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Spike dashed through the streets of Sunnydale, his boots connecting with the pavement so hard that it shook him to the core, rattling his teeth. The Slayer's pleas echoed in the distance as his legs carried him farther and farther away from Revello Drive. He made it to the outskirts of town before he slowed, jogging past several abandoned buildings on his way to the cemetery. He would collect his belongings, assuming there were any left, and then he'd put as many miles as possible between himself and Buffy before sunrise. Spotting an alley, he slowed to a walk and turned in, attracted to the darkness that matched his even blacker mood.



It wasn't until he paused to pull a cigarette out of his pocket that he heard the sounds of bare feet slapping the pavement, and Buffy's ragged breathing. He stood in the shadows and watched as she appeared at the mouth of the alley, silhouetted against the streetlights only momentarily before she jogged into the darkness. Damn her. Damn her for chasing after him with no weapons, no shoes on her feet, and a strappy, flowing dress that fell just below her knees. What the hell was she thinking?



When she was even with him, his arm snaked out of the shadows and he gripped her, spinning her to face him. "What the fuck are you doing?"



Buffy gasped, startled at the fact that she hadn't felt him there. She blinked several times, willing her eyes to focus in the darkness. "Spike, I - I want to talk to you."



"I don't want to talk to you," he growled, roughly shoving her away when her hands came down to rest on his arms. She stumbled into the thin veil of light, almost losing her footing, and he had to force himself to keep from going to her again. "I don't want to talk to you and I don't want to look at you. You make me sick."



Buffy leaned against the brick wall, still unable to see him clearly. Her head swam for several seconds, and now that she had stopped running, she could feel how raw the bottoms of her feet were from the asphalt. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, "Please, Spike, tell me how to make this right."



Spike laughed loudly, hatefully, and stepped closer to her. "Make it right? How can you make it right when there wasn't anything there to begin with?"



She stood up straight and stared up at his face, shocked at how cruel his gaze had become. "There was something, you know there was."



"All I know is that I don't know you at all. I don't want to know you." Spike shook his head. "And anything you thought was happening between us was all in your imagination."



"Stop it!" she screamed. "I didn't imagine how good it felt when you kissed me, or...when you touched me."



"You think that was real? I'll let you in on a little secret..." Spike moved closer to her, his eyes blazing, fingers gripping her upper arms so she would be forced to hear him out. "Everything you felt was caused by Willow. Her and her little friend cast some sort of spell - that's all it was." Spike felt vindicated as soon as the words were out of his mouth and her face fell.



"A spell? What do you mean?" Buffy made no move to throw his hands off of her, despite the fact that he was holding her so tightly that it almost hurt.



"She was mucking about again, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong! She cast a spell and it backfired, big surprise!" He loosened his grip on her, then pushed her away from him when her eyes filled with tears. "Don't bother crying, your playacting won't work this time."



"How do you know she did a spell?" Buffy asked him, hoping that what he said wasn't true. She sniffed loudly, dragging her fingers under her eyes to catch her tears. "How? Tell me!"



"She told me," he replied with a shrug, then turned on his heel to walk away from her.



"When, Spike?" Buffy chased after him again, catching his sleeve and turning him to face her. There was a little more light peeking over the building and she stared into his eyes, intent on hearing the truth. "When did she cast the spell?"



He shook her hand off his arm as if she were a pesky mosquito. "I don't know, sometime after you came home from the hospital! When you were sitting in your wheelchair all day, pissed off at the world," he growled. "And to be honest, I liked you better then. At least you weren't a sniveling liar like you are now."



She ignored his final statement as her mind raced to find the words to make him believe the truth that she'd kept to herself for far too long. "But, Spike...that day that I was attacked...I was coming to see you, to tell you..." She trailed off, losing her nerve. Chewing her lip, she started to turn away.



"Tell me what?" he snarled, and this time, he grabbed her, making her face him.



"I was coming to tell you...that I was falling for you." She gazed up at him, silently pleading with him to react the way she had longed for. "I couldn't stop seem to stop thinking about you, and I wanted you to know how I felt...that I wanted you..."



"Yeah, right," he snorted. He wanted to push her away again, but hesitated, still clinging to her upper arms. "Is there no end to your lying? Don't you have any pride?"



Infuriated, Buffy shoved him away. "Obviously not, since I'm standing here with you!"



"Well, I didn't ask you to follow me, so fucking leave already!" he shouted, pointing back the way she had come.



"I'll leave when I'm good and ready!" she yelled back at him, not budging an inch.



"Fine," he said, shrugging indifferently. "You stay here, and I'll leave."



"Oh no you don't." Buffy ran around him, blocking his way. "I didn't just save your ass back there just so you could walk out on me."



"I saved your ass, you saved mine. We're even. Now get out of my way." Spike's voice was deadly, sounding much more like it had before his encounter with the commandos. Thanks to his burning rage, he felt strong again, strong enough to push the limits of his chip if she stood there taunting him much longer.



"No, you're going to stand right there and listen to what I have to say." She took a deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts, then narrowed her eyes at him when he growled and his face changed. "You can't do anything to hurt me, so just shut up and let me finish."



"I can't do anything to hurt you?" Spike grabbed her, spinning her until her back was against the wall, then trapped her there with his body. "I can hurt you a million ways you've never even thought of," he purred in her ear. His hand came up, cupping her breast, and he was momentarily stunned to find her nipple hard beneath his touch. He recovered quickly and touched her with more force as he continued, "...without even breaking a sweat."



"Spike, stop..." Buffy pleaded, feeling a tremor of fear. He was so angry, his mouth at her neck, and while the chip in his head should have offered assurance that she was safe, it didn't seem to be having any affect on him. He was grinding his hips between her thighs, letting her feel the hardness beneath his jeans as he cupped her breasts and dragged his thumbs across her



sensitive nipples. It shouldn't have turned her on...but it did. In spite of his anger, in spite of her surroundings, she could feel the inevitable arousal start to course through her veins.



Buffy moaned softly, and Spike smirked at how easy she was. "You don't want me to stop, do you?" He pushed the thin strap of her dress aside and suckled at her flesh, delighting in the salty taste of her skin. "You've been begging for this for a long time."



She blushed in the dark, but didn't try to stop him as he pushed her dress down further, exposing both of her breasts to his gaze. She held her breath when he lowered his head, laving first one nipple, then the other, surprising her with the gentleness of it. Softly, he ran his tongue in



circles until she arched her back and whimpered. The whimper turned into a sharp cry when he suddenly nipped her flesh hard enough to cause pain. Before she could push him away, Spike moved his hand lower, yanking up her dress angrily and grabbing the waist of her panties. She struggled against him, trying to grab his hand. "Spike, no! Not like this..."



"Not like this?" he growled, his face still ridged and his fangs glistening in the moonlight. "This is what you wanted, remember? You wanted to fuck a demon, Buffy!"



"I - no - I wanted -"



"Wanted what? Wanted romance? I told you, that's not what I'm about." Instead of struggling to get his hand in her panties, he grabbed hold of the waistband and ripped them from her body. Taken by surprise, she let go of his wrist. Taking advantage of his sudden freedom, he moved his hand between her legs. He slid two fingers inside of her warmth and smiled evilly when she gasped and arched to meet him. "You're already wet, Slayer," he murmured softly, slowly pumping his fingers for a minute before removing them. A tiny sound came from Buffy's throat as he held his hand in front of her face. "Look," he told her, his fingers glistening in the dim light. "This is how much you want me." He let his hand brush across her lips, then put his fingers in his mouth, tasting her juices.



Buffy stared at him with wide eyes. She unconsciously licked her lips and saw his eyes glitter in the darkness as she tasted herself. She was frozen in place, unsure of anything except the pulsing between her thighs. No one had ever treated her like this before. She'd never had her own arousal flaunted in front of her face, never had a guy just take what he wanted instead of asking. It should have made her angry enough to stake him where he stood, not make her whole body throb with need. At that moment, she hated him more than she'd ever thought possible...and wanted him with an equal amount of fervor.



Spike grinned knowingly in the dark, almost as if he could read her mind. He eased his fingers back inside her and began fucking her with them, using his thumb to manipulate her clitoris. As Buffy moaned and clutched at his arms, he whispered a torrent of obscenities in her ear, urging her along, coaxing her, his tongue flicking over her skin as if to punctuate every shocking word.



"Oh God, Spike, please..." Buffy almost sobbed, her head thrashing against the brick wall behind her. For so many weeks she'd been unable to feel anything below the waist, and now there was so much going on down there, she felt like screaming. The sensation of his fingers sliding in and out, his voice in her ear - "That's it, baby, fuck my hand, cream all over me..." - it was all too much. If she didn't come soon, she'd go insane.



Spike knew exactly how to bring her right to the edge, and when he felt the slight tremors of her approaching climax, he stopped what he was doing, ignoring her cry of protest as he pulled away. After a moment of shock at being left hanging, the Slayer glared at him angrily.



"Bastard!" she hissed. "I hate you!"



"No, you don't," Spike replied coldly. He stared at her flushed face as he slowly and deliberately unfastened his jeans. "You want me, Slayer. You're practically begging me to fuck you right here in this alley."



"No." She shook her head, trying to ignore the heat between her legs. "You can't do this, Spike. You can't treat me this way, like a - "



"Like a whore?" he smirked. Her hand came up to slap him and he caught it, holding it above her head as he pressed the length of his body against hers. She moaned involuntarily as his other hand cupped and squeezed her breast, while his mouth played over the sensitive skin at her throat. "It doesn't matter how I treat you," he murmured against her neck. "You still want me



to fuck you."



"Nooo..." Her protest was little more than a sigh as her body was engulfed in flames again.



"You're so close, aren't you? Right there on the edge, baby, so close to coming I can feel it under your skin. Wanna get off, Buffy? Just say the word..."



"God, I hate you," she whispered tearfully. "I hate you so much."



And then his mouth was on hers, silencing any further protest she might have had. He hadn't intended to kiss her, only manipulate her body until she begged him to pound her into the wall. He wanted to remain cold, untouched...



He bloody well should have known better.



The first touch of her hot quim had nearly brought him to his knees - literally. It was only his anger that saved him at the last second from dropping to the ground and tonguing her for all he was worth. He wasn't about to give up control of the situation, and using his hand had allowed



him to maintain his distance.



Of course, that meant fuck-all now that his mouth had disobeyed him and plunged right in. His tongue tasted everything she was feeling - anger, fear, desperation, hunger - and it was better than virgin blood, better than a fresh kill on a moonlit night. In an instant, he was lost in a sea of human emotion and demon lust, in danger of disappearing altogether.



Buffy had finally stopped struggling and was clinging to him with a hunger she hadn't felt in months. The need that he'd sparked a few moments ago now threatened to become a bonfire as he ground his hardness between her legs, their mouths hot and wet and open against each other in a frenzied clash of teeth and tongues. There was nothing tender or loving in Spike's touch, but



at that very minute, all that mattered was feeling him against her skin.



Spike felt himself getting ready to come in his pants and somehow managed to pull back, breaking the kiss and pushing away from the wall and the soft body in front of it. He held her gaze, his voice tight with tension as he lowered his zipper. "Tell me to stop if you don't want this. Tell me to walk away right now..."



And while she watched with eyes that were glazed over with desire, he pushed his jeans down over his hips, releasing his engorged cock. Free from the confines of his jeans, it sprang up, straining toward her, looking like a column of sculpted marble in the blackness.



"All you have to do is say no," he whispered hoarsely, his hand stroking the length of his shaft as he waited for her answer.



Buffy slowly tore her gaze from his proudly jutting erection and found herself paralyzed by the heat in his previously cold eyes. She wondered if this was what hell felt like, this burning, clawing need that seemed to magnify with each passing moment. Could that column of cool flesh put out the flames inside her, or would it only help them consume her entirely? Nothing mattered anymore; she was damned either way. And there was really only one thing she wanted.



"I...I can't," she finally answered in a ragged voice. "I can't say no." Her hands clenched into fists as the admission was forced from her by her own traitorous body. "I don't want to stop, Spike. I want..." She took a deep breath, knowing that there was no going back now. "I want you to fuck me."



Spike felt his cock jump in response. Before she could change her mind, he grabbed her, sliding his hands around to her backside. He lifted her easily, entering her with one thrust...and found himself slipping into flesh that was hotter and tighter and softer than anything he'd ever felt before. Knowing that the slightest move would have him coming in an instant, he kept perfectly still, his body straining from the effort.



Buffy's eyes flew open as Spike sheathed himself to the hilt and then stopped moving except for the slight trembling of his body. She wrapped her legs around his slim hips and clung to him as his head fell to her shoulder and he pushed her up against the wall. She could feel him taking deep, unnecessary breaths and brought her hand up to stroke the back of his neck. "Spike?" she whispered shakily.



Her voice broke through his concentration and he raised his head, staring at her with burning eyes. The intensity in them took Buffy's breath away for a second, her surroundings falling away as she tumbled into their bottomless depths. The only things she remained aware of were his hard flesh stretching and filling her, and the burning need thrumming through her veins at a breakneck pace. A tiny sound escaped the Slayer as she unconsciously started writhing against him in an effort to ease the throbbing at her core.



With a snarl, Spike still her hips. He bent his head and deliberately licked a path from the hollow of Buffy's throat to her ear, skimming lightly over her jugular, causing a deep shudder to run through them both. "Please," she mewled, beyond anything except the desperation to feel his



cock moving inside her.



"I thought you weren't the begging kind," he murmured, letting a fang graze her earlobe. When she angrily choked off a sob, he smiled to himself, then began thrusting in a slow and torturous motion, keeping her pinned to the wall.



Spike knew all too well that the illusion of control always worked to his advantage. Unfortunately, like many things in life, it was fragile, tenuous...unpredictable. After only a few strokes, the sensation of what felt like molten lava gripping and caressing his cock nearly had that shred of control snapping like a dry twig. Nothing in his unlife had ever felt this good, and he suspected that nothing ever would again. He wanted it to last an eternity, just go on twisting and pumping until they both withered and died, but in this particular instance, that eternity was about to end all too soon. As if to hammer the point home, his hips began moving faster and faster, until he was pounding the Slayer violently against the wall.



Buffy twisted and writhed in Spike's embrace, clinging to him fiercely as the fever built to an almost unbearable pitch. Her hands tore at his hair, clawed at his back, pulled him closer as if she wanted to climb under his skin. His cock felt huge and throbbing as it churned inside her, his mouth wet and delicious against her lips, her throat, her breasts...anywhere and everywhere he could possibly reach. She could feel the rough wall behind her scraping her back raw, but didn't care. The alley had ceased to exist as the two of them raged and fought and slammed together in the hot night air - straining, heaving, clutching, and moaning in a tangle of sweat and anger, oblivious to anything except their own lust and impending climax.



Control long gone, Spike held onto the slippery body molded to his and angled Buffy's hips slightly so that he was grinding against her swollen clit. "I'm going to make you come so hard, Slayer," he rasped in her ear. "So fucking hard, and so deep, and I'm going to fill you until you can't take anymore..."



His voice was all the trigger she needed. Entire body tensing, Buffy let out a shriek as the orgasm ripped through her. Harder and faster, Spike rammed into her quaking pussy, driving her over the edge and beyond, letting her contractions bring him into the abyss with her. He felt his hardness swell to gigantic proportions, and then howled as a torrent seemed to burst from his loins. Over and over, he pulsed and throbbed and pumped, filling her again and again, until there was nothing left of him but an empty shell. Completely drained, stunned by the intensity of his orgasm, Spike buried his face in her neck and tried to remind his body that it didn't need to



breathe.



Wet. Wet and sticky and limp and nearly unconscious just about summed up Buffy's state of being at the moment. She couldn't have moved even if she wanted to, and disengaging from Spike was the furthest thing from her mind. She had never felt so satisfied, so spent...



So blissful.



"I love you, Spike," she sighed, tangling her hand in his hair. The words fell from her lips of their own volition, seeming to hover in the air above them. Things would be better now, Buffy was sure. There was no way he could still be angry after what had just happened. Even as she thought the words, she felt the arms holding her stiffen, the muscles beneath her hands become tight.



*I love you, Spike.*



As the Slayer's soft statement broke the silence of the alley, Spike felt his jaw clench. How many times had he heard those words? How many times had Drusilla whispered them in his ear and then run off with Angel, leaving him behind? Over the course of his unlife, no other three words had ever had the power to make him feel this way, make him feel so betrayed. Just the sound of them filled him with an uncontrollable feeling of helplessness and rage. He straightened up and pulled back to look at Buffy's face. Her eyes were soft and unfocused with spent passion, a small smile playing about her lips. She looked so happy, so at peace. He hated her for it.



And the only thing he wanted to do was hit her until she bled.



Buffy noticed the look in his eyes and felt the fear creep along her spine. She trembled, the air around her suddenly cold. As cold as Spike's stare. No, she thought desperately, this wasn't happening. Not now, not after... Surely he felt something for her? What had happened had been more than fucking, more than just sex. Hadn't it?



"Spike?" she whispered fearfully as he continued to stare. "Say something, you're scaring me."



"I was just thinking, pet..." he said, reaching behind him to unwrap her legs from around his waist and set her back on her feet, "that perhaps you've missed your true calling." Her hands slid from around his neck to fall at her sides in confusion. His lip curled derisively as he watched her. "That was *almost* as good as the time I fucked Mata Hari behind enemy lines. Now *there* was a bird who knew what she was about. Don't worry, though. I'm sure that at the rate you're going, you'll be as skilled as she was in no time."



Buffy looked at him, hurt etched across her face. This was Angel all over again, that awful morning at his apartment -"You were great. Really. I thought you were a pro." She slowly shook her head, unwilling to believe that this was happening again. How could he do this to her, how could he treat her this way? Why did the men in her life feel this constant urge to rend and tear at her heart until there wasn't anything left?



"Why are you doing this? she asked hoarsely.



Spike saw her face start to crumble, saw the tears gathering in her eyes, and waited for the feeling of satisfaction to overwhelm him. It never came. The fact that he cared about hurting her made him even angrier, and the urge to lash out was stronger than before. Maybe if he left her entirely broken, the raging torment inside him would subside. It was worth a try, right?



And just like that, he knew exactly what to say to bring her to her knees.



"Why the tears, Slayer?" he said with mock concern. "Don't tell me you thought that this meant anything. I would have thought that after that Parker chap you'd be able to tell the difference between getting fucked and having a relationship. Shouldn't you be used to this by now?" Bingo, he thought, watching her face go deadly white in the darkness.



Buffy couldn't breathe. The pain that knifed through her at his words was sharp and intense, bringing back all the hurt her past relationships had heaped upon her. It was as if all of her ex-boyfriends had ganged up at once - just one big Buffy bashing free for all. She had never imagined that she could make Spike hate her this much. What a fool she'd been.



"Get...away...from...me..." she choked out, her body shaking uncontrollably.



Spike snorted. "Gladly, Slayer. I got what I wanted anyway." He leaned closer for a second, dropping his voice a couple of octaves. "How do *you* like feeling used? Fun, isn't it?" He straightened, turned on his heel and began walking away, stopping after a few steps.



"Oh, by the way," he said, turning and snapping his fingers as if he'd forgotten something. "I'll be sure to let Angel know that 'Slutty the Vampire Slayer' is back in business. I do so love keeping him informed." He gave a short, mocking chuckle, then strolled out of the alley, calling out, "Later!" over his shoulder.



In the ensuing silence, loud, choking sobs filled the air as Buffy's legs gave out beneath her. She crumpled to the ground and rolled into a ball, rocking back and forth as the tremors wracked her body. Ice cold, gasping for air, she lay there amid the scraps of paper and cardboard that littered the alley, only aware of one thing.



Everything she'd ever wanted was gone, and nothing would ever be the same again.





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