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The sweet intensity of that kiss was like nothing Buffy had ever felt before, as Spike’s cool mouth yielded to her own, drinking in her kiss with an urgency, a hunger, that took her breath away. Never had she felt so desired – so *needed* -- as Spike made her feel

Trembling hands hesitantly went to her waist, and she could feel his desperation for closeness, and his fear of daring to anger her by pulling her closer. A pang of guilt went through her; she really could not blame him, after the cruel responses that had met his previous attempts to even touch her at all.

The very thought of the things she had done and said to him was deeply troubling to her, and she knew that she and Spike needed to just sit down and *talk* -- to try to make sense of what was going on, to try to find a way to somehow put it right, or at least deal with the mess they -- *she* -- had made of things.

But there had been no mistaking the painful insecurity, the desperate, longing need in his eyes when he had reached for her moments before, when he had begged her not to leave him – and instinctively she knew that he needed this most basic, primal reassurance more than any words that she could speak.

Tenderly she put her arm around his waist, hugging him gently in nearer to her, breaking the kiss to whisper softly, “It’s okay. You can touch me, Spike…it’s okay…”

The simple permission, the soft affection in her tone, sent a shudder of pleasure and relief through him, as he slowly, almost reverently drew in nearer, his hands at her waist sliding around to embrace her more fully. “Buffy…” he gasped, his voice trembling with uncertainty and need. “Buffy…”

“It’s all right,” she reassured him, kissing a trail down from his lips to his throat. “It’s okay…Spike, I *want* you – I want you so much!”

As her mouth reached the place where his shirt covered his throat, she began to move back up toward his lips, and was surprised by the soft, pleading whimper that rose in her vampire’s throat, as he turned his head slightly, giving her better access to the mark that was crying out, burning for her tuch.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice soft, broken, and submissive. She had told him not to push her, that his place was to simply accept what she offered him without making demands of his won – but this was in no way a demand. It was a heartfelt, humble plea. “Buffy – please – please…”

Her green eyes softened on his face, open and vulnerable, desperate for her -- *needing* her – and without a word she slowly slid the shirt up his body, her eyes darkening, smoldering with desire as he obediently raised his arms to allow her to remove the offending garment, and his glorious body was revealed to her.

She cast the shirt aside with one hand, the other holding one wrist in a gently restraining grip, so that he knew not to move as she returned her free hand to his other wrist, and slowly trailed her hands down his raised arms, sliding down his back and around to run up and down the hard muscle of his flawless ivory chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured in an awed tone, her hands returning to his waist to pull him closer as her mouth fell to his throat, kissing and licking delicately, teasingly, around the sensitive flesh of her mark. “And you’re mine,” she whispered, in a tone of blissful satisfaction. “All mine.”

The words had aroused his desire before, when spoken fiercely and possessively. But now, whispered in tenderness and affection, they drove him to a frenzy of need. As she felt his swelling erection against her, she lowered a hand between them to cup it softly, a light squeeze earning a low moan of pleasure, before she raised the hand again to work the zipper of his jeans, her other had moving behind his neck to steady him as his head rolled back, his eyes closed as the increased sensation poured over him.

“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, please, Buffy! Please!”

She needed no further encouragement to reaffirm her claim, as she finally made the contact he had craved, soft warm lips caressing her mark in a tender kiss, teeth and tongue gently working at the spot as Spike moaned in an exquisite agony of pleasure.

All his doubts – his fears of her rejection, her cruelty, vanished under the power of the sweet connection they shared in this moment. In her touch he felt her regret at hurting him, her desire to make things right, the tenderness, acceptance, reassurance that he craved.

“Buffy,” he gasped. “Yes – need you, Buffy -- *God*!”

His hands moved up and down her back as he gently pressed her nearer to him, needing her to be closer, to surround him, leaving no space between them. He had forgotten completely her earlier orders not to touch without permission, but that was all right for the moment.

So had she.

His raw need quickened her desire, and she bit down sharply on his throat, not quite breaking the already torn skin – but it was more than enough. She felt his body go slack for a moment, his knees buckling, and only the pressure of her body was holding him up against the wall as he gasped for breath.

She withdrew, and the pleading, strangled little cry she heard in his throat tore at her, called to her, and piqued her arousal. “Come on,” she whispered, taking his arm as she backed away a few steps, then turned and hurried up the stairs.

He somehow managed to keep up on weak, trembling legs that seemed to have lost all their strength under the power of her tender ministrations, until she pulled him into her bedroom with an almost frantic urgency, slamming the door hard before grabbing him by the arms and throwing him down on the bed.

He waited, eyes closed, breathless but unafraid, for the return of her touch – but felt nothing. Suddenly fearful and apprehensive, he looked up at her, but did not dare to rise from the bed – and froze completely at what he saw.

It was Buffy, he knew – and not the terrifying version of her that seemed to have so much control lately – but there was a smoldering, possessive desire in her eyes that took his breath away. There was none of the former desire to force him into submission – *Why should there be?* he thought. He had already given her that.

But there was a powerful desire in her eyes, a need to claim him again, in every possible way – to make him her own, through pleasure and promise, rather than with cruelty and violence.

She held his gaze with the intense look, as she slowly shed her skirt, revealing to him her bare body beneath it. The heat in her jade eyes was scorching as she unbuttoned her blouse and slid it back off of her shoulders, then unfastened her bra and let it slide to the floor as well.

*Mine,* the thought flew through his mind unbidden, and his eye widened with the realization. No matter what Buffy had said, no matter how viciously she had reinforced her own dominance in the blood bond that held them, the fact remained that he had claimed *her*, too. She *was* his. And while his claim did not give him the power that hers held, it was still real, and binding. She was his.

It was a glorious thought.

And then, the capacity for thought left him as the Slayer was upon him, tugging urgently at his jeans to free his body to her touch. He obediently raised his hips to allow her to slide the denim down under him and off, tossing it carelessly to the floor beside the bed.

She leaned down over him, holding his gaze with a smile that was both lustful and tender, as she laid a soft kiss near but not directly on his lips, and whispered, “You want me?” There was a teasing sparkle in her eyes, but no cruelty, and he knew that she had no intention of holding out on him – not this time.

“Yes,” he whispered, with a depth of intensity in his voice that drove her to greater need. “Want you so bad, Buffy…*need* you…”

She slowly rotated her hips above him, so that her body stroked over his sensitive member, without actually taking him in, and he groaned at the torturous pleasure of the sensation. She brought her mouth close enough to brush his ear as she whispered, “You’re mine, Spike – my own. Only I can give you what you need. And I’m going to.”

The words alone sent a delicious shudder of anticipation through him, just before all at once Buffy fell down onto him, encasing him in her heat, at the same moment, resuming her tender attention to his throat, kissing and laving her mark with her tongue. His hands lowered to her hips to clutch her to him, his own pelvis thrusting up into her without even realizing it, without restraint, as he moaned in pleasure at the overwhelming sensations.

There was no reprimand, no punishment, and he found himself realizing that it was because she *wanted* his touch – wanted *him*. Her hold on him was powerful, unbreakable in fact, an at times terrifying – but he had a hold on her, too. The only thing that kept him in submission to her was the fact that she had not returned his claim.

But now, as he stared into hooded, glazed green eyes dark with desire for him, and saw how deeply she wanted him, he began to think – maybe…

He realized he was taking a risk, as he consciously slowed his movements, his hands on her hips clutching tightly and almost stilling her for a moment, meeting her startled eyes with a slow, seductive smirk when she raised her head to look at him questioningly, as he reset their pace, grinding slowly against her in a way that made her suddenly gasp for breath at the pleasure that went coursing through her.

“Buffy,” he whispered as his hands pressed her nearer, and she moaned with the feelings he was birthing in her. “Buffy – I can make you feel so good…let me show you, Buffy…let me…”

Her head fell back slightly as she gasped at a slightly harder thrust of his body, and he took that as consent, taking a chance and raising his hands to her arms to roll them over so that he was above her. She looked up at him with an expression resembling panic for a moment, and he saw a glint of something dangerous in her eyes.

He lowered his own in a submissive manner, his grip on her arms loosening as he whispered softly, “Only to please you, Buffy…please let me make it good for you, Buffy…please…only if you want me to…” He knew he was riding a dangerous line here, and did not want to risk angering her, drawing out that strange force in her that strove to punish every defiance. “Please,” he whispered. “I only want to please you.”

As he spoke, he moved ever so slightly against her, and she let out a soft moan, her head falling back on the pillow and her eyes closing for a moment. She did not speak her permission, but as she laid her head back she pulled him against her, thrusting up toward him urgently.

They were both very near to the edge, as he continued the beautiful rhythm of their bodies together, leaning close to her ear to whisper to her the whole time, “So beautiful, Buffy…so sweet…need you…want to make you happy…forever, Buffy…yours…want you…want you to be…mine…” He paused there, waiting for the dreaded reaction, but the Slayer either was beyond comprehension at this point – or did not have an objection to the words.

Encouraged, he intensified his efforts, felt her inner shuddering as she approached her climax, hesitating as he instantly rethought his plan. But she wanted him so badly – she was weak – she was under the power of the desire for him created by his claim…

Suddenly, his face changed and almost gently, he slid his fangs into her throat, drawing from her with a passionate intensity. She gasped, her eyes shooting open in shock, pain, pleasure, as her orgasm engulfed her.

“Mine!” he growled possessively near her ear. “Say it, Buffy…mine…I’m yours and you’re mine…say it!”

“I – I’m…” she gasped, frowning with some inner conflict, shaking her head slightly. “I…”

“Please,” he whispered, searching her face for a moment before dropping his fangs to her throat again, savoring the sweet taste of her, as the strength flowed through him. “Mine, Buffy,” he whispered, pulling back again. “Mine…mine…”

“Mine,” she repeated mindlessly, her voice faint, as if struggling for consciousness through a dense fog, her eyes closed and her head turned, her throat arching up as if seeking his bite again. “Mine…mine…”

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open again, and met his, wide and shocked – and with a total clarity of understanding. He stared at her, trying frantically to read her expression – as it slowly went from stunned understanding, to disappointment – to anger.

“*Mine*!” she repeated in a whisper that was almost a snarl, with a menace in her tone that told him he had made a serious mistake.

Within an instant their positions were reversed, and she gripped his wrists in her hands, holding them over his head, her satiated body still impaled on his still-erect member as she glared down at him in fury at his attempt to trick her, enraged by his deception and defiance.

He could see the dangerous light in her eyes, and knew that he was in very real danger. He did not try to fight her, aware that a single command from her lips would leave him powerless to fight anymore, and with one more transgression on her list to punish him for.

“Buffy,” he whispered, meeting her eyes with a desperate look. “Buffy, please…”

“Shut up!” she snarled, pinning both his wrists with one hand as her other hand drew back and struck him hard, across the face, snapping his head to the side with the force of the blow.

He did not dare to move, closing his eyes and biting his lip to hold back his emotional response. She had not struck him before, not since the claim, and somehow – it was as painful emotionally as physically – an insult, a rejection, a statement of how unworthy and disfavoured he was by his claimant.

“You *dare* to attempt to defy me again? To try to put me under your power?” she went on, her voice calmer, but trembling with cold rage as she leaned down closer to him, deliberately dipping down lower onto him, rotating slightly and making him moan at the intense sensation, at this point only another indication of her power over him.

“You *have* no power, vampire,” she snarled menacingly, another expert twist of her body, in combination with the tight clenching of her body around him pulling a sharp cry of mingled pain and pleasure from the pinned, helpless vampire beneath her. “You’re *mine*!” she declared furiously. “And you *will* submit! Mine!”

And with those words, she gripped his hair painfully and yanked his head back as she bit down with brutal strength and ferocity on her mark, drawing his blood and sucking it into her mouth with a fierceness and power that left him breathless and gasping in shock, pain, and pleasure.

The combination of the bite and one last final thrust of her body around him brought him to his own climax, even in the midst of the pain, and he found himself moaning, crying out, sobbing, “Buffy…God, *Buffy*…yours, Buffy…please…”

The pleasure of the orgasm passed, and still her teeth were clenched in his flesh, viciously tearing at the mark, re-opening the original wound and sending a searing agony through him, leaving him still pleading, but this time for her to stop.

“Buffy…no…Buffy…please, stop…no…sorry…” he sobbed out, his body going slack beneath her, submitting completely, turning his head slightly to silently tell her that he was hers to do with as she would, to torment and punish and rend until her anger was sated, if she so chose – even though he desperately hoped that she would not.

It was then that her fury was gradually sated, and she released her hold on his throat, drawing back. His eyes were closed, his head turned away, and this time he did not witness Buffy’s gradual return to herself.

This time, she did not appear as shocked by what had happened – she had been aware of what she was doing the entire time, although unable to stop it – but she was every bit as horrified and dismayed by the damage she had done. Her hand rose instinctively toward the glaring wound in his throat, not quite touching it…

He flinched away before she could, shaking his head and pleading softly, “No, Buffy…don’t…I’m sorry, I won’t…won’t do it again, please, Buffy…”

Her eyes softened, filling with tears as her hand went instead behind his head, pulling him close to her. At first, his body stiffened against her embrace, resistant and fearful – but then, she felt him relax – no, *collapse* -- into her touch, shaking with deep sobs as he leaned against her, his hands lowering tentatively from where she had held them above his head, but not daring to touch her.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay. Come here,” she murmured comfortingly, pulling his arms gently around her to indicated that it was all right for him to touch her.

And he clung to her, until his emotional reaction had passed.

When he seemed calmer, she reached a gentle hand toward his shoulder, on the uninjured side, to lift his head to look at her. He resisted slightly – not too much, he didn’t dare – not wanting to face her, confused and ashamed.

When he finally gathered the courage to look her in the eye, he was startled by the sorrow and confusion he saw in her eyes as well.

“Spike,” she said softly, holding his gaze with a solemn intensity. “We *really* need to talk.”





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