're a snob, Summers, she told herself. It was just a different world than what she was used to. She was used to dance clubs that played Britney Spears and Destiny's Child. Poppy stuff; stuff Spike probably hated and rebelled against. She was used to seeing the occupants of those 'poppy' clubs dressed from preppy to slutty. The people here however, donned dog collars and heavy makeup, some it quite theatrical too, they wore bright colors and the standard black, and wild colored hair. Actually, she was liking the pink wig she saw across the room... However, the over all affect screamed seedy to Buffy. It was dark and almost dirty looking, but Buffy wondered if that was done for affect, or if it truly was dirty. There wasn’t much in the way of decoration aside from posters of bands – including the band of the t-shirt William was sporting. There was a bar in the back and that was pretty much it.

The occupants appeared tough and street wise to her; unwelcoming to a girl like her. She felt as if they'd take one look at her and know she was a fake. She studied the people around her inquisitively.

"What's goin' on in that head of yours?" Spike asked, nudging her with his arm.

"I'm studying."

He chuckled, "Studying?"

"Punk looks to me a little like goth."

He made a face, looking offended, but trying to cover it up. “Goth is for pansies,” he retorted. “Nothing like punk.”

That made her defensive. “Like I’m supposed to know. The closest I’ve come to punk is Green Day.”

Now he looked horrified, “Green Day is not punk.”

She felt even dumber than before. Here she was trying to experience William’s world and she was falling flat on her face. She was an embarrassment. She should have studied up on this; should have never suggested they do this. Or was it him that had suggested it? It didn’t matter, she just wanted out now.

“Buffy,” he was saying her name now, softly.

She was fighting back tears and refused to look at him.

“Buffy,” he said again and closed his fingers around her arm. She jerked back from him and looked away.

“Pet, look at me, please.”

She remained looking away. Then, he was standing in front of her, looking regretful. “Pet, talk to me. What is it?”

“I don’t fit in here. I stick out like a sore thumb and you think I’m stupid.”

“Buffy, no, baby, I could never think you were stupid,” he said lovingly and reached out, stroking her cheek. “Look at me, baby.”

She shook her head.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“Because I want to cry and if I look at you, I will!”

“Pet, don’t be upset. Please. I’m sorry if I snapped at you. I know you don’t know anything about punk and that’s why we’re here. To learn.”

“I should have done research—“

He started to chuckle and her eyes snapped to him, the tears gone and replaced by ire. “Now you’re laughing at me.”

“Not at you, baby. I’m laughing at how adorable you are. You’re the only one I know that would do research on punk.” He stared at her imploringly, suddenly serious. “You’d do all that for me?”

She bit her lip and nodded and then looked up at him, “Not that it matters. I’m ridiculous. I stick out—“

He pulled her into his arms successfully, “No you don’t. And if anyone is looking at you, it’s because you’re bloody gorgeous, pet. Listen,” he said, pushing some hair away from her face and playing with it idly between his fingers, “We are here to give a taste and to see what I was like then. I’m not exactly the same then as I am now.”

“Part of you is; the part that isn’t a big shot attorney in a gorgeous penthouse. You’re still a rebel, Will.”

He grinned, “I am at that. But you don’t have to ‘fit in’ to this scene, Buffy. That’s not what this is about. You already ‘fit in’ with me.”

“I know, I’m just . . . a perfectionist. I don’t like to half ass things and I was trying to tamp down the intense feeling of dread upon walking in here—“

“Dread?”

“Some of them look a little scary to me Will. Remember who I was in college? Popular cheerleader that went to pop clubs to dance and listened to friggen Britney Spears. Hell, I’d still do that. But this? This is . . . out of my realm.”

“That’s not a bad thing baby to experience things out of your realm.”

“I know. I just insulted you and you got upset with me and it’s not like I’m supposed to know all of the differences between goth and punk—“

“Buffy, stop. It’s okay, sweet. I’m sorry if I snapped at you.”

She sighed, “I know.”

“Let’s grab a table and I’ll get you a coke and we’ll talk okay? The band is still setting up, so I’ll give you the overview of punk okay? I can tell you right now that there are a bunch of bloody posers in here that are playing at something they’re not.”

“So am I,” she said defensively.

“No, luv. You’re learning. Not claiming to be something you’re not.”

She nodded, “Yeah, ok.”

Leading her through the crowd, he brought her to a table in the corner of the room. He assured her he’d be right back before disappearing into the throng. Buffy sat back and tried to relax. She watched the band set up and let her eyes drift over the crowd, taking them in.

“Here you are, pet,” William said and slid in next to her, placing her plastic cup of Coke before her.

She sipped it, “So, I’m less intimidated.”

He grinned, “Oh?”

“Well, I saw a group laughing over there and that helped.”

He laughed then and pulled her snug against his side, draping an arm across her shoulders. “A lot of them look about ready to wet themselves when up against the real punks.”

“All right. Teach me,” she said and rested her head on his shoulder.

He spoke low, giving her the basics of punk rock music; what it was, what it meant and the history of it. She listened with interest, jumping in to ask questions here and there and finally, through his eyes, she was starting to see what he meant by the ‘posers’ as he called them. She readily identified the ‘hard core’ punks from the ‘wannabe’s’. She found that it wasn't what she thought at all. She thought 'punk' meant just a style of music that was close to rock, and a style of clothing to rebel and make a statement. According to William though, it was more than that. It was, and could be considered a way of life. It was rebelling--but rebelling against the things society imposed on people -- as in being the perfect 'cookie cutter' image. It was taking a stand and being brave enough to be yourself. It was raw and political and said something. It fit him. Even with the straight - laced day job. It said something about the core of him and, proved to her even more just how complex William really was.
When the band started, Buffy looked to William to gauge his reaction as some of the ‘wannabe’s’ flocked to the front of the stage. Will did not look impressed.

“What’s their name?” he asked distastefully.

Buffy narrowed her eyes to see the stage and the poster next to the band. “The . . . Safety Pins.” She started to giggle as William looked downright disgusted.

“This is bloody awful.”

“Well, what do you expect from Safety Pins?” she laughed.

“I’m done with this place. You ready to go pet? A bloody mockery is what it is. A travesty! I oughta shut this shit hole down on principle alone. They call themselves a punk rock band? They sound like bloody Blink 182—“

“Hey,hey!” Buffy said and poked him. “I like them.” She paused, "I though they were just rocky pop."

William chuckled, "They are at that. You ready kitten? Let’s go home. I’ll teach you about punk.”

She grinned, “Oh, I’m sure you will.”
********************************************

She didn’t seem to put out that they had left so early; she seemed almost relieved actually. He chuckled to himself. His girl was not punk. Though she looked bloody hot in that outfit and he fully intended on taking her the way he’d described before they’d left.

But, to make doubly sure their night was not wasted, he took her to the diner down at the corner from the club and they filled up on greasy cheeseburgers and fries until they felt as if their stomachs would burst. He rushed her back into the car, as she hadn’t wanted to look like a ‘dork’ with a jacket on, to keep her warm and then up to the apartment. Immediately she’d gone for his CD’s and demanded to see his photo album again so she could ‘envision it all.’ They’d kicked off their shoes, and he his jacket and just before she started taking off her thigh highs, he begged her to keep them on. She blushed and agreed.

His girl was still not quite impressed, but she did admit to liking a few songs. He smothered her in kisses and toppled her into the couch. He was done talking now. He needed to touch her, feel her, make love to her until she begged for a reprieve.

Nibbling at her ears and down her neck he took untold delight in the moans and murmurs she elicited at his touch. Her nimble and questing fingers caressed him where they could reach and her simple touch had him beyond aroused.

Sliding his hands under her fishnet shirt, he lifted it up and over her head, discarding it over the couch and then pulling her bra down to suckle at her breasts, moaning at how responsive she was and how sweet she tasted.

“Will,” she moaned, clawing at his shirt. He grinned saucily, and lifted up, pulling his own shirt up and off, and then unbuttoning his jeans and unzipping them.

She bit her lip and reached for him, bringing him down into the warm softness of her arms and body. Sliding his hands under her skirt, he found her thong, which he took great pleasure in tearing right off her. “Will!” she gasped and her eyes widened.

“Spike,” he told her huskily, “Call me Spike.”

Her gaze darkened in lust even more and God, she had no idea what it did to him.

“Spike, please,” she whimpered and he nearly came at the sound. Thrusting a finger inside her, she nearly sobbed her pleasure with her head thrashing from side to side.

“Christ, you’re so wet,” he breathed. “For me, right? Just for me.”

She nodded, “For you.”

“Only me because you’re my girl, right?”

“Yes, Spike, yours.”

He growled and kissed her hard, “Up, Buffy,” he said backing away, withdrawing his finger that was coated with her juices. He helped her up whilst sucking his finger; his eyes rolling up at the taste.

She stood on wobbly legs. “Spike?” she said certainly.

“Bend over the armrest Buffy,” he directed her, watching her blush profusely and bend over the armrest, resting her elbows on it and looking up at him.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he swore, taking in the rosy hue to her skin, her eyes uncertain but still trusting, her breasts hanging over her bra, the peaks hard. And her bottom, her round, perfect bottom. He shucked off his jeans, licking his lips in anticipation and got behind her, caressing her bottom tenderly. She moaned and he lazily drew a finger across her back, and over her rump before finally settling in the crack of her ass and going down further. She jumped and tensed until he reached her pussy and he slid his finger in and then rubbed her clit.

“Condom,” she gasped out. “The pill hasn’t . . . you need to get a condom.”

He groaned, his body protesting the whole way to the bathroom. Quickly, he tore the package open and sheathed himself. Coming back in the room, and seeing her bent over still, he knew he had to be inside her and soon.

“Baby, I can’t wait,” he warned her, “I need to be inside you.”

She nodded, “Please, Spike.”

Grabbing his cock, he lined it up with her slit and lunged forward, burying himself in her heat. She gasped.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked worriedly.

“No, just surprised me,” she breathed.

He started a slow, rocking motion as he leaned over her and palmed her breasts in his hand, pinching her nipples. She moaned low in her throat and her head dropped to the armrest. “Spike, more, please.”

He started thrusting harder, his body demanding more along with hers. It was like this, inside her, that he knew she was his completely; that she belonged to him wholly. He wanted more; wanted more than just coupling to make it real.


He wanted all of her.

He pushed faster, harder, and together they climbed to their peak. Reaching around, he slid his thumb over her bundle of nerves and she let a groan and swore.

He dotted kisses over her back, wanting to cum, but not wanting the sweet tormenting pleasure to end.

“Buffy, you feel so good, my sweet girl,” he murmured. “Feel so good. Like heaven.” His balls were tightening and he knew he was going to pop soon and he wanted her with her. He rubbed faster and pounded harder and the minute her walls fluttered and clenched around him, she let out a shout and called his name. He came with a vengeance, shouting her name. He dazedly collapsed against her back, nuzzling it with his face. “Love you, Buffy. Love you so much my sweet girl. Be with me forever, Buffy. Be with me forever.”

“Spike,” she said softly after a few moments.

“I’m crushing you,” he said and stood, easing himself out her tight passage. They both groaned at the sensation of slipping from each other and he helped her up, spinning her around and into his arms. Her cheeks were flushed; her hair in disarray and her lips were plump from his kisses. He kissed her languidly, savoring her like a fine wine. “What do you say about a bath?” he asked.

She looked at him with such tenderness in her eyes; he knew it had to be love. One couldn’t fake a look like that or make it up. His heart swelled and bloomed in hope. She smiled shyly at him, “That sounds nice,” and she buried her face in his chest.

“What’s this then?” he asked, sweeping her hair from her shoulders and smoothing a hand down her back.

“Just feel self-conscious all of a sudden . . . Baring my rump like that.”

He laughed, “Oh kitten, it’s a beautiful rump. Poets could write sonnets about that rump.”

She giggled.

“Come on, I’ll wash away that self – consciousness. I have much more in store for you, sweetheart.”

“I’m sure you do, Spike. I’m sure you do.”





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