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The writing of this is now finished. Look forward to regular updates.
She was being bathed in carrot juice by the First Slayer. Wild knotted hair obscured her view around her, but the nakedness of both herself and Sineya was more than a little in-your-face. As Buffy sat up and saw the orange stains on her body, she panicked.

“I have no shoes to match this colour. Take it off me now!” Nude and vulnerable, the second most recent slayer stood with her arms spread out, turning a bright red underneath the orange streaks on her skin.

“You are cursed to wear the carrot’s colours for all eternity—and IT can walk that world with you.”

“IT? You’re cursing me to live forever with a giant carrot as my mate? But…that’s so cruel?” Buffy pouted, seriously put out that the original Slayer couldn’t find her someone more worthy to while away her life with.

“IT doesn’t breathe but pants daily for you. I curse you to live out eternity by each other’s side. He will hate you because of your hideous carrot flavour and be repulsed by your colour; you will loathe him for the disgusting evil creature that he is.”

The orange liquid bath was gone, and contrary to the dark declaration from her first sister to fight the demon world, Buffy found herself being lavished with loving attention, tight arms pulling her close to an equally naked body and a steel-like cock jutting against her rump.

“What’s got you such a pretty colour, pet?” And Spike licked her shoulder, his teeth gently biting against a moan as Buffy rubbed herself back on him, frantically seeking a way to stop the burning at her centre and groaning once he slipped smoothly between her legs.

“Carrots,” Buffy panted, feeling more eager now to coerce him inside. He was hers forever, after all, and if she waited for him to see the front of her and notice how her new colour clashed with her eye shadow, she could lose this incredibly intense moment to his amusement.

“We’re mated, luv. I bit you like so—” Fangs slid through the barrier of her skin and Buffy felt herself flushing against his cock, felt the head nudging her entrance with a practised ease. “And said the words that made you mine. Nothin’ fancy, mind, but ol’ Spike got the job done. Now I’ve got you for life, and it wouldn’t matter if you were bloody purple, I’m still gonna fuck you raw.” And he thrust into her hard, her body stretching and straining around him, but God, it felt so good.

She was on her knees with no memory of being manipulating into that position, Spike’s splayed hand on her back pushing her forward, his cock sinking deeper into her tight pussy and leaving it on a tortured whimper. The automatic piston-like motion of his hips propelled him forward again, his other hand moving to her hip to caress the smooth orangey- tanned flesh before giving into the tribal need to pound her into exhaustion.

For some reason, it didn’t seem odd to Buffy that Spike was being so dominant. She quietly admitted to herself it was a turn on—even if she did tell people she hated his guts. So not true—not really, and this sex with the enemy thing was sending tingles to her tingles and she felt wildly abuzz with ecstasy.

She arched against his touch, reaching desperate for him to seek all the spots inside that had never been touched before, for his remarkably soft hands to trace her body with the affection she only suspected he held for her. He slowed for a while, and she could feel the way his eyes studied his progress back and forth, could imagine the slick coating of her juices on his cock, and wished that she could have the same hot view as he must have.

For long glorious moments she forgot that she was orange, living the vitamin rich life of a carrot with Spike forever at her side.

The last thought as she clawed toward a release that seemed so very close and yet somehow unreachable, was how that would be totally gross.

“Purple?”

And she jolted awake, really on her knees and having her face repeatedly mashed into her pillow. Sensation rocked her body, shards of intense desire racing sanity through her nervous system until she started sobbing with the need to come.

There was a hand at her breast, fingers deftly manipulating her nipple until she was pinched hard, gut-crunching pain shooting to her clit like a lightning bolt that was then rubbed into a cruel torment by another dexterous digit.

“Oh God,” she panted, and then Buffy felt the rest of it, the cock that savoured her insides as her outsides prepared to implode.

“S-so sorry—ugh—Buffy. Can’t…stop!” And he let loose, unable to hold back the driving need to impale her good and rub his dick raw within her walls. The friction built, Spike rubbed her clit and Buffy was howling her release to the owl in the tree outside her window, her body shuddering with fresh spasms each time Spike touched a sensitised part of her—her nipples, clit, the bite mark…

Furious eyes shot wide open in realisation, feeling now the slow drip of blood down her neck to her shoulder as Spike finished spurting his essence inside of her. He fell forward and squished her face first into the pillow, and Buffy growled around a mouthful of fluff. She felt the most glorious sensations in the lower half of her body, but it was time to be the Slayer and deprive her bedroom of the trespassing peroxided ass that thought he could screw her in her sleep.

“Before you go throwin’ me across the bloody room and scrambling for a stake, I woke up here, inside you and I couldn’t have stopped if my unlife depended on it. Which it does if the way you’re gripping the bedding is revealing at all.” There was resignation in his voice, but then he sighed with a grin that she could totally hear even if she couldn’t see it.

Like he was deeply satisfied.

Buffy was so livid she could have sworn she was developing her own fangs to rip his throat out. “And what the hell makes you think I’d believe one idiotic word you say?”

And he had to go and spoil her work up of fury with the one word that spun her into a tailspin of epic proportions.

“Purple.”

“Oh my God, you were in my dream?” She had no clue her voice could be so high or squeaky.

There was no way she could see him nod at her back, but she felt the little jiggle of his cock inside her as his body moved.

“I’m bettin’ that was no ordinary dream, either. I lived with crazy for a century, luv, but that was a whole new brand of strange.” While he was talking, Spike had been rubbing her back, gently thrusting as his cock swelled ready for round two.

“Would you get the hell out of me?” She felt like screaming but so didn’t think this was the kind of thing she should get her mom out of bed for. And Dawn would never quit with the ‘I-told-you-so’s’. Not that she wanted her little sister seeing her so indisposed with the evil demon.

Spike sighed in disappointment, and yet it was a wrench to allow his now hard cock to slowly leave her body, falling out with an almost audible plop that gave no one satisfaction.

“No need to get into a tizzy, Slayer,” Spike told her, his voice strained. Once he’d lifted a little of his weight, Buffy turned and shoved him to the floor, her face bright red as she belatedly registered his hand had been tugging on his cock.

“You are so dead,” she hissed, flaming even redder as he leaned back, cocky grin in place with an arm bent under his head, and stroked his erection more avidly. She couldn’t take her eyes off it, the knowledge that it had only just worked her to such a high state of sexual bliss almost too much to bear.

“That’s my girl. Ever the observant one.”

She felt it the second his eyes noticed the bite, hot flushes assaulting her body until she wondered if there was anything that could ever put the fire out.

“Oh, balls!”

And she so hated when he said that. That meant something bad. If he was going to the trouble of exclaiming about male private parts, it had to be world endage bad.

“What?” Buffy bit worriedly at her bottom lip. She sat up and grasped the sheet around her tightly so as to prevent his wandering eyes, waiting for what ever doom and gloom announcement would herald the end of things as she knew it.

Buffy narrowed her eyes at his frustrated tone. “You ever read up on vampire lore? Claims and such?” Spike was the master at casting a glare while retaining all his manly power, despite being completely naked.

He was delirious. Buffy and homework—so not mixy. Research of the supernatural kind? That was kind of funny, actually.

“Try and say something you know I’ll be able to answer in the positive. Why on earth would I care about vamp lore? I stake ‘em. I don’t mate them!” She waited, and felt impatience jackhammer the back of her skull in the mother of all migraines as he sat staring at her with his mouth unattractively open. “WHAT?” she demanded through gritted teeth.

“Did you listen to anything that daft bint in your dream said?” His incredulous tone said it all.

Buffy shuddered in delayed fear. “She told me I was going to be orange for life. That is just so wrong.”

Even in exasperation, Spike was totally Dead Sex Man Walking. He almost levitated to his feet, his ascent was so graceful, but the sneer on his lips was far from pretty.

“Orange? She bloody cursed you, you twit. Bound us together and made me claim you. We’re mates, destined to walk the earth at the side of the other until one apocalypse too many finally makes this world go BOOM!” His eyes gleamed in the moonlight and his body shone, the not-so-subtle massage of his erection not going completely unnoticed despite the possible disaster of the moment.

The windows had rattled in their frames at his shout and Buffy cringed, waiting for the inevitable stampede of feet to come and witness her shame. When nothing happened but his words ticking over in her brain, Buffy paled.

“When you say mated—?”

“I mean, I’m your bitch till the end of time. But I can apparently bite you. Small bleeding comfort, if you ask me.”

Her pillow was only light, but the shock of it knocked him on his ass.

“What? Biting me is suddenly repulsive now? Do you even remember you’re still a vampire?” How could he be so damn insulting? Her blood was great. Top shelf, Grade A Slayer vintage wine. Who the hell did he think he was?

“Look, Buffy. As much as I’ve wanted a bite of your ass for a while now, I never planned on this kind of supernatural mojo doing whatever the hell happened here. I suggest you get Rupes to hit the books and do some research. Might want to look up that twisted bird that spawned your kind. Think she’s got it in for you.”

Because that was her first thought. To rush out and tell Giles that she had a slayer dream where Spike was fucking her into a puddle of slayer-shaped goo and that he’d bitten and claimed her—oh, and by the way, then woke up to Spike pumping like a vampire stallion racing for gold! She thought not!!

“Basement. Now.” Buffy ignored his glare as he shucked on his jeans and padded without argument out her bedroom door.

It was quite possible she’d never recover from this.





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