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The kiss turned fast, a shift of movement and Buffy found herself hoisted onto the counter. Her back hit a cabinet door; her legs dangled off the edge.

Their mouths broke apart in the name of labored breathing. She fumbled for balance and grasping the nape of William's neck, tugged him closer, between her thighs. A moan rolled against her tongue.

Buffy could feel his whole body, pelvis grinding upwards, pushing into her. She let go of the counter and chose a new field to explore, to hold onto.

Her fingers slid south, until they were wedged between two layers of denim, delving inside Spike's pockets and urging him forward. Pulling him so firmly against her she forgot they had never been so close.

Feminine softness slammed across him, and he tasted her with deeper strokes of his tongue. Each muscle tightened. Blood coursed through Spike's veins and it all went in one direction. He couldn't think, could hear nothing except for Buffy's tiny mewls of enjoyment. Her heart was beating so fast he could just begin to feel it.

He tore away, mere inches, to discover the pulse point on her neck and dropped a kiss there. Then another, until wetness and heat skated across her skin, teeth tracing in gentle skims. Her lungs pulled in air that turned out sighs and gasps powerful enough to make him shiver. She alighted his already blazing nervous system with every arch and kiss, and he was having trouble not leaving a mark behind on her throat.

Buffy's legs wrapped about his waist. She felt hardness pressing against the most intimate, throbbing place, turning it milky. Rough hands found the bends in her knees. Her jeans were stiff and his were worse, but the friction carried a simple pain, a pressure that birthed something sweeter.

Her ankles crossed, locked him in close. The blood pulsing through her thighs turned hot. His bruised fingers snuck beneath her shirt and grazed Buffy's skin like a bow does a violin. She gasped softly, back arching, flattening her breasts against his chest. He pulled away from her throat as her head fell back.

"William..." She'd whispered it like a prayer, and by God if he kept setting her nerves off like this she would have to admit that one man could be the face of religion. Every touch, every flicker of heat was different, it felt like a whole new variety of sensation. It was strong. Electric. Buffy wasn't a stranger to passion, even if it had been quite some time since the last encounter, but she was certainly new to this.

Needy moans and careful little gasps escaped her, and Spike could barely keep from losing all control. She clawed his back, one hand under his shirt to mark his skin and encourage a whimper from his mouth. Her breath puffed against his lips. Spike kissed her so hard and pushed in so close that her scalp hit the cabinet again. She hissed between her teeth.

"M'sorry," he mumbled quickly. Then he dove back in for another taste, realizing she couldn't know just how close he was to losing all restraint. How little ways they had to go before he wouldn't know thoughts from actions, obtainable wants from forbidden fruit.

He'd never thought he would be here, know the way it felt to be kissing her, but the dream was real. Dreams were dangerous in that he'd never been in control of them before.

Tongues mingling with tender desperation, she didn't think she could stand to be in her clothes a moment longer. Buffy didn't think she could stand his damn T-shirt anymore either, and brought her fingers around to tug restlessly at the hem.

Her mind was turning to jelly, kind of like her legs, and while somewhere in the restrained portion of her brain Buffy knew she would stop when it was necessary, the frantic warmth between their colliding bodies made such ideas seem faraway and lazy.

All of a sudden, William paused. She had gotten the cotton T-shirt about halfway up his stomach, and dear lord there were ridges beneath her fingertips. The man was something else. He had abs you could crack an eggshell against, but William's stillness chilled her exploration.

He was still kissing her, but brokenly now. Buffy shivered at the dropping friction between her thighs. They were as close as they could get, but his hips had slowed down, creating shallow circles she couldn't say didn't drive her crazy.

The sharp heat was decreasing and her nerve endings felt parched.

Buffy realized William was sweetening every action. His hands, once scaling to the swells of her breasts, now fell and reached over her shirt. He framed her jaw and kissed her gently. Hunger and satisfaction battled for the first word. She was practically purring after each tender stroke, but a stronger, sharper need willed her to keep wanting, to keep going.

She was a fan of slow and romantic, sometimes, but the taste of deliverance when she kissed him, a wildness unmasked, made Buffy eager to regain their hopeless dance. The grinding and lovely clothed fucking that made her whine in the back of her throat.

She wasn't a whiner by nature, but somehow he had made her so.

She tried to pull the T-shirt up again. He shushed her and brushed her hands away. Everything around them blurred in frustration and Buffy, for the life of her, couldn't make up her mind.

"William... kiss me," she pleaded, half astounded the words were actually coming out. Their mouths brushed and she spoke into him. "Like you were. Please." He hummed against her, a sound of contentment and torture. Buffy leaned forward and traced his lower lip, moving the tip of her tongue past it to taste him again.

He opened, gasping hotly and she took the opportunity, took what she wanted him to steal back. He didn't deny her, but as their motives turned ulterior and the kiss grew frantic, William stopped with deliberateness. She wouldn't have it, and pulled away to do what he'd done moments before.

Buffy moved down his hard jaw and his working throat, nipping, sliding moist kisses across his skin. She barely tickled his Adam's apple when he forced her up, pushing until her chin was on his shoulder and his fingers held her neck. She heard his other hand slam against the cabinet door. Buffy finally realized William was shaking.

He took air in like a man whose mouth was sealed shut; thin, rushed inhales that couldn't meet his lungs through the grinding tension of his jaw. Desperation had been a theme tonight, fused into their muscles until Buffy could taste it, but this was different.

He was trying to grasp something; William was a trembling mess of diminished control and she didn't know why.

It reminded her of the moment he'd found her in the alley.

Own breathing unsteady, Buffy tried to move back but he held fast, and a guttural whisper pressed into her hair. "Don't."

Don't what? Inch away? Leave? She was all too aware of the way their bodies shuddered as one. The sensation of cramped heat and hardness snuggled between her thighs was like a brand. And he didn't want her to move.

William hadn't let go of her neck yet, was keeping her as still as he could to prevent another kiss or another writhing movement. Yet he remained right up against her, stubbornly refusing to budge. Refusing to separate even if she stole whatever control he was trying to maintain. Buffy felt the gentle beginnings of his fingers twining in her hair. It was like he was afraid to hold her, and yet couldn't help himself.

Her frown grew more prominent. "William, let go of me."

He flinched and hugged tighter. "No."

She quickly gentled the request. "I'm not going to leave. I want to see you." She needed that, she needed to catch his eyes.

It took a moment, but soon his hand dropped, allowing a chill to sprawl over her skin. It trailed down her back like a shadow.

The expression on his face made her worry about him, made her slightly self conscious. Taking in ragged breaths, because they were the only kind she could get, Buffy caught his very unfocused gaze and asked, "What is it?"

A panicky scowl was his only response. He looked afraid. He looked shameful. He kept looking at her mouth.

"William?"

"Wasn't about to-" She watched a jaw muscle flicker beneath his skin. "Can't lose control. Not with you."

Something thawed around her chest. Buffy breathed out long and smooth, then in again. "You won't," she said. He gave a tense, dubious glance to where her legs were clenched about his hips. "I'll tell you when to stop."

Hope and gratitude filled the sapphire in his eyes, but a flash of uncertainty followed.

Then, like a shot, he drowned her attention with a reckless kiss. Buffy gasped, astounded and relieved, too much so to say a single word. *Luckily he doesn't take much convincing.* Her toes curled into his jeans and it was made very clear that William needed little encouragement to let go of his reservations, as long as she acted as their mutual anchor.

Buffy was having trouble remembering exactly what that entailed when he lifted her into his arms and strolled to the couch. William lowered them together and set her on his lap.

He began another line of kissing and nipping down her throat. She fell in closer, reached for his arms and held on as he encouraged movement. Just a little, then more, until her hips were rolling and her back curved. Until that dangerous burn returned, hotter than she remembered.

She felt allowed to lose herself, allowed to enjoy it. Buffy let her inhibitions die, tugging William's mouth away from her throat so she could claim it once again.

He bit her lower lip. Her eyes sprung open with a groan, and she pushed him back. Her nails raked across his jaw, downward, over his chest until they searched beneath his shirt. This time he didn't discourage her tugging, but he wouldn't stop kissing her to peel away the layers.

She settled for touching him like that, underneath fabric, and moaned when his right hand molded around her ass and shoved down hard. He worked her closer, heat seeped into her skin through denim and sticky wet cloth.

She was getting herself off on his lap, seeking out that tantalizing fire through grinding and kissing. A litany of moaned whispers broke through the haze of Spike's mind, and it was then he realized she was letting go.

With a feeling like he was slipping into the sea, his restraint gone now, he heard her call out his name in a whimper that became a plea. "William..." It was quiet, almost shy compared to the way she was kissing him, the way they rocked together as if practicing a dance they would soon master.

He immediately corrected her, piercing the fog with an order. "Call me Spike."

They barely parted each time she came down on him. Denim chafed his skin, but the friction was as sweet as it was painful and the look of those bee stung lips caused an inability to care. Buffy stared at him as she maintained their steady grinding, riding his cock through fabric and zippers. "What?" she breathed.

"Spike."

"Sp-Spike?" she stammered, confusion pinching her brow.

"Yes." He stole her lips in another heartfelt, demanding kiss. The kind of kiss that ruined questions and killed curiosity. "Say it," he growled.

She sucked in deeper breaths, and a determined light entered the green and gold shine of her attention. Their foreheads bumped together and she grabbed his hand, prying it from her body to place it on the button of her jeans. She was afraid he might refuse, might pull away in fear or chivalry or something else equally mindboggling, but he didn't. Maybe because she punctuated her request with the following words.

"Please, Spike."

He immediately undid her button, pulling her closer, flush against his chest. She heard the metal teeth of the zipper part, felt her thighs start to burn from the inside out. His hand was trying to wedge into that tight space, but he wouldn't let her pull very far off his lap to help, and Buffy was somehow grateful.

She felt his fingers as much as she felt his groan. It was a far gone sound, ending in an uncontrolled pitch just this side of untamed. His knuckles rubbed tenderly against damp cotton in contrast, and she inhaled so deeply she became lightheaded.

His other hand came from around her hips. Buffy only noticed because he was no longer anchoring their lower bodies together. The rough but gentle touch climbed upward, framing her entire jaw. One ring on his thumb felt cool against her skin, a startling difference between warmth and metal. She leaned her head back and let him touch.

Spike pressed into the soft place beneath her chin, where throat met delicate jaw bone, and the soft place between her legs. Buffy swallowed. There was moist fire where he prodded the crest, barely exerting pressure on her clit with the pads of his fingers.

Spike's anxious hands soon began a bolder exploration, one wrapping half around her neck, the other slipping inside her panties.

She whimpered and pressed down, urging his touch inside her. He gasped as if surprised, but quickly took the obvious invitation. A long, middle finger curling and pushing, sliding in. Refusing to come fully out again. His thumb massaged her clit in little, gentle circles that made her whole body tremble.

Gasping, she leaned forward and kissed him. She kissed him until she forgot what air even was and took mouthfuls in through her nose. He didn't stop her, didn't do anything but hold onto her neck and the center of her. Buffy moaned against his lips. A thrill raced down her spine, coiling into a knot of perspiration and rich liquid heat. He said her name when parting, pushed up so hard he lifted her, body writhing and melting at once on his hand.

A glorious feeling spun through her like a serpent, sinful, free and snapping. He played her like a harp, tugging at invisible strings and wet, clasping skin. He made her say his name on a high pitched moan that would have embarrassed her if Buffy had any human neighbors. As it was, no one in the entire world could hear her now except for Spike. And she had the blinding thought that no one else had ever seen her so abandoned in her entire life.

It was intoxicating. It was revealing, and the idea alone, without the sensation of losing all her strength in one go, was enough to make her drop.

Buffy fell tiredly into his arms. He released her neck and pulled his other hand from between her thighs in a blink. Her chin was on his shoulder again, but he wasn't keeping her there. No, Buffy's own contentment and exhaustion kept her very happily sitting on his lap, the side of his throat her makeshift pillow.

Spike breathed slow and deep, still hard as a rock inside his jeans, but too fucking lost and in love to move a goddamned thing. He cherished the feel of Buffy in his arms, and slowly, yet quick, like snow falling before melting against a warm sidewalk, all barriers died away. Desires took full hold, and every wall he had envisioned climbing may as well have never existed.

"Buffy..." he breathed.

She made a little contented sound, and Spike smiled. Lifting his hand, he took his drying fingers into his mouth and sucked them wet again, his senses heightened by taste and smell. Christ, he wanted to lick her up until she was riding his face, wanted to swallow around that hot, tight hole and mark her irrevocably, leave love bites on her skin.

*Oh, bloody hell.* His condition wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. That he knew. Her taste was intoxicating. Her warmth seeped into his bones like smooth honey, but Buffy nuzzling his throat was what made him shiver. Spike's hands found purchase on her waist to keep her where she was.

The nuzzling turned into nibbling, and the nibbling turned into kissing. He took a shallow breath. "What are you doin', kitten?"

She laughed very quietly. "I think I like that nickname."

"Just that one?" Spike's eyes closed in torturous pleasure as she moved up to bite and lick his ear.

"I like all the nicknames you use."

Well, that was certainly good to know. Dear God, what was the woman doing? His hips jerked up without thought and she sighed a purely joyful breath, before whispering, "Why am I supposed to call you 'Spike?'"

He grumbled, swallowing hard. His hands were damn near suffocating her hipbones but she didn't seem to mind. "S'a nickname, too."

"So I can call you something different?"

He nodded. "If you like." *Don't just choose one, choose both. Please, choose both...*

"All right," she said happily enough, and a volume of air filled his lungs. His heart was already beating like an ocean against the shore, but when Buffy pulled up and gave him a bright smile, it stopped completely. "You're going to tell me how you got it, though, right?"

Spike froze. Panic threatened to bubble up. He stared into her open, caring eyes, the ones still a bit fogged from pleasure and looking just a mite too sparkly for his shaky inhibitions to handle. He'd gotten himself here, he had the entire world in his lap and she was asking him to give up more secrets.

The moment could not become any more surreal, or more wonderful. With a resigned sigh, and the last of those tender heartstrings tightening like a vise in his chest, he explained. "I got it from- It had to do with fightin'."

She frowned, her fingers quit their toying with the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck. "You got it from fighting?" She sounded somewhat incredulous, but curious once his nod spurned the surprise away. "Who gave it to you?"

That, he didn't want to tell her. "Old friend."

She frowned again, dubiously this time. Her eyes slanted and the sparkle returned, but where before it had spoken of satisfaction, now it reflected determination. "You won't tell me who?" She leaned forward to nibble on his earlobe, his fingers biting into her denim covered skin. "Not even if I do this?"

The question was punctuated with a feminine hand scaling down his abdomen and finding the bulge in his jeans. Spike jerked as Buffy rubbed him from the outside. *My girl, you're playin' with fire,* he thought, but all contemplation quickly escaped without so much as a farewell wave. He was a slave to Buffy's next move and that was the simplicity of it.

Let her play with fire, they'd been doing it all along.

She inched forward, rolled her hips. His jaw clenched. She gave him a saucy grin and bit her lower lip, murmuring, "I mean... 'Spike.' It's different, and I'm curious."

The girl wasn't even begging.

His heart skipped over itself, and he finally admitted defeat to the power of one slow, doe eyed blink. "It was- Old girlfriend."

Her whole body went still.

*Bugger.*

"An old girlfriend?"

Buffy's voice wasn't soft anymore, it was direct, edged with something close to peeved interest. "Was she- I mean, why did she give you that name?"

Definitely peeved.

Spike swallowed a lump. His cock was still hard and when she leaned backward and removed her teasing hand, he barely muffled his groan. "Like I said, for fightin'."

Buffy was nearly pouting in her confusion, the desire to ask questions palpable. The look on her beautiful face was so adorable he almost forgot about the pain and pleasure currently burning his blood. "Who did you fight?"

"S'not important."

"I guess it's not." She had to admit, this pointless need to know more about the root of his nickname was starting to gnaw at her. The thought of another woman, his ex, giving him the moniker, and then William himself asking Buffy to use it, was leaving behind little sour doubts in her stomach.

"Was the weapon I used," he muttered suddenly.

Buffy blinked. His words registered and she was left confused all over again. "What?"

He rolled his eyes, not in exasperation, but more in embarrassment at himself. "I used a railroad spike in a fight that I won. She witnessed it, got to callin' me 'Spike.' Soon 'nough I was... establishin' a reputation."

Well, Buffy decided she would be getting frown lines before age forty-five, after all. It would seem more disappointing if she weren't so thrown by his admission. "'Reputation?'" she echoed. "You have a reputation for fighting?"

"Had, really." Spike looked at her shocked expression and couldn't help tightening his hold on her. "Got it. Kept it. Liked the name." He liked what it stood for, but he guessed she understood that.

Buffy did. Her previous insecurity and half formed imaginings of some faceless ex keeping William's heart captive in a bottle for no one else to touch, evaporated.

Now she knew how he was able to defend earlier, in the alley, with the thief. His past. His abilities, brutality, truthfully shameless in foundation. It was... It was the Spike in him.

*He didn't want to tell me before,* Buffy recognized, clarity rushing forth. *He didn't think I'd like it. Or be able to handle it.*

Well, that was so totally not true.

Not after what had happened. Not now.

Before she could make that understood, he was talking again. "You asked 'bout it. How I learned to fight. Now you know. I've been in enough of 'em to write a bleedin' book, the bastard you met up with today-"

"Would have barely made a footnote." She smiled after the interruption, letting him see that she was okay with it, and rather grateful, too. He was stunned thoroughly; it charmed her all the more. *There's the William I know.*

Buffy was excited to get to know the other side of him, too. Spike was a funny name, but she thought she could get used to it, at the very least, if not come to smile when she said it.
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END NOTES: Thanks for reading! Please review!! And happy holidays to all!





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