Spike kept his eyes closed for a few moments as the Slayer slowly backed off of him, his mind racing, trying to decide exactly what to do next. She had caught him off guard, with the sudden power of her attack, gaining the upper hand, and preventing him from getting it back by employing the very sexual skills he had taunted her about, claiming that she lacked.
Apparently – he had been wrong.
It had not taken him long to realize that if things kept going the way they were going, he was going to lose himself to the Slayer – in more ways than one. If she kept insisting that he concede defeat, using the techniques she had been using, he was not sure how long he would be able to hold out.
He had used the vague, half-hearted agreement to her demand in an attempt to gain a little space, half-expecting it to fail, and for her to immediately demand a more complete answer. After all, she should know that he had to give her more than the “right” he had given her, in order for the ritual to be effective. He had to actually accept her authority over him.
It would not take much. A simple “you win” or even a “yes”, in response to the right question from her – but it had to be a clear and direct acceptance of her victory.
Apparently, the Slayer did not know the ritual as well as she thought she did.
This could work out well, he began to think with cautious optimism. If she thought that she had won already – that he was already under her control – she would let her guard down in some way, and he would be able to take back the victory. All he had to do was play along until she did.
He slowly opened his eyes, looking warily up at her as he raised his body up on his elbows, trying very hard to keep any trace of laughter from his expression at her wide-eyed surprise. She had to keep believing that he had already lost to her.
*Now how would I react if I’d lost to the Slayer?* he wondered.
That thought was certainly no help in the straight-face-keeping department. He almost laughed out loud -- *Like *that* would ever happen!* -- and that would never do. He knew beyond all doubt that of all possible reactions, that would be the least convincing.
“What’s funny?” the Slayer suddenly demanded, a cold, soft sound to her voice that sent an odd shiver through him as he looked up into suddenly blazing emerald eyes, glaring down at him fiercely with a penetrating gaze.
The naïve girl, surprised at her sexual victory, had vanished. In fact, he had never seen the Slayer look quite like this before. Everything about her exuded power – and desire. There was a smoldering look of intense arousal mingled with the triumph in her eyes – and it only made him want her more.
As he watched, she arched one brow in a dangerous question, reminding him that he had yet to answer her.
“Nothing,” he said, breaking eye contact, not wanting her to read anything suspicious in his gaze – and not really remembering what had been funny now, anyway.
He slowly started to get up – and was instantly slammed back down on his back by a powerful foot on his chest, pinning him down. He looked up at the Slayer again in surprise – and his jaw went slack at the sight of her long, shapely leg, leading up to her very short, very tight red leather skirt. The sensation of desire he felt for her deepened as the scent of her arousal came to him that much stronger from between her parted legs.
“Did I tell you to get up?” she asked in a soft voice, and he looked up to see a smirk turning up the corner of her mouth, her eyes dancing with amusement, but hard with power.
Defiance swept through him, but he struggled to hold it back. After all, at the moment, she held all the good cards in her hand – but he *did* have a plan. He did not want to act rashly and ruin it. If he attacked now and she managed to get the upper hand again, all would be lost. She had already proven at least once in this fight that she would not fall for the same trick twice.
And he had already proven that he would.
He looked away, shaking his head, trying to appear submissive and contrite. “No,” he whispered.
He felt the pressure on his chest relieved as she removed her foot and said in that same unsettling voice of soft authority, “Get up.”
Breathing hard with a strange mixture of fear, anticipation, and desire, he climbed slowly to his feet. There was no denying it; he wanted her desperately by this point. But he knew that she wanted him to. And if he played his cards right, he could go along with what she thought was the symbol of her victory, right up until the very end, and then turn the tables on her when she would be at her weakest, in the throes of passion.
He would bring the Slayer to her knees.
But it was a dangerous game he was playing, and he knew it. There was a very strong chance that the very same desire he saw in her eyes, the weakness that he planned to use against her, could be *his* downfall instead.
He just had to keep a certain measure of con…
*Bloody hell!*
Without warning the Slayer quickly closed the distance between them, shoving him forcefully back against the pillar behind him, one tiny hand moving between them to stroke slowly up and down the length of the swelling bulge in the front of his pants.
He gasped at the sudden contact, feeling his legs go weak at the overwhelming sensation of pleasure caused by her touch, so much stronger and bolder than any mortal woman’s should have been.
She smiled at his reaction. There was none of the self-doubt or insecurity in her eyes now that he had seen when he had mocked her earlier. The Slayer knew that she was the one with the power now. “You like that?” she whispered in a low, seductive voice.
He was not acting when he nodded quickly, breathless. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes.”
A quiet voice in his head – quieter by the moment – warned him to caution. *Careful what you say, mate – mind your words – the wrong one could lose you the bloody game in an instant.*
But “yes” in response to what she had just asked him was okay, he reassured himself mentally. It was safe. He was still in control. All she had said anyway was -- *what* had she asked him again? he wondered, as her fingers slid as far beneath his erection as the taut fabric of his jeans would allow, and he let out a low groan of pleasure before he could stop himself.
The Slayer’s low, throaty laugh only intensified his need, as she put her other arm around him, pulling him into a kiss as she pulled him away from the pillar and started backing him up across the room, her hand still working at the front of his jeans, expertly driving him to a greater intensity of desire.
*Gotta stay aware – gotta stay in control…* he reminded himself, as she steered him toward her destination, unknown to him. But he did not open his eyes, just returned her kiss urgently, unthinkingly, as they moved through a doorway into the next room.
He felt the backs of his knees hit something soft but unyielding, struggled for a moment to stay upright, but then fell onto his back as the Slayer pushed him down. The kiss momentarily broken, he glanced around quickly and saw that he was lying on the old iron-wrought four post bed in the master bedroom, though the Slayer had made the bed up with fresh silk sheets for the occasion.
The very bed he had once shared with Dru.
Before she had abandoned and betrayed him, for his “emotional unfaithfulness”.
As he looked up into the Slayer’s glittering green eyes, narrowed and almost feral in their lust for him – he wondered if Dru had not been right all along.
Suddenly, the unexpected loss of Buffy’s touch drove all thoughts of Dru from his mind, as he let out a soft warning growl that was almost instinctive, calling her hands back to their work – and was immediately alarmed when he realized what he had done. Would that give away to Buffy that he was not really under her control?
The Slayer did not seem surprised by his reaction, but she shot him a hard look through narrowed eyes, and he almost could have sworn that he heard an answering growl low in her throat. Either way, the menace of her reaction was enough to silence him for the moment, as Buffy’s hands caught his wrists, raising them above his head.
He did not realize what she was doing until he felt cold iron lock around one of his wrists, and looked quickly above him with alarm. She already had him bound to the bed at one wrist, if not completely restrained. Getting the upper hand again would be impossible if he did not have the use of his hands at all!
Of course, she already thought she had won, so he knew that at any rate, he would not be in any danger of being forced into submission to her, as long as he watched his words carefully – but he would not be able to truly bring *her* into *his* power, either, if he did not have the freedom to overpower her at all.
Buffy saw the look of near-panic on his face as his wide eyes met hers again – and froze. He could tell immediately that she had misread the reason behind his reaction to the chains – fortunately – as he saw a sick, uncertain look come to her face for just a moment – the girl overpowering the Slayer briefly.
He was surprised by the horrified realization in her whispered voice as she said, “You don’t want this. Me. Do you?”
The fact that she was even asking was a wonder to him in itself. The girl had initiated a bloody vampire dominance ritual, for Pete’s sake! Did she think it *mattered* what the loser wanted in a situation such as this? It didn’t make any difference – and that was kind of the point. She was kind of *supposed* to force her will on him – though she did not know that she wasn’t forcing him, not really.
But the look on her face made it clear to him that the thought of forcing herself on him was repulsive to her.
Up until this point, he realized, his obvious desire for her had kept it from sinking in for her just exactly what it was she was doing. His fear at the introduction of the chains, however, had brought reality back to her with startling speed.
But the truth was – he *did* want her. His body was crying out for her touch, begging her to finish what she had started. Not to mention the fact that getting her in the throes of passion was his best chance to actually *win* this soddin’ showdown. No, the actual sex with Buffy was not the problem for him – not at all.
It was the bloody chains that were the problem.
“Yes,” he admitted in a whisper. “Yes, I – I want you…”
She frowned slightly with further understanding, her eyes falling on his manacled wrist. “Just – not the chains,” she realized.
He swallowed hard, realizing that the outcome of this little situation depended very much on his words, and her response, right now. He shook his head slowly, averting his eyes. “No,” he whispered.
She studied his face for a moment, clearly torn. He waited in silence, thinking that he knew what she was thinking. If she had already won, then the chains were really unnecessary, weren’t they? After all, he *had* to submit to her. The act they were engaging in was really only symbolic, according to what she had been told – so she did not need to restrain him, and he would still submit – especially since he wanted her anyway.
He breathed out a soft sigh of relief as she reached above his head and unlocked the cuff around his wrist, then reached her hand back down toward his jeans. This Slayer was turning out to be even more of a pushover than he’d thought. This was going to be a bloody piece of…
His thoughts were cut off as she suddenly took his throbbing member in a grip of iron to rival that of the chains she had just discarded, giving a sharp little tug that made him moan in mingled pleasure and pain.
Not loosening her grip, her thumb pressing in a small, circular motion on the underside of his sensitive manhood, she leaned down close to his ear and whispered in a possessive tone, “Mine!”
He bit his lip to keep from responding, a very dangerous thing at this point. Her touch, the possessive growl in her voice, made him want her so much, it was almost second nature to respond. But even the slightest whispered, “yes” or even worse, “yours” at this point would be to forfeit the game completely.
On the other hand, a complete failure to respond might arouse her suspicions – also very dangerous, with him in this very vulnerable position. He figured that a simple nod was safe, as they Slayer did not seem to understand that it was only valid if he actually spoke the words aloud.
She smiled, a slow, predatory smile, as she continued the slow circular motion with her thumb, increasing the pressure and squeezing slightly with her hand.
“God – Buffy..” he gasped, his arms rising instinctively to go around her.
“Don’t,” she ordered sharply, ceasing all motion of her hand as she did.
He froze immediately with a little whimper at his loss, his hands slowly lowering back onto the bed, his body shuddering with the need she had created, and then withheld from him. He felt an overwhelming sense of frustration as she released him completely, her hands moving slowly to close around his wrists on either side of him, slowly raising them over his head again and holding him there as she whispered,
“Do you want to touch me?”
He nodded urgently, gasping for breath, more desperate by the moment for contact as she slowly raised her body up off of his, hovering over him, so near that he could feel the intense heart radiating off her body, but only actually touching him at his wrists, and where her knees touched his sides.
She looked down to whisper tauntingly in his ear, so close that he could feel her smirk against his skin, her hot breath sending shivers down his spine, “Too bad. You don’t get to touch me, Spike. Not ‘til I say so.”
He was well aware that the situation was quickly spinning out of his control completely. She had driven him to a point of need from which he could not turn back, and yet was holding herself at a distance, not allowing him the use of the only weapon at his disposal at the moment – touch.
He knew that if he could touch her, he could reduce her to a quivering heap of begging, desperate desire in minutes – if she would only allow him the chance. But if he fought her at all now, gave away that he was not under her control, she would know that she had been tricked, and they would be back to fighting again.
And something told him that at the moment – she would have a decided advantage.
Besides, truth be told, ritual or no – he was beginning to think that she already had more control than was good for him. He wasn’t sure he could have resisted her had he tried, at the moment.
“You want me to touch *you*?” The Slayer’s low, seductive voice cut through his thoughts again, sending a rush of desire all through him at her offer – which a part of him was already sure she intended to extend – and deny, again.
Still, he whispered desperately, “Yes…yes…”
She laughed softly, a wickedly gleeful sound, as she brushed her body down slowly across his swollen erection, sending a shock of sensation from his sensitive manhood, all through his entire body, and he shook at the touch, gasping out, “Buffy…God, Buffy…” Without conscious thought he found himself thrusting up toward her, desperate with need for deeper contact.
Instantly the Slayer withdrew herself completely, rising up again, out of his reach, fixing him with a steely glare. “No,” she snapped, and he immediately froze, not daring to move again.
He knew it was just an act, and he was not under her control – well, no more than any man would have been in his position – but there was something in her cold, authoritative tone; in her narrowed eyes, nearly feral with lust for him, that spoke of pure, primal power, older than either of them – some deep thing inside her born of her calling, a power that she could not have comprehended, although she was consumed with it.
“I didn’t say you could touch me!” she informed him in a severe voice that made him flinch in spite of himself.
She paused, then – and her next actions surprised him. She leaned down slowly to kiss his neck, moving slowly inward toward his throat, her head gently pushing his back, leaving his throat bared to her in that most primal of gestures of submission. The hot, most ouch of her lips to the sensitive skin of his neck was driving him wild with need for her – and yet she kept all other contact from him.
“Please,” he found himself whispering, “Please, Buffy – please…”
He felt her lips form a soft smile against his skin, just before she pulled back to look him in the eye. “Please what?” she whispered, teasingly, dipping down just once, allowing her center to brush slowly against the very tip of his erection again.
“Please…Buffy….please…” he gasped, barely able to think for the power of the sensation of her touch.
“What do you want?” she pressed in a whisper of breath near his ear, rising up off him again.
“God, *you*, Buffy! Please! Please, Buffy, I need you! Please!” he babbled almost incoherently, in fevered need for the touch she was tempting him with, but withholding.
Then, slowly, holding his gaze intently as she did, she finally *did* grant his plea, lowering her body slowly down onto his, sheathing him inside her, inch by inch, as she moved her hands down from above his head, pulling his arms around her before wrapping hers around him – unspoken permission to touch.
Touching her…his hands…free…there was a reason why…why that was important…if only…if only he could think! He needed to be able to touch her…because…because… touching her was…
Precisely what he needed to win.
It hit him again, and he gasped as he remembered where he was, what was happening – and what he had to do now. The Slayer only smiled, thinking his reaction was to her touch.
*And now,* he thought through the haze of desire that surrounded him, trying to make his mind focus again on his original goal. *Let’s show the little bint how the game is played!*
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