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Walk without rhythm, it won't attract the worm
Walk without rhythm, and it won't attract the worm
Walk without rhythm, and it won't attract the worm
If you walk without rhythm (uh), you never learn
Fatboy Slim – Weapon of choice

Spike was livid. “Fucking Slayer.” He was in full game-face, decked in his usual black-on-black with the duster on top, with the added detail of a beanie on his head to cover his hair. He was still playing the undercover agent, since the Sunnydale Denial Factor meant he’d just walked in to work the next day after the ‘beer incident’ and there had been no questions asked.
The détente with the Slayer had started out as well as could be expected: her friends wanted to stake him, while his minions wanted to drain her. It’d taken a bit of threatening, posturing, and bribing, but he’d gotten his people to play along. What she’d done to convince her troupe wasn’t clear, but they accepted the truce at least.
He thought things would have been even better between him and the Slayer when he’d gone by the Watcher’s to warn them of an uptick in commando activity—apparently the reinforcements had arrived—and he’d had to help her take care of some vengeful Native American spirits. She’d even fed him from the turkey she’d cooked and hadn’t even batted an eye when he’d used blood as gravy.
Of course, that’d meant more time spent with her, and her group of White Hats. Hell, he’d even tried to comfort Red when her wolf left to ‘find himself.’ And what was the result? Was it a reenactment of their time in the playground, only with both willing subjects, and maybe a bed, some strawberries, chocolate syrup, and time to go further? No. The farthest they’d gone was a few shy glances from her when she thought he wasn’t watching, her blushing and calling him a pig whenever he suggested anything involving less clothes, and lots of pretty spirited banter. That wasn’t a problem, though, since Spike could play the long game if he had to. The problem was that the Slayer was stubborn as a mule and had rot instincts.
Buffy was going out for a picnic with Riley. No mater what Spike had said to discourage her, and despite his repeated warnings, she’d gotten it in that infuriating head of hers that the only way to find out more about what the Initiative was doing was to have someone on the inside, or be close to someone in it. She’d offered to try to get ‘close’ to the big lug, and the rest of her band of merry do-gooders had stupidly supported that idea, and had overwritten his concerns—tastefully raised as they had been, with the barest amount of ‘bloodys’ and ‘soddings’ thrown in for emphasis.
Well that’s not how it would play out, if Spike had anything to do about it. He wouldn’t just sit by and watch her make googly eyes at the member of an organization that would probably see her as a Guinea pig at the most, and spare parts at the least. So instead he had set up an ambush for Finn, he’d take him out, and stop him from drooling over his Slayer every time he saw her.
Because yes, dammit, she was his Slayer. No matter what he’d set out to do when he first rolled into town, no matter that the whole war with the Initiative had started simply because they were an obstacle on his route to his next Slayer kill—three in a century would mean there would probably be songs written about him until some over-eager son of a demon bitch finally managed to end the world—the fact of the matter was that the thing that kept him up at night was the overwhelming need to feel her quim strangle his cock at least once before everything was said and done. Well, that and the fact that he barely needed any sleep with the Gem on.
Which is why he was in a cemetery for the first time in more than a month, hunting for humans.
There was movement ahead and he slipped into stealth mode. He stalked forward until he could see a group of three black clad figures trying and failing to move undetected. Spike smirked to himself. It was time to play. He’d been looking forward to this for a long time, and he intended to have fun, especially considering how few fights he’d been in since he’d gotten the Ring.
He’d stretched his minions thin in order to make sure they were going after the right commandoes. Everything pointed to this being the right enemy, and he took a deep whiff to try and single out Captain Cardboard, but unfortunately the wind wasn’t blowing in the right direction.
He made his way to the top of a mausoleum and got ready to pounce. He gave the attack signal and jumped on top of who he thought was the leader of the team, hoping his landing would break something. He was rewarded with a howl of pain from the unfortunate soul to break his fall. The other two turned on him, but he was ready for them.
What followed was chaos.
Before any blows could be exchanged, his minions burst through the bushes, providing the flank attack and element of surprise meant to ensure victory. At almost the same time, though, a couple of demons rounded the corner of a crypt at what must have been full speed for them, while the Slayer was hot on their trail, double wielding a stake and a knife. Next thing he knew, one of the demons and one commando were dead, a couple of his minions were dust, and there was a free for all fight going on, where the only ones not actively trying to kill each other were Buffy and him. Oh, the irony.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught more movement and realized a second Initiative team was coming to the aid of the first one. He could hear the commandoes calling in for even more reinforcements. The whole thing had turned into a royal fuck-up, so he did the only thing left. He grabbed Buffy by the hand and dragged her away from where the last remaining demon was being boxed in by two soldiers, while the minions were beating a hasty retreat themselves.
After a few minutes of full out sprint, they ducked into an empty crypt to get out of sight of any pursuers they hadn’t left behind. Once inside, Buffy yanked her hand out of his and poked him in the chest. “What did you do?”
“I took us out of there as fast as I could.”
She frowned and made a slashing gesture with her hand. “Not that, I get why we had to run. The question is why did we had to run? Why were you there, already fighting with the commandoes when I came along?”
Great. “I was trying to prevent you from getting a front row seat at what the Initiative is capable of.”
“We already discussed this: I want a front row seat, or at least a back row one. We need to find out more, and we agreed the only way is for me to try to get Riley to tell me…” She narrowed her eyes and pointed to the closed door. “Was that Riley you were attacking?”
Busted. “We didn’t agree, you insisted, and you are wrong.”
“So, what, you decided to save me from my mistake? It’s my mistake to make, buster.”
“Not if it gets you killed, you stubborn, pig-headed…”
“O-ho, look who-s talking about pigs, the king of all the swine in existence. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I don’t need anyone saving me. I do the saving around here, you got that?”
“Oh, boo-hoo, the one girl in all the realm is suffering from a superiority complex, how very unoriginal of you, Slayer. This time you’re wrong.”
“Wrong or right, it’s my choice to make, you’re not the boss of me.”
“Oh, of course not, I’m just ol’ Spike, only good for stringing along, not good enough to actually have an opinion, how could I forget?”
“Wait, what? You have and opinion about everything, and no mouth filter.” She shook her head a bit. “And what do you mean, string along? I haven’t been stringing anyone along. In fact, you’ve been all innuendo-y and no follow-through-y. If anyone is strung, it’s me.”
“You… but I… argh!” He gave up on logic, common sense, and any other obstacle that he’d put in front of himself. Instead, he took a step forward, grabbed Buffy by the waist and crashed his mouth into hers in a bruising, desperate kiss.
They made out like their lives depended on it, and he couldn’t get enough. Her taste, her smell, and the little noises she made in the back of her throat as they kissed were driving him wild. He started roaming his hands over her body, finding the hem of her shirt with and slipping underneath it with his fingers. Her skin was warm, soft, and possibly one of the greatest things he’d ever touched.
She was just as busy, feeling him up, groping him, and pressing herself to him. When she pulled back from their kiss to breathe, her hands moved to the front of his pants, rubbing up and down and trailing upwards to his pants button.
He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything else in his unlife. Scary, considering his initial goal had been to kill her. Ah, but to be young and stupid. He shed his duster as fast as he could, then got rid of his shirt while she unbuttoned his pants and grabbed his cock. Her hand felt so hot, he groaned thinking what an inferno her pussy must be like. He couldn’t wait to find out.
He was brought out of his fantasy by her using her mouth and teeth to worry his throat in tandem with the hand she was stroking his cock with. God, but she was the perfect woman. In fact, she felt so good he was fast approaching an enormous orgasm.
He had to turn the tables. He’d come first the previous time, so now he would take care of her, good and proper. And she was wearing too many clothes still—something he needed to rectify at once. He dropped to his knees, stifling a groan when her hand lost contact with his cock. Okay, so his plan did have some drawbacks, but the tantalizing scent he could sense when he got closer to her pussy, covered as it was, made it worth it.
He wasted no time getting her out of her jeans—it was lucky she was a slayer, otherwise she would have toppled over when he yanked one of the pant-legs free—and then ripped apart her panties. “Missed your quim.” He didn’t wait for her to acknowledge what he’d said, and dove right in to lap at her glistening labia.
God, but she was wet. Very responsive too. As soon as he started eating her out in earnest, she was moaning and groaning more than she’d done as a cave-woman. Her hands were in his hair, pulling and pushing him into her. He was desperate to make her come, but at the same time he wanted to learn how to please her. He tested different speeds and pressures with his tongue and lips, and he scraped lightly at her skin with his human teeth, until she came, her sounds of pleasure stifled by the hand she’d put over her mouth.
He hated the soldiers even more now. A creature such as his slayer shouldn’t have to worry how loud she was when she came. He didn’t have time to dwell on that thought for long, as she dragged him up her body, hungrily attaching his mouth with hers, while at the same time grabbing his cock and positioning it at her entrance.
On the many lonely times when it was just him and his hand, he’d imagined he’d sink into her slowly, relishing every inch he went deeper. That he’d look into her eyes and enjoy the feelings he could glimpse in them. No wonder he was bollocks as a poet. Reality wasn’t filled with such romantic crap. In reality he pushed himself in her in one, long thrust and held there, with such a feeling of completion he could weep. She clung to him, from her mouth still pressed to his, to her hands holding him tight, and to her legs wrapped around his waist.
His brain had short-circuited, but his instincts took over. He started moving his hips, first in short, shallow thrusts, then with ever increasing strength and amplitude. Soon enough he was giving her all he had, and she rewarded him with a series of pleasured gasps. He wasn’t going to last long. How could he? He had to make it good for her though. He pushed all the way inside her and gave slow thrusts, barely moving in place, but keeping her filled with him. “Are you close, kitten? Will you come for me?”
Her reply was a gasp and full body shudder as she went over the edge. The contractions of her pussy on his cock broke through the last of his resolve and he came deep inside her.
He stayed inside her until he was confident enough he wouldn’t just crumble into a heap, then rolled them over and cuddled her to him. God, but he loved her like this: covered in a sheen of sweat, chest heaving with her deep breaths, eyes half-closed, and hair wild from their lovemaking. A thought struck him out of the blue. He loved her. Like this or otherwise, he—the bloody foolish Slayer of Slayers—had fallen for a Chosen bird. He looked at her snuggling to get more comfortable. He’d fallen for Buffy.
She raised her gaze to his and smiled. Okay, there were a lot of worst things to be in the world than in love with Buffy Summers. Spike smiled back and gave her a kiss. Then he opened his mouth and words came out. “Now that you’re over that idea of meeting Captain Cardboard, we can work together on another plan to get more information from those sadists.”
Her head snapped back as if he’d slapped her. “You bastard. You… how dare you?” She got up from on top of him and started looking for her clothes. “No, actually, this is on me. Stupid Buffy forgets the cardinal rule: sleep with her and turn into the world’s greatest ass.” She fixed him with a gaze full of hate, somehow made even more terrible by her state of half-dress. “Using this… using me just to convince me to not meet up with the commandoes? I knew you were a vampire, Spike, but this was the most soulless thing you have done.”
It was as if all the air in the crypt had been sucked out and he desperately needed to fill his lungs but couldn’t. He’d seen the happiness and light in Buffy’s eyes turn into dismay and anger. He’d realized what was about to happen as he finished his sentence, but her reaction was still shocking. He lashed out before he knew what he was doing. “Well at least I’m not a stubborn bitch with a death wish.”
She finished buttoning her jeans, although her fly was still undone, and her shirt was inside out when she finally managed to get both hands through the sleeves. “Goodbye, William.” She walked out without looking back, and slammed the door behind her.
He watched her go, a painful hole opening up in his heart, but didn’t follow. He wanted to ask forgiveness, he wanted to tell her she’s being stupid, he wanted to tell her he loved her, and he just wanted another taste of her lips. Instead he wailed his despair and decided to get sloshed.





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