"I hate you in so many, many, many ways," Buffy made sure to point out before she flopped, belly first, onto the musty bedspread.

Spike sat beside her and slurred an indifferent, "Not as much as I hate you. Where's the bourbon?"

With great effort, she uprighted herself, pulled the bottle out from under her and passed it along.

"Empty," he said. "And our last one, at that."

"No way. What happened to all the others?"

"Gone." He let rip a monstrous burp.

She grimaced. "Eeew!"

"Right," he sneered, flinging the bottle so it crashed against the wall. "Almighty Slayer's too proper to piss."

"Proper? I am so way not proper!" Buffy squeaked in defiance. "Way... So. Not. Anyway I can belch with the best of 'em. You just watch." She tried a few times, and gave up.

Spike cocked an eyebrow. "That it?"

"Gimme some more drinkies," Buffy said, finger in the air. "Something fizzy. I'll show you. Then we'll have like a... contest... thing." She trailed off, inspecting a chipped fingernail.

"Hm," he mused. "Enticing as that sounds, pet, 's high time I cut you off." He nudged her shoulder with his. "You're tanked."

"Am not!"

"Too. Otherwise, think about it -- when else'd you be caught dead alone with me 'cept to rip my heart out and gobble it up for breakfast?" He patted his chest for cigarettes. "You know, and vice-a-versa. Damn." That was the last of his smokes, too. And so far away from a 7-11...

"Whoa." She took in the spinning bedroom. "You're right. Ohmigod, you trickeded me."

"I trickeded you? You're the one started bawlin' at me tonight," his voice lurched up an octave, "'Waah, you were right about me and Angel, we can never be friends and we can never again shag like rabbits, boo bloody hoo!'"

Buffy gaped. "I dinnint 'bawl'! I would never bawl in fron'a you. You're like, my menemeny... memeny. Emeny. You made me go all spilly with that... booze. And only because I happened to run into you tonight, when I was not in the mood to kill anyone. And you gave me the first swig, anyway. You sustarted it."

"Yeah, and who's the tart batted her sooty eyelashes to make me 'susteal' more 'booze'?" He squinted at her. "Which by the way, isn't very Slayerish of you. You must be slipping."

"Bad influence," she grumped.

"Who? Me?"

She shook her head, and nodded to the splatter on the wall. "Jack Daniels."

He smiled and sniffed. "That he is."

Body swaying, Buffy blinked a few times as the room grew hazier. "I'm sleepy."

Spike heaved a sigh. A piss-drunk slayer alone with him in the deepest recesses of the factory -- now that's what he called opportunity. Except that he happened to be a stone's throw from hammered himself, and attempting slaughter in such a condition could wreak disaster.

Starting tomorrow, he promised himself, he'd put 'Killing Slayer' back in the number one spot of his To Do list. Yeah, he'd win Dru back with a necklace strung of fresh Buffy bones... Tomorrow.

Tonight, however, he'd have to get this handful home. "This'll be a kick. Can't wait to see loverboy's face when I get you to your door, all flung over my shoulder and retching down my back."

"He's not my loverboy, how many times did I have to tell you, it's over, finito. Which means he would not even be there and I can get home myself without, without retchening, so there."

She yawned, and though she planned to sit up, her shoulders sagged forward and her eyes fell closed instead. "And if you think you're gonna try'n kill me once I pass out, think again Mister. I won't let you. 'Cause I'm the Slayer. An' I can kick... your... ass." As she spoke, voice growing fainter, she'd managed to cu.rl into a fetal position. By the last word, her head had landed in his lap.

"Christ," he hissed, hands withdrawn as if she were a hot potato.

She snored softly.

He rolled his eyes and gave her a quick prod. "Slayer. Oi. Rise and shine, love. C'mon."

"Five more minutes," she said, nuzzling into his crotch. "Fi' more... then I'll..."

He shook his head in disdain. "And this is the spitfire nearly toasts me on a regular basis. I should take a picture." A wicked grin lit his face. "Send it to Angel. Din' I have a camera round here somewhere?"

He nudged her up and gently placed her back down as he rose to search the dresser drawers. He found it -- an old Polaroid, no film. Disappointed, he tossed it aside.

Buffy moaned a little in her sleep, so he felt the need to justify, "I wasn't really gonna take one." Then her lips parted and he thought, Pretty mouth.

He shook his head to get the accompanying images out. "Mus' be a bum batch," he said, blaming the shattered bottle of Black crunching under his boots. "What I need is somethin' smoother."

He opened another drawer and found, to his amazement, his old silver flask -- and Slayer as his witness, it was nearly full.

"Now you're cookin' with class!" He took a whiff. "Aged to perfection, you are." He turned on his heel a little, creaking the floorboards as he poured the silky liquid into his mouth, head tipped back.

Buffy broke his subsequent fall. When she grunted in annoyance, he said, "I could kill you right now, you know. You couldn't do a bloody thing."

"Kill you," she echoed.

Startled, he jumped up and eyed her warily until he was certain she was still asleep. "Watch it, you," he bobbed an unsteady finger at her, "can't scare me."

Just to be on the safe side, however, he checked her clothing for stakes -- and found one tucked into her waistband. "Don't know how you can sleep with a big stick in your pants," he said, tossing it over his shoulder. "Oh right, there's already one up your bum."

Chortling at his astute wit, he dove into bed beside her.

"No monkey business, now," he slurred, face scrunched, hand waving to and fro. "Jus' a bit o' shut-eye. That's where I draw the line, missy. I mean I know how hot you are for me but you'll just have to control yourself, alright?"

Contented smile on, he drifted into sweet unconsciousness.

* * *

"The hell you doing, you freak?" Perry the Akalam demon whisper-shouted. "He said he wanted 'em cuffed up, not in the freakin' buff!"

Gus looked up mid de-pantsing. "Yes, but now if they break loose, they won't get very far." He tapped his hairy temple. "Ingenuity, my friend. It gets you places."

"Ingenuity, my ass. Gets you to the top of the Slayer's shit list's where it gets you."

"She'll be dead before this time tomorrow, so what do I care?" Last boot, last sock. Now for the girl...

Perry shook his head. He had a bad feeling about this. "Not for nothin', but Trick shoulda just let us waste 'em now. I mean, look at 'em, they're half-dead already. One stake, one snap. Blam blam, the end."

"Didn't you hear him say they are bait for a bigger plan?" Gus asked. "You should stop talking so much and start listening, Pertak. You might learn something."

"You wanna learn something?" Perry pointed at the snoozing Buffy. "You ever meet all this bitch's friends?"

Gus couldn't say he had.

"I didn't think so. Alright? So shut the fuck up when you don't know. They'll get her outta here, you'll see. Next thing you know, she goes Charles Bronson on our hides while Trick sits back and watches on his big-screen TV. Laughin'." He scoffed as he tightened Spike's restraint. "A bigger plan, he says. Might as well hang 'em in loose rope over a tubful o' garter snakes, you ask me."

"It's a good thing no one did. You know, she's not so ugly for a human girl," Gus appraised as he removed Buffy's underwear. "You think we have time to--"

Perry smacked Gus' hairy forehead. "Get your filnaka outta the gutter! Cryin' out loud, we already been here too long! Help me key these latches up and let's go!"

* * *

Spike muttered himself awake. What? Where? Amber light from a bedside table penetrated his haze. Tattered canopy, burnt out walls... the factory bedroom? Sunnyhell? Dru? Ouch.

Bloody hangovers.

Jerking his arms, he heard a clank. "What the...?" He craned toward his wrists and found thick, deadlocked manacles fastened to chains that anchored to a newly attached bar of iron protruding from the headboard. "...hell?"

Then the previous night came monsooning back to him.

Why that lying, two-timing, conniving little... "Bitch!"

He yanked at the restraints, thrashed to his side... and was met with a curious sight.

It was Buffy, on her back, fast asleep, both wrists cuffed and chained in the same manner, with a shorter chain connected to his setup.

The real puzzler? She was stark naked.

Curiouser still, so was he.

"Bloody hell," he growled, clattering his chains. "Angelus! You bloody buggery pansy! Come out and face me like a man, you blasted coward!" He waited a moment in the silence. "Hello?"

* * *

Mayor Wilkins sat forward in his chair, snickering at the security monitor. "Now I admit, I had my reservations about the clothing stunt, but by golly it's funny as all get-out." He bobbed a finger at one of the large, hairy demons standing in his office. "I like your initiative, Mr. Gustak."

Gus sent a smug sidelong glance to Perry, who asked, "Not for nothin', but can we get paid now?"

"Now, you just hold your horses there, pard'ner. Mr. Trick takes care of all of that," his shoulders spasmed, "unsavory business. I just wanted to congratulate you two personally for your efforts. Good work, boys." He winked at Trick.

"Let me fill you in on the next phase of our operation," Trick said, and escorted the demons out the door.

With a giggle, Wilkins pointed at the screen and addressed his Deputy Mayor. "This could be on America's Funniest. You know, the one with that 'Full House' fella? I just love that guy. Don't you?"

"I--"

"Hey, I betcha it'd win something."

"Uh, sir?" Allan put forward. "Should we uh... start the process now?"

"Then again, the nudity is unsuitable for younger viewers. No, I suppose we'll just have to keep it to ourselves. Tsk, tsk. But will ya take a gander at him rattling those chains!" He laughed again, punctuating with, "Ah, I tell ya. That's comedy."

He spun in his chair to consult with his desk calendar. Penciling in the words 'EXTERMINATE RIFFRAFF', he said darkly, "Start the process, Allan. I want all three of them out of my way by the cock's crow."


More to come...

"Oi, Superbitch!" Spike kneed her thigh. "Summers! Wake up!"

She groaned in her sleep and turned on her side, facing away from him.

"What's it take?" he gritted, on the brink of giving up. "Oi! Slayer! Horny naked vampire in your bed!"

Buffy's head popped up, eyes shut tight, hair a mess. "Huh?"

"Right," he sighed, question answered.

At once, the pain struck her like a wrecking ball. Head throbbing, arms stinging with pins and needles, wrists aching as if bruised, she attempted to nurse her wounds -- and encountered the same obstacle he had.

"What...?" She looked up at the headboard and tugged, still confused.

"Not even the half of it," Spike said.

She spun too quickly, twisting her arms even more painfully. Glowering, the name darted from her tongue like poison: "Spike?"

He pursed his lips. "Expecting some other bedmate, were you?"

Peeved as he was, he couldn't help but be entertained by her inevitable expressions of shock, realization, chagrin and ultimately, out-and-out horror.

"Where are my clothes? Where are your--? Oh god! What did you do to me? What the hell did you do?" She scrambled around while pulling on the shackles, attempting to escape while indelicately shielding her nudity. "I swear to god, if you..."

"Heaven forbid your pristine virtue was harmed," he muttered.

She wheeled around and kicked twice -- first his kneecap, then his thigh.

"Gah!" Unable to defend himself, he shouted, "Bloody hell, Slayer, watch where you're kicking!"

She poised a leg, narrowed her eyes and threatened, "You tell me exactly what's going on this second, or so help me I lock in and destroy."

"I haven't the faintest! I woke up same as you, all chained up and birthday-suited!" Sensing what she was really worried about, he supplemented, "I didn't touch you last night, if that's what you're implying. The thought makes me ill."

Both relieved and insulted, she blustered, "Like you could have."

"Oh, believe me, I could have. Could've slaughtered you and had a party, the state you were in." Her foot flexed. "But I didn't, did I? We got pissed and passed out, end of story."

She arched a single brow.

"Well," he shook his wrists, "except for this."

"The factory," she whispered in recognition, and turned her back to him again. "Last night... We came here together?"

"Yeah, willingly, even. Proof of the power of alcohol, us two getting chummy. You don't remember anything?"

"It's coming back. Unfortunately." She jerked the chain, grunting rather daintily. "Who did this to us?"

"Got me," he shrugged. "Thought it might be your boyfriend, but this really isn't his style. Where's the fun without the torture, right?"

Irritably, she said, "He's got his soul again, dimwit. And he's not my boyfriend, remember?"

"Right. How could I forget after all the blubbering on my shoulder last night?"

"I did NOT blubber, and I would never go anywhere near your shoulder! Sniffled a little, maybe, but -- oh god, was I in your lap?"

"Wasn't fun for me either," he assured her.

Buffy whimpered. "This sucks beyond all sucking."

"And now that the glaringly obvious has been stated, I could use a bit of super-strength here."

She glanced at him over her shoulder. He gestured at the headboard.

"Oh." She focused on her chains. "They've been welded shut?"

"At every possible break. Whoever did this knows what we're capable of."

"And had power tools? Shouldn't we have heard something?"

He smirked. "The same way you heard me hollerin' bloody murder at you for the last twenty minutes?"

"Wow," she said. "I'm usually a light sleeper."

"Yeah. Whiskey's funny like that."

Buffy mentally checked off her list of enemies, past and present. It didn't add up. "Who would want to chain us up to each other naked? Where's the logic in that?"

"Well, I for one would like to get unchained before I find out."

"Not arguing there."

"Anyway, I think we can crack it, long as we give it our all."

"Piece 'a cake," Buffy said, and resigned to a humiliating match of Co-ed Naked Metal Twisting alongside the unlikely teammate that was her most reviled enemy. Her only consolation was that she could kill him as soon as they busted free. And then, if the headache didn't go away, she could kill herself.

With that shared impetus driving them on, they huffed, puffed and hauled with every ounce of their strength for several minutes... but the metal remained stubbornly intact -- and decidedly untwisty.

She called for a breather and turned to him. "Magical binding, maybe?"

"Maybe," he said, blearily eyeing the restraints. "But I'd wager the real magic here's in our hangovers."

"You are not kidding," she said, clamping her eyes shut. "Now I know what it must feel like to get a root canal. On your brain. How can you live like this?"

"Not so bad really, long as you don't get chained up so far away from the hair o' the dog that bit." He nodded at the splatter on the wall.

"That does it. I'm never drinking again -- doghair or any other bitey thing."

He shrugged. "Each his own."

She sighed, the pain stirring anew. "Maybe we should wait 'til one of us gets our strength back, or 'til someone..." she caught a glimpse of her body and panicked, "...finds us naked and chained together; we really need to get out of here."

"With you all the way, pet." He inspected the headboard. It wasn't a particularly strong one: carved of wood and upholstered in fabric. So what on earth was that hulking metal bar attached to? Did it run all the way through to the brick wall behind them? "There's got to be something worth loosening at the corner here. If you run your chains over here, we can pool our strength--"

"No way," she scoffed, face screwed in distaste.

"Why not?"

"I'm not lying naked under you!"

"Look," he reasoned with her, "the faster we get out of here the faster we can forget this ever happened."

She considered this. "You'll leave for good this time?"

"Cross my heart and hope to fry."

"If only," she said with an eye roll. "Look, I'll do it, but just... keep your naked parts away from me."

He answered with his own eye roll.

"And no peeking," she warned testily before flipping onto her back and gliding her link along the horizontal bar.

"Tell me, what in our history makes you think I'd be interested?"

"You're a guy? For all I know, you set this whole thing up."

"Please." Carefully, he mounted her, keeping contact at a minimum. "Like I'd get all strung up just to see you starkers. Keep dreamin', Blondie." He peeked. "Or not so Blondie as it turns out."

"You--" Her knee jerked.

"Ah ah ah," he taunted, now that her legs were trapped snugly under his.

"Bastard."

He leaned toward her. "Now, pull."

Scowling, she counted to three.

As the impassive iron continued to mock the struggling pair in their numerous attempts, they began to face a different kind of crisis.

Spike couldn't figure it out. Slayer muscles and gymnast flexibility aside, the thought of nailing his nemeses had never appealed -- that is until Buffy's bronzed, writhing, sweat-sheened body wantonly tricked him into arousal. He told himself it had nothing to do with her in particular -- it was just the way she was vocalizing; the way she was arching her back so her nipples tickled his skin; the way she was trying so hard not to look at him...

Buffy had never felt so humiliated. It was bad enough that she was forced to expose herself like this -- and to Spike, of all people -- but worse still, her body was reacting in all the wrong ways. She tried to train her mind to another place, but she couldn't control her nerve endings' traitorous response to his closeness -- the way his chest appealingly enveloped hers, the way he managed to expel air from his lungs to breathe on her face and neck, the way he growled deep and low with each effort.

To their mutual dismay, the other's presence was becoming intoxicating and impossible to ignore.

She didn't look at him as she stopped to ask, "Is it even budging?"

"Not sure. Hard to see through all the blinding headache."

"Tell me about it."

"One last," he said. "Give it your all."

"Unh!" she grunted, hips rising with the effort.

Now that was just too much. Spike responded, physically and fully.

Buffy gasped when his erection stabbed her thigh.

They froze, and an awkward moment passed. "You were wiggling," he explained ineptly.

"Not on purpose," she said, far less incensed than he expected her to be.

He noticed she was blushing. And that was a first. "Here, I'll move off--"

"I don't think I can do this," she said.

"Buffy, I swear I'm not trying to--"

"No, I mean, I think I should turn around." ...Away from his chest and his breath on her face; away from the temptation and excitement and confusion he was causing. "I might get better leverage."

She wanted to turn around and press her ass against him? Had she any idea what that would unleash in him? "No," Spike said, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

He marveled at how she could be so strong and so smart, yet so innocent. "Just take my word for it."

"Oh," she breathed, getting it.

Christ, the things he could teach her. "Right. One last go, and then we'll rest a bit, yeah?"

She nodded, and again they gathered their collective might to heave and ho the headboard off.

This time, as she shimmied against him, he became so mesmerized by her mouth -- lips glistening, teeth grit into an alluring grimace -- that he accidentally let his throbbing erection slip between her lower thighs. On contact, a slippery liquid coated him -- one that was definitely not sweat.

He was shocked into stillness.

Gasping for breath, her eyes met his.

On the edge of a precipice, they stared at one another.

Her riotous hormones spurring her on, Buffy couldn't help but wonder: If she had only one night left, if she was facing certain death, would it be so bad? Wrong, yes -- her head spun at the wrongness of it. But bad...?

Held in thrall by those piercing blue eyes, she found herself saying, "We might not get out of this."

"Might not."

"I don't like you," she said weakly.

"I don't care."

After a beat, Buffy decided, "Me neither."

Their mouths nearly touching, Spike drew back. This wasn't going to be some quick roll in the hay, was it? This was going to change everything; he could already feel it unraveling him from within. "Stop me. Tell me to stop."

I should, her mind reasoned, but her body didn't comply: it only wet her lips and spread her legs.

The next moment seemed to occur in slow motion: Spike inched up, angling his torso, and eased forward.

"Please Buffy, tell me to stop."

She swallowed, and said huskily, "Don't stop."

Her words curled around him the way her legs did -- urging him closer, inviting him in.

And he thought he was the evil one.

The tip of his cock nudged her slick opening. She hummed in encouragement, and he slid inside with deliberate, measured strokes, his jaw firmly clenched.

Each centimeter of her was exquisite, he discovered, finger-cuff tight and pillowy soft: her interior muscles enveloped him like warm, slippery velvet and reduced him to a quivering wreck.

Giving in to the blissful sensation, it faintly occurred to Buffy that this honor, the second time, was supposed to be reserved for the man she loved -- but Angel was someone she couldn't have, ever again. Spike, who was someone she shouldn't have, was proving to be everything she needed -- right now.

Strange, she thought, how shoulds and should-nots become irrelevant once you're hogtied to a headboard.

When at last he was buried to the hilt, their gasps combined into one caught breath.

A look of bewilderment passed over his features when he realized there wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be.

"Buffy," he exalted as they began to move in unison.

"Spike." It shouldn't feel this good, Buffy knew. Nothing should feel this good, especially this, with him... "Don't stop."

"Won't," he promised. "Can't."

"Good," she whispered in his ear, and he lost it.

Snarling, rattling at his chains, he pumped harder and faster, eliciting sweet cries of delight. Suddenly it maddened him that he couldn't touch her, couldn't run his fingers along her glorious skin, couldn't lathe his tongue over her every curve, couldn't love her completely.

Spike wanted it all. Every bit of her.

She slid her heels up to his lower back, down over his ass and back up again. Hips rising to meet his pounding thrusts, Buffy knew this wouldn't be enough.

She wanted more. She wanted it all.

* * *

"What's so funny, Mr. Trick?" Mayor Wilkins asked, cleaning his hands with a WetNap after conducting his daily ritual.

"Well, Mr. Mayor, it looks like our girl doesn't just slay vampires." He spun the monitor his way.

The mayor winced. "Oh, for heaven's sake, that's profane! That's disgusting! Turn that garbage off!"

Trick flipped a switch, and the picture shrunk to a pinhole and disappeared.

Looking a little shaken, Wilkins paced to the window and squinted through the horizontal blinds. "This puts us in a bit of a pickle, doesn't it, Mr. Trick?"

"With a side o' cole slaw," the vampire conceded from his dark corner.

"You know, in my day, slayers were upstanding young citizens. But now, give 'em a snootful of moonshine, kick off their bloomers and anything goes! Teenagers these days." The mayor shook his head in disdain. "No scruples. Any thoughts, Mr. Trick?"

"You mean, other than 'My god, that's one freaky slayer and why aren't I chained up to her?'"

"Now, now." He turned to regard him. "You know I don't allow filthy talk in my office. I'm a family man."

The vampire smirked and got down to business. "Well, it's obvious the guy doesn't have Slayer Slaughter 3 on the brain."

"Not even at the height of passion? Isn't that what you vampires do after all?"

Trick shook his head slowly. "Old wives' tale. We don't mix business with pleasure."

"Well, ya learn something new every day. Funny how that is." Wilkins looked off into the distance. "I should have guessed that little prank the Akalam brothers pulled would only lead to trouble." He sniffed and said briskly, "I suppose, now, we'll have to cut our losses and leave Angel out of the equation. Such a shame. I was really looking forward to seeing that."

"I wouldn't give up on him just yet," Trick said.

Hands still in pockets, Wilkins twisted his torso to face him. "Wouldn't you?"

Trick strolled to the center of the room. "This juicy little development calls for only a slight adjustment to the plan, and by slight I mean even better. Angel sees them like this and goes buck-wild on both of 'em. Maybe he even attacks her and it's bye-bye soul, hello Angelus -- and hello new right hand man."

The Mayor beamed.

"If not, we still got the frame-up. Slayer's bloodhound gang takes their petty vengeance, and we call it a day."

"I like the way you think, Mr. Trick!" Wilkins laughed with a snap of his fingers. "Yes indeedy!" He sat down at his desk and drummed its surface. "Welp, the sooner the better. This Spike character is proving to be a real variable here, and I don't need to tell you how much of a threat that is to my campaign."

"The brothers are already on it. It'll all go down by sunset."

"Uh-huh. Tell me again how rock solid the restraints are?"

Trick grinned. "Akalam-molded and blessed by a Vago, can't get more solid than that. Ashford and Simpson's love was never so solid -- it'd take ten slayers to destroy it. Even if they were in a hurry to escape, which judging by the intensive boot-knocking isn't the case, they'd need some serious mojo to bust through that rig."


More to come...

More of you was the unifying thought that wrenched them free of the iron bar and broke the headboard in two.

Buffy rushed to touch his angled face and shoulders; Spike ran a thumb over her bee-stung lips, then found her breasts, her slippery hips. Still manacled and linked to one another, they tested the limits of their restraints.

Whispering his name, she looped her chains around the nape of his neck and pulled him close.

"Fucking beautiful," he rumbled at her ear, loving the way she shivered against him in response.

Spike caught himself thinking of other things he could say to make her do that again. That's when he realized it was all over, that his world was spinning clear off its axis.

Fuck. He pounded into her with quiet fury. Fuck her and eat her, hard and fast, something inside him urged. Take what you want and run, while you've still got your dignity... Only he didn't want to kill her… he wanted to make this last.

Forever.

What if he kept her forever? Made her immortal -- his own?

Shame on you, he scolded himself, shocked at the thought. Dru is yours, Dru is your eternity.

He lifted his head to gaze down at Buffy, mouth moving into a pretty little 'O'.

'She's all around you', she'd said. And now he understood.

His obsession wasn't with killing her. It was with having her, possessing her. No wonder Dru had left him. "No wonder," he said aloud, and descended to press his lips to that sweet, perfect mouth.

Her eyes fluttered open in surprise -- they hadn't kissed yet.

She slid her tongue into his mouth, nibbled on his lower lip, let go, swooped in again. Their foreheads touched, and he thrilled at the feel of her heart racing.

"Oh god," she gasped.

"You're amazing," he said.

Buffy slowly brought their chains together, then bore forward to wrangle him onto his back.

He smiled. Baby likes to play.

She smiled lazily and thought, Dying soon. Might as well make the most of it.

* * *

Angel woke in a cold sweat, images of Buffy searing his mind's eye. Mortal danger, the vision whispered.

Rubbing his temple, he forced himself back to earth and the present. Just a dream, he reasoned. She's okay, she's safe. It was a Saturday afternoon; she was probably shopping with her friends. The last thing she needed was her ex lurking around.

He'd had this dream before -- Buffy in bed with evil. It was his penance. It was nothing new.

"Are you sure it's only a dream?" a thickly accented male voice crackled from behind him.

Angel spun to face his intruder. An Akalam demon. Native of the Aegean. Near impossible to kill. Exudes metal alloy from its fingertips, is freakishly strong, apparently telepathic... and really, really hairy.

"An Akalam," Angel said conversationally as he stood up. "Haven't seen one of your kind since the Bronx catacombs."

"My brother was born there," Gustak said with a wave of his hulkish hand. "Second generationers. They get all the breaks."

"Do they?"

"I think it's the accent. Nobody trusts an accent, you know? But really, that's not why I'm here."

Angel ticked his head to the side. "I was hoping."

"I'm here to enlighten you, Angelus."

"Uh-huh." He turned his back to the demon and padded away. "I gave at the Hell dimension. Thanks for stopping by."

"It's about your girlfriend."

He stopped in his tracks and sighed. "She's not my girlfriend anymore."

"Then I guess you won't find it at all interesting that Spike has her."

Angel turned, features hard. "Where?"

* * *

The room echoed with rhythmic grunts and moans, the slap of flesh meeting flesh, the jangle of shifting chains.

"Mm, Spike..." Palms against his chest, she rose and fell, contracting her interior muscles with each pull, making him hiss and babble lustfully through grit teeth.

"Fucking... bloody hell, Slayer, so fucking tight, sweet, hot, fuck me, Buffy, yeah..."

"Keep talking..." she urged in a heated pant. "Keep talking to me like that, say my name like that..."

"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy, fuck, yeah, fuck me Buffy, with your sweet, hot, tight little -- Buffy!"

Holy god, she thought, riding him faster, letting his unbridled desire go to her head. So bad, so wrong, so *good*... The last thing she pondered was the hot prickling sensation of his fingertips digging into her hips and whether he'd leave bruises and how she would explain them should she ever have to before tripping, tumbling, falling into blissful orgasm, gulping and swallowing air.

He sputtered unintelligibly as her inner walls milked his cock and more of her slippery juices coated him. Growling, determined to be the one in control, he hastily pushed her off and rolled her over onto her knees. The chains got in the way, but not unattractively. Holding her hands behind her back, he plunged into her from behind.

She groaned, cheek smushed into the mattress.

Forcing himself to hold it together, he bent down to meet her ear and whispered, "You like it?"

"Oh god, y..." She stopped just short of saying yes, but he knew. Yeah, he knew.

A few more hard, driving strokes, and she'd know too -- because he'd be hers.

Forever, irrevocably hers.

No, Spike panicked. I won't, I can't be like him! I won't be the Slayer's simpering dog!

Gums receding, fangs elongating, he focused on the succulent neck peeking out at him from beneath wisps of pale blonde hair.

Eat her. Be done with this. Be the demon you are and suck her dry.

Trembling, he reached out and slowly pushed her hair over her head, clearing her skin for the kill.

As he closed in, she whimpered, "Spike, don't stop... please baby don't stop..."

"Rrrr... aaahhh!" He lost control, lost his mind, found something that'd been long lost for over a hundred years, and spilled it inside of her.

When it was over, he collapsed on her back with a sob, his features slipping back to human form.

Coming down from her high, Buffy suddenly felt the pain in her arms, the weight of his body and the weight of the entire world telling her how stupid she was for doing this. "Spike? You're heavy."

"Yeah," he said, finding his casual voice and rolling off of her. "Dead weight usually is."

Back facing him, she asked testily, "Can I have my hands back now?"

He got up, a little too quickly and attentively, to adjust the chains.

"Thanks." She lay on her back beside him.

For a few minutes, they stared at the ripped and ragged canopy above them. Buffy focused on an abandoned spider web that hung limply from its center. Ew, she thought. I just had sex under that.

"Well," he said, breaking the silence, "No one's come yet."

She looked at him pointedly.

"To kill us, I mean."

She sat up slowly, gears finally turning. "That's kind of strange, don't you think?"

"Or possibly good," he corrected, not catching her meaning.

"No, it's not," she said ominously, a tingle running up her spine. "They're waiting for something."

"Who?"

"Whoever did this." She looked down at him, and back at the walls surrounding them. "They're waiting for something. Something big."

"Yeah well, lucky for us, we're free. We don't have to be here for it."

"Hello? Still chained to each other, still daylight? And unless we can break this big honking lock that holds us together, still stuck here?"

He tilted his head. "You don't want me to die?"

"Spike, come on. We just had--" she skidded to a halt, unable to say the word.

"Sex..."

"Right. So. It'd be... rude to kill you. And need I mention the extreme case of nudity?"

"Glad you've still got your manners," he smirked and sat up. "Anyway, guess you never did your homework, pet. Factory's got outs to the tunnels. How you think we got in and out back then?"

"I'd really rather not. Think of that." She considered the options. "Well okay. We can stay here and wait for our evil captor, whoever he or she is, or we can run bound and naked through the filthy sewers. If anything, it's convenient, since I really have to pee..."

"God, I forgot you were human. Right, do your thing. I won't look."

"Ew! No! And definitely not!"

"What, you think I can't handle it? I just watched you ride me like a prize stallion!"

The punch came too unexpectedly for him to deflect it. "Ow! What the hell is your problem?"

Tears welled in her wide eyes. "Don't remind me."

"Oh, now we're playing It Never Happened? Little hard to do with you still oozing my load, innit?"

Mouth agape, she lunged. He parried, and they fell into a wrestling match, taking dominating turns until he caught her underneath him, holding her manacles tightly.

Panting, she stared up at him.

"I'm sorry," he said.

She frowned. "You're sorry?"

"Yeah." Slowly, his mouth met hers, and his hand traveled downward.

No, no, not again, she protested inwardly. Kissing that incredible mouth, being touched by his incredible hands, would lead to other incredible things she shouldn't ever do again. This was a one-time, stupid, very stupid thing and it had to end. Now. She flinched and spat the first negative thought that sprung to mind. "Ucch. You taste like ashes."

Spike blinked, brow furrowed, ears ringing. Why that little... Bitterly, he laughed to himself, "Bloody Dru and her dead-on visions."

"Huh?"

He pushed off of her. "Bitch knew exactly how this would end, too." He turned his eyes to the ceiling, palms facing up. "Would it have killed you to warn me? In layman's terms, I mean -- not that buggery puzzle-me-this crap?" He stood up. "Thanks a lot, Dru! Thanks a lot!"

Buffy sat up, eyes shifting left to right. "Spike?"

He sighed, and turned to her. "Yeah?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," he said gamely. "Just that my life is effectively over, and Dru knew it all a-bloody-long."

"Yeah?" A large, hairy demon materialized from the dark area beneath the stairs. "She ain't the only one."

* * *

Mayor Wilkins watched the monitor absently. "So, you're telling me -- let me get this straight -- he didn't want to go, so you sent your brother in to finish this?"

Chin high, Gus nodded. "He is a very complex man, that Angel."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh. Far be it from me to argue with that." The mayor smiled, but his knee bobbed reflexively. "Did he mention anything about, oh, I don't know, helping her some other way?"

"No. He said if I valued my life I'd better save her... and then he took off, on a journey to find faith, he said. So I told him, 'you know, you are a very complex--'"

"Faith, you say?" Wilkins swiveled his chair towards Trick.

Trick sighed. "You let Angel go get the other Slayer."

Gus frowned. "What other Slayer?"

* * *

Buffy and Spike fumbled into battle stance.

Perry laughed. "I gotta tell you, with the nakedness and the tripping? Not all that scary."

"Akalam demons," Spike bellowed in recognition, arms spanned wide. "I should've known." He turned his head towards Buffy and held up the chains. "The bricklayers of the underworld. No power tools necessary."

"Oh," she said, vaguely impressed.

"Bricklayers?" Perry was wholly offended. "You better watch your mouth."

"No, you," Faith shot out from behind him.

Before he could turn, she'd slung a thick chain over his head and across his mouth. Yanking him backwards, she said with a smile, "Hey, B. Nice goodies. Who's the dish?"

Blushing, Buffy said, "Uh... Faith, this is Spike. Spike, Faith."

"Spike," Faith approved over the demon's gurgling protests. "Fits you."

"Buffy the third I reckon," he asided.

"More like the anti-Buffy," the original Buffy replied.

"So I noticed," he said, and called out, "Uh, metal won't do to restrain him, not unless you tie back his--"

Perry grabbed the chain, and it melted into silver liquid. "Holy shit!" Faith recoiled. "What are you, the Terminator?"

With an evil grin, he lunged for her face.

Buffy rushed forward, tugging Spike along for the ride.

* * *

"My my my, Mr. Gustak," Mayor Wilkins said disappointedly, "Will ya look at all the mayhem you've caused."

"Me? I don't--"

"Y'see, normally, I like mayhem. Thrive on it, as a matter of fact. But this..." He tsk-tsked.

"You blame me? This was--"

"You're right, Mr. Gustak. It's me. I shouldn't have agreed to hiring you for such a delicate job, now should I? You're handy with the metalwork, no bones about that, but it's pretty clear to me now that you don't understand the... nuances of dealing with slayers and vampires and so forth. Mr. Trick?"

Hands behind his back, Trick nodded gravely to the robed Vago standing quietly in the corner.

"Hey, just a minute here," the demon argued. "You can't--"

In a flash of light, Gustak was gone.

The mayor wrinkled his nose at the lingering aroma of burnt hair as he inspected the rug. "Oh now, that's gonna stain."

* * *

"Surprisingly unsmelly for a demon," Buffy said, sniffing Perry's Hawaiian shirt before putting it on.

"They're a surprisingly hygienic lot." Spike zipped up Perry's oversized white slacks and went looking for some rope to keep them from sliding down his naked hips.

"So," Faith said, checking the doorway for more intruders. "How'd you lose your clothes anyways?"

"It's a--" Buffy halted. "Long. Story. Boring."

"Yeah," Spike said, not wanting to piss Buffy off.

Faith looked them over. "Right." She held her hands up. "Hey, I don't want to pry."

"It's not -- I mean, there's nothing to pry."

"Sure, B," she said, as if it didn't matter to her in the least.

"I could get away with this look," Buffy appraised as she closed the last button on the shirt. "If I were a retired circus clown in Boca... who just lost his pants. Let's motor, guys. I need leggings, and stat."

"What about Hairy?" Faith gestured to the bed.

"Mmmfph!" Perry thrashed around, struggling vainly against his restraints.

"Hmm," Buffy mused, hands on hips. "To slay or not to slay. What do you think, Spike?"

"Be tough, and right messy, but we could give it a whirl."

"Or I could just cut to the chopping," Faith said, wielding an axe. "Might not kill him, but it'll be fun."

"Mmmfph!"

"Yeah, but, guys, he was forthcoming about Trick and the location of our clothes. And he seemed genuinely sorry..." After a moment, Buffy waved her hand. "Let's leave him, at least for a few days."

"Mmmfphmm!"

"Ladies first," Spike said, fanning out his hand.

* * *

"So, how was it?"

Buffy jumped slightly and pointed down. "Faith? Squatting here?"

"Yeah, whatever, it's only pee." She peered at the silhouette of Spike, waiting patiently at the far end of the tunnel, and leaned in. "What's the deal with Spike? You ride the big one all night, or what?"

Glaring, Buffy stood up and adjusted her shirt. "I was tied up to a creature I loathe, that's hardly what I'd call sexy."

"Loathing, huh? All the better to unh you with, right?" Faith laughed, adding a hip thrust for emphasis.

"Look, I'm not you, okay?"

Stinging, Faith said, "Fine, you go ahead and swim with the pharoahs all you want. Meantime, it doesn't take vamp senses to smell what you two were cookin' in there." She walked away.

Buffy gasped. Breath and feet speeding up, she hooked her friend by the arm. "Faith, it was just a stupid thing, it didn't--"

With an echoing scoff, Spike pushed off from his place against the wall and headed into the next tunnel.

"Secret's safe with me, B," Faith said, amused, miming a cross over her heart. "I won't tell a soul."


More to come...

"It's good to be me again," said Buffy, clasping shut the last button on her blouse found stashed in a tunnel enclave along with the rest of their stolen wardrobe. She turned to regard Spike, now fully dressed. "And you're... once again you. Sporting less the bare-chested macho-macho-man look, more the I'm-a-creature-of-darkness-who-never-bothers-to-change-his-shirt look. Which is a good, 'cause I was afraid I'd have to get you a gold chain to go with."

Looking as if he was about to speak, Spike only bit his lip.

Heaving a sigh, Buffy gave up. He hadn't spoken more than two words since they'd left the factory and it was getting on her nerves. It wasn't like him to be silent-treatment guy. Not that she... well, obviously she cared. Attempting to shake it off, she slipped on her jacket and said, "I guess we're good to go."

"Good, 'cause I'm itchin' to burrow out of this rabbit hole." Faith left her resting position against a graffiti-sprayed wall and threw over her shoulder, "Where to now, bunnies?"

As reluctant as Buffy was to consider the where to, what to do now of things, she knew she had little choice. "Now I hippity-hop on home to Mom and get a good grounding-'til-I'm-eighty. Then I call Giles and tell him... Something." She glanced at Spike. He looked away. "As for Spike, I don't know. Someplace dark, I guess. Any idea where we are?"

"It ain't downtown Topeka," Faith said.

"...Spike?"

Looking merely inconvenienced, he squinted up at the ceiling. "Uh... middle of town. Just under City Hall. There's an in to the Library basement not far from here."

Finally, he speaks. Even if it is just about location... and why does this bother me at all? "Great. Then we'll drop you off there. Just stay out of the occult section... and, you know. The librarian's neck."

"Fine," he said disinterestedly.

At that, her short fuse blew. "Okay, what exactly is your problem?"

"Nothing."

She nodded slowly. "And I should buy that because..."

"You know, I think I heard something up there," Faith lied. "I'm just gonna go ahead and check it out. See you on the other side, B?"

Buffy wordlessly beseeched her friend to the contrary, only to be ignored.

"Now, Spike, you seem like a nice enough evil guy," Faith snapped her fingers and pointed as she backed up. "But you bite her, and you're chimney soot. Clear?"

Wearily he nodded. "Loud and." Truth be told, he was ravenous. But the thought of drinking from anyone -- or Buffy in particular -- made him strangely ill.

"Good," she smiled brightly and left the pair to trudge the dimly lit tunnels alone.

"Straight-to-the-point Girl," Buffy filled the silence awkwardly. "That's Faith. Verrry pointy."

"Pity it doesn't run in the family," he mumbled.

She stopped walking. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh bloody-- Can the innocent act, Slayer." He gestured towards the factory. "Something happened between us today, something--"

"--that will never happen again," she spoke over him, closing her jacket tightly, feeling exposed.

"Alright then. What's the official excuse? I was handy? You thought you'd have a bit of fun since you were naked and trussed up for the day, and god knows you can't take it out on your one and only?"

"No!" she scoffed. "Well, not exactly the way I'd..."

Bitterly, he chuckled and spun away.

"Why does it matter so much to you anyway? What do you care what my 'excuse' is?"

Halting, he dragged a hand over his face in frustration, making a fist at his chin.

"Okay, look," Buffy reasoned to his black-leather back. "We had a... a thing. Sex. We had sex. And I don't know why we did, or what it means, but you seemed to be having your casual 'bit of fun' too -- and now suddenly you want me to... what? Be your girlfriend? Forget about Angel? Hold hands and sip from the same milkshake at the burger joint?"

He took a steadying breath, and stepped close. "All I know is, I felt something back there. And you felt something too."

She impulsively stepped back. Fear laced her voice. "Like...?"

"Like the bloody earth moving. Like your life beginning and ending. Like it was meant to be all the bloody long."

Buffy swallowed, hard.

"You tell me I'm wrong and I'll leave, right now. I swear to you you'll never see my face again."

For a few moments, Buffy breathed, eyes on his. Finally, she said it: "You're wrong."

He looked down, nodded, gave up on her, and turned away.

Quietly, she felt herself say, "Except..."

He stopped in his tracks, listening.

"I... I had this dream."

He waited.

"The funny thing is, I..." She couldn't believe she was saying this. Why was she saying this? Why couldn't she stop it from tumbling out? Why didn't she want him to go? "I had it before I met you. And... after. A few times."

Well, this was intriguing. He turned slightly.

Telling him this would only give him more blackmail material. She should have just let him leave. "It's a stupid dream. It's nothing. I don't know why I brought it--"

He strode over to her, face nearly touching hers. "Tell me."

Wow, he really wanted to know. "I um..." Buffy fixed her attention on the stream flowing on the ground. She had to get out of this tunnel. Being in dark places with Spike was making her much too honest. She spit it out quickly: "In this dream, I... I'm in the library, at school. Everyone's there -- Giles, Willow, Xander, we're researching something. All of a sudden, Giles tells me to look out, because..." she glanced at him, and away, "you're there. Behind me? We fight, but no one pays any attention, they just keep on reading."

A few seconds ticked by. "And then?"

She'd spilled this much milk, might as well empty the whole carton. "And then, you back me into the table..."

He smiled, tongue curling against his teeth. "I do that?"

"Yeah." She lifted her chin, gathering courage. "You're about to... to bite me, but you stop. You go, 'No one's looking, they can't see.' And..."

He watched her neck muscles move as she swallowed her pride. "...And?"

"You lift up my skirt, and..."

Spike moved a finger up her leg.

"You sit me up on the table and we..."

More seconds passed, and he prodded, "We...?"

"We..." She looked down again.

"We shag," he finished, impressed, hand steadily trailing up her hip.

"Yeah." Her eyes met his. "And then the Hellmouth opens up and devours us whole. Pretty, huh?"

"Beautiful," he whispered, and kissed her.

It was a nice kiss. Soft at first, but turning strong and possessive and...

"Mmph-- No!" She pushed him away. "Hellmouth, remember? Did you hear the part about the devouring? No, Spike. I don't want to be devoured. I think you should just go back to Dru, like you said--"

"Yeah, well, Dru left me 'cause all she saw when she looked at me was you."

Buffy was stunned. "What?"

"She knew all of it." He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "Even the things you'd say. See, I thought she meant I only wanted to kill you, but..."

Is he saying he...? Shocked and overwhelmed, Buffy recoiled. "I... I can't do this."

"Buffy."

"No." She stepped away from him. "Don't tell me anymore."

"Buffy!" He grabbed her by the arm. She wrenched herself free. "Damn it, Slayer, let's talk this out!"

"With our lips?" She wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "I'm sorry, Spike, but I cannot do this. You're a cold-blooded killer. I'm the one who's supposed to stop you. And as long as you're..." She trailed off. "We're not meant to get mixed up in this--"

"We're already mixed up in it!"

"Speak for yourself!" And she ran from him, water splashing beneath her booted feet.

* * *

Buffy stealthily jumped down onto the firm grass below her bedroom window and peered into the house for any signs of life. General Mom fast asleep. Check.

She wasn't grounded, per se -- when Buffy explained that she'd been held hostage for nearly twenty-four hours, leaving out the pertinent Spike-drenched details of course, her mother had been surprisingly lenient. But due to the crippling worry she'd caused, slaying was now forbidden unless it was absolutely necessary. Faith can handle the regular patrolling, she'd said, Faith can take over, who needs you, yadda yadda, blah blah blah.

Well, this was necessary. Buffy needed to find Trick, and make him pay.

* * *

"Gimme another," Spike grumbled to the barkeep.

Willy tipped the bottle to pour another shot into his glass. Spike watched it bend and twist from the spout, like a glinting black ribbon. "What's the matter, Spike? You ain't been drinkin' regular?"

Spike looked up with a scowl.

"Not that it's any of my business."

"You're right. It's not." He threw back the blood and put the glass down. "Another."

"What'd I tell ya, huh? This is primo stuff."

"It's pig swill."

"Uh, right." Willy slunk away.

* * *

"I'll ask again, slower this time," Buffy said, looming over the vampire, stake pressed against his chest. "Where... is... Trick?"

"He's got... he's got this office space on Main -- but I've never been there, I swear -- that's all I know!"

"Not helpful enough," Buffy said in mock-disappointment, pushed through the skin... and hesitated.

Her eyes widened. I hesitated? Killing a soulless vampire, I hesitated?

Taking advantage of her surprise, the vampire flipped her over, pinned her down and grinned. "I'm gonna be famous," he leered before descending... then suddenly burst into dust.

After coughing and waving the ash out of her eyes, Buffy saw Angel standing above her.

Oh, crap.

She'd been purposefully avoiding him since the Dreaded Chain Event, and it didn't help matters that her stomach still knotted and her heart still twinged in his presence.

"Gloating," he memorialized with a shake of his head. "Never works out."

"Hey," she said wanly.

"Hey." He helped her up. "Just for the record, I wasn't following you."

She smiled. "Recorded."

"I was following this trail of dead demons..."

"And I was inevitably at the end of it," she concluded. "It's okay." She brushed the dust off her pants. "I'm a little less anemic now, thanks to you."

"You would've done fine without me," he shrugged, brow knit.

There's that annoying twinge again... "I don't know."

He put his hands in his pockets, surveyed the small park and looked back at her. "What's tonight's reign of terror all about?"

"Well," Buffy took a quick breath. "You know, the usual: See evil, slay evil. But I'm especially on a Trick hunt," she said, managing to muster some pep. "So far I got four bogus domiciles and one spitting cobra demon that I probably should've guessed didn't have vocal chords. How 'bout you? Any leads?"

"On Trick? No. What's he up to now?"

Tying me up and making me want to have my wicked way with an evil vampire you hate? "Bad things."

"Such as..."

Great, he wanted elaboration. "Well, the short of it is, last night... he made a really big mistake."

"He was behind that?"

"Wait, what?" Buffy stepped back. "Behind what?"

"The Akalam's hostage stunt."

"What? Wait, wait, wait. How did you know about that?" And more importantly, what did he know about that?

"The demon. He told me that you and Spike were chained together, and that I'd better save you before he ate you. Didn't Faith tell you I sent her?"

"No." Buffy's eyes widened as she froze in place. So that was Trick's big plan? And that's how Faith knew she was there? How could she neglect to mention that Angel had sent her, that he couldn't even be bothered to save her himself? Not that she was complaining, given the circumstances, but... ooh, that little--

"She filled me in afterward, told me it was all a really bad setup." His features darkened. "That is what it was, right? I mean, you were okay, and Spike wasn't really there..."

She scoffed for effect, and carefully chose her words. "Oh. Total setup. Lamest setup ever. And yeah, I was fine, but it was a real inconvenience all around. And there lies the basis of the Trick hunt." There, no lies. Nothing revealed. Not so bad.

"Got it," Angel said. "But I don't think he's much for borrowing books."

"Huh?" Taking in her surroundings, Buffy noticed that her 'Trick hunt' had miraculously led her to the backyard gates of the Sunnydale Library.

The place she'd last seen Spike.

* * *

"You," a voice rattled behind his ear.

Spinning in his barstool, Spike came face to face with a livid Akalam demon. He took in the Hawaiian shirt and muddied white slacks. "Well, if it isn't the Don Ho of the demon realm. How'd you manage to break out?"

Perry lunged, pushing Spike against the bar, hairy arm heavy against his throat. "You killed my brother!"

Spike coughed and raised his hands in defense. "Look mate, I don't even know your--"

"Shut up, you little shit!" He grabbed Spike by the hair and banged his head onto the bar.

"Not! Nice!" He kneed the demon in the groin, and as it hissed in pain, Spike smoothed back his Brill-Creemed coif. "Watch the hair, will you?"

"Yeah?" Perry advanced, fingertips glowing. "When you're blistering in boiling-hot metal, you might have other worries!"

Spike gripped his attacker's arms and growled, struggling to keep those fingers away from his face. "Keep your soddin' cattle prods off me!"

Slowly, Perry lifted Spike into the air.

"Hey, fellas! Fellas!" Willy pleaded. "This is a respectable establish--"

With a scowl, Perry let go, tossing the vampire headlong into the bar mirror. Silver shards and liquor bottles crashed to the floor... along with Spike.

"Hey, now that wasn't necessary!" Willy gesticulated helplessly.

On the floor, lying in broken glass and addled with pain, Spike felt his body shift into demon mode. This, he realized, could actually be some fun.

He shot up, jumped onto the bar, and puffed out his chest in vampiric pride. "So it's a real fight you want then?" He grinned and licked a bead of blood from a fresh cut on his wrist. "Don't say I never gave you nothing."

In a flash, he vaulted down, ripped a barstool out of its hinges and bashed it into to the demon's Neanderthalic jaw.

Staggering, Perry snarled, touched a finger to his wounded neck and let the metal and hair mix to mend his skin in a matter of seconds.

Spike had forgotten about that trick.

The demon rolled his neck from side to side, making loud popping noises, and asked with a determined glower, "That all you got, Slick?"

They circled around one another, closed in by a crowd of gawking demons, prodding them on and placing bets.

"The name is Spike," he said. "And that's just the pre-show." He threw a punch.

Perry blocked it. "Yeah, right. Let's see how tough you are without two slayers helpin' you out..."

The patrons gasped.

Spike spun to address the crowd. "Hey, I don't know what this nutter's goin' on about--"

Perry made his move, with a good old-fashioned sucker punch to the back of the head.

Spike reeled and hit the floor, face first. Bugger hits like a truck.

Perry descended, flipped him over, collared him and pressed his fingers to Spike's face. Feeling the hot sting on his cheek, Spike answered with a reflexive headbutt. He thought better of it once the Ouch came, but at least the thing had registered the blow... and wasn't melting his face.

"Gonna carve a silver cross in your vampire ass," Perry threatened, fingers aglow.

"Not if I lop off your barmy metal-head first," he said through grit teeth, holding him back with nothing but pure adrenaline.

"You don't got what it takes," Perry said.

"Don't I?" Spike knew, of course, that he didn't. That it'd take several more of him to get the job done. But there were several more like him in the bar... "Oi, brethren! This wanker thinks a vampire can't kill him! Thinks we're not strong enough!"

A few words of dissent peppered the crowd, but no one came forward. So much for that plan.

"Two can play that game," Perry snorted as they struggled. "Hey, everybody! Wanna know what this shitbag does for fun?"

Spike's eyes widened.

"He fucks slutty little slay--"

A primal, unearthly roar erupted from Spike's throat.

The next thing he knew, he was holding Perry's decapitated head by the ears.

He stared at it, trying to work out how it got there. When he lifted it up, liquid metal dripped out of it onto the floor, balling up like mercury.

An awed silence surrounding him, Spike rose to his feet, flung the trophy behind the bar, stepped over the demon's lifeless body, and strolled out into the night.

More to come...

"Mr. Trick!" Mayor Wilkins greeted as he watched his golf ball roll across the floor and narrowly miss the cup. Inhaling deeply, he looked up. "What can I do for ya?"

"Uh, sir?" the Deputy Mayor reminded his boss nervously, "You had an appointment, sir."

"Did we?" He frowned until it came back to him. "By golly, of course we did! Well I'll be a long-deceased man's uncle, where is my mind these days?" He set down his putter and sidled behind his desk. "Now, where did I put that pivotal puzzle piece?" He opened a drawer. "Ah. Here it is." Handing a thick manila package to the vampire, he paused. "You understand I'm trusting you to deliver, this time."

"Neither snow nor rain, nor gloom of night," he took the package and stuffed it into his jacket pocket with a confident wink, "I'm the guy that'll make it all right."

"I like that," Mayor Wilkins chuckled, hands in pockets. "It's a smidge be-bop, rap-hop for my liking, but I can't help it if that's what all you kids are listening to these days." He chuckled again.

Trick arched a brow.

The Mayor stopped chuckling. "Just get it there."

* * *

"I can't believe you were held hostage all alone in that horrible place," Willow said, worry creasing her forehead. "And if we weren't so caught up in our own stupid stuff, we could've saved you."

"Your stuff is not stupid," Buffy assured her, sitting down at the library table. She eenie-meenied a heavy book from the tall stack before her. "And I was saved anyway, so it's all good."

"All thanks to me," Faith breezed, ass parked on the table.

Willow's jealous glare went unnoticed. "But still. The factory... Yick."

"That place is just the place of doom," Xander said, wagging his index finger at the group.

"And despair," Willow said.

"And unspeakable evil, and... Oh god why won't Cordelia call me?" His head fell into his hands.

"Because of the place of doom," Willow supplied. "And Spike."

"You're right. It's all Spike's fault."

Buffy closed her eyes tightly, wishing they'd just move on already.

"No it's not," she heard Willow grumble. "It's our fault. Us and our stupid teenage hormones."

"Must be somethin' about that place," Faith said, juggling her stake from hand to hand.

Buffy's eyes popped open. Don't you dare!

"You think?" Xander asked.

"Yeah. I got a little jazzed there myself. Something in the... I don't know. The smell? Rank and musty, makes you wanna get naked? What do you think, Buff?" She winked.

Tight-lipped, Buffy glared up at her, then caught a glimpse of Willow, nose wrinkled in confusion. "I think I need a soda." She took Faith's arm. "And soda you."

"I don't need--"

"Then keep me company," she gritted, dragging Faith outside.

* * *

"I'm just playin' around, B," Faith said to an incensed Buffy, once they were on the safer side of the library's swinging doors. "What's the big? They got no clue, and they never will."

"This isn't a joke, Faith. This is my life."

"Well, maybe you shoulda thought of that before you got busy with Big Baddie."

"Will you stop with that?" Buffy nervously glanced down the empty hallway, then broke away from Faith and quickly strode towards the lunch room. "I hate that you know this. And I can't believe you didn't tell me that Angel sent you!"

"Figured you had enough on your mind," she said, falling into step beside Buffy. "What with the deep dicking--"

"Okay! Faith! What'd I say about rubbing this in?"

"That only Spike can rub you the right way?"

"Oh my god!" Buffy gaped. "Where do you come up with this trash?"

"C'mon, B," she goaded, pushing open the doors to the lunchroom. "I know what it's like to be dyin' to tell someone the triple-X details when you can't." Once inside, she hopped up on a table beside the soda machine. "Here I am. I already know. So lay it on me."

"No!" She inserted a dollar bill into the machine. "I won't be doing any laying of any kind ever again."

"So it was bad," Faith prompted, nails drumming the table top.

Buffy pressed the Diet Coke button, and was jolted with the sensory memory of Spike holding the chains behind her back, of him thrusting into her, sending sharp tingles up her body, whispering into her ear, you like it?...

"No," she whispered, looking down at the fallen can. "It was amazing."

Faith bubbled with laughter. "Sing out, sister!"

Buffy took the soda and sat beside her fellow slayer. As she gazed at the scripted font, turning the can in her hands, she realized she did want to tell someone. "It was so... I can't describe it, you know... he just has this way about him, it's... the way he moves, and talks, and... the way he touched me... like he doesn't care, but he really, really does..."

"Oh, I get it!"

Buffy was yanked out of her reverie. "...What?"

"You got it bad for old Spikey-poo!"

"What?" She shot up, standing and backpedaling. "No! Wait, whoa! I do not have it 'bad' for anyone but Angel!" She added lamely, "...-poo."

"You think so, huh? Last time I checked, straight-up casual sex was about 'then he sucked my titties and fucked me hard', not, 'ooh, the way he is, the way he acts, the way he cares for me!'" Faith cackled.

"I did not say that! I said -- I meant -- there was all that other stuff too! Ugh!" She ambled away in a huff. "I can't talk to you."

"You know what they say about denial, B..." Faith followed.

"I'm not listening..."

"It's not just a slayer who digs the undead..."

"La la la la la..." Buffy clamped her hands over her ears. "Can't hear you!"

"She who gets so hot from the fight she's gotta wrestle 'em naked..."

Their voices fading down the hallway, Spike emerged from his place in the shadows, just outside the lunchroom door. Smirking.

* * *

"Buffy, I trust you'll go straight home after you finish that?"

She didn't look up from her reading. "Huh?"

Giles paused, coat in hand. "I wouldn't want your mother to worry. Or me, for that matter."

"Oh yeah, sure, Giles." She flipped a page. "Not like I have anywhere else to go."

"Alright then. Good luck in your search."

"Thanks. 'Night."

She heard him walk out, footsteps retreating behind her, the door swinging open and shut.

Alone in the library, she sighed. She'd been reading all day. Three Watcher's Diaries, one voluminous vamp history book, two long-winded Watcher's Academy theses, and Trick still remained a mystery. More than a mystery -- he was a mystery wrapped up in an enigma stuffed inside a... an enchilada, or something.

Buffy was skimming a thesis entitled "The Propagation of Vampiric Activity In Climates of Economic and Socio-Political Unrest." Hardly an exciting read. It was like a pulse-pounding thrillride, only without the pulse or the thrill. Or the ride.

Her eyes were losing focus, and her thoughts were lingering in places they shouldn't... Like Spike, on his back, eyelashes low, fingers gripping her hips, the particular tickle that crept up her neck as she rode his-- ... Maybe she could look into some forgetting spells. Or maybe she could quit slaying entirely and go on a sex-filled road trip with Spike. Focus, Buffy, focus.

She came upon the subheading Vampires of the Lesser Antilles. "As opposed to the Greater ones?" Buffy said aloud, "Way to give someone a complex."

She scanned down the page. Blah blah blah, impressive bodycount, blah blah blah, lots of French and Spanish-sounding names, like L'herisson and Sotomayor and DuTrique... DuTrique? She backtracked.

Amidst the tumult and strife plaguing mid-1970s Trinidad-Tobago, black-power leader and rallier Christian DuTrique was said to be killed in the melee of an evening riot in Port-of-Spain's Independence Square. However, several nocturnal sightings were reported years beyond his death, and two local government figures fell victim to "animal attacks" just days following his burial. (31)

It is speculated that DuTrique sired several of his former followers between the years of 1975 and 1979, as many disappeared without a trace. (32) He is believed to have migrated with these minions to the eastern United States in the early 1980s, having eluded Slayer Violet Watson (1982-1984) in Atlanta, and later having financial ties to a nightclub frequented by vampires in Washington, D.C. The nightclub, aptly named "Trick", was burned down in July, 1988 under suspicion of arson. (33) He has not been heard from since.

Well. There it was. The history of Trick. More or less.

So now what?

Informative as it was, this tidbit wasn't exactly useful. She imagined slapping Trick down with a wadded-up thesis while reciting its contents. He'd look at her funny and say, "Why are you telling me about myself, woman?"

She closed the binder, hit by an existentialist pang. All these books, all this hunting, all this energy poured into one vampire... What was the point? Why was she on this single-minded crusade, anyway?

She knew what Faith thought, the annoying little muckraker. She knew it just by her expression earlier, when Buffy'd announced that she had to stop Trick at any cost.

She thinks if I kill Trick, I won't have to think about... what happened.

Well, she's wrong. Trick is evil. He should be killed.

Just like Spike is evil? her conscience whispered. She blanched at her own devil's advocate. Spike is... also bad. But if I see him again... I can't see him again. Ever.

Oh god, she's right.

"Look out behind you," she heard in her ear.

She whipped around, fists first, acting on instinct.

Spike caught her wrists and held them tightly, soul-searching her eyes.

Speak of the devil... The unbelievably sexy devil. Flustered, neck prickling, flashes of memory returning, she said, "Let me go."

He intensified his gaze. "Gonna stake me?"

Not about to clue him in on the effect he had on her -- that voice, that grip, those eyes -- she tested a stern expression. "That all depends on why you're here."

"Not to fight, if that's what you mean."

He let her go and she stood up to face him, fighting the urge to smooth her hair, make sure she looked all right.

"Unless you want to," he added slyly, "'She Who Gets Hot From The Fight'."

She didn't falter -- her features remained taut, indifferent, even as her body temperature rose. "You've been spying on me?"

"Pfft," he hedged.

She arched a brow.

He rolled his eyes and admitted, "Yeah."

"For how long?"

"Not long." He looked up and to the left. "Well, since sundown."

"Two hours?"

"Three, if you must know."

As creepy as the stalking aspect was, Buffy felt a little thrill that he'd been there as she thought about him. And even more of a thrill that he was still in town, still around, so she could see those eyes, those hands, one more -- Evil. He's evil. Remember the evil. "And what if I hadn't been left here alone?"

He shrugged. "I would've eaten everybody else."

She shut her eyes in disdain. Way to drive home the evil, Spike.

"I'm kidding, Buffy. I don't do that anymore."

"Really?" She folded her arms, unconvinced. "Since when?"

"Since Saturday."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah." He stepped a touch closer and ran a hand up her shoulder, feather light. "You said you couldn't be with a killer. So it's only bagged blood for me, love. From now on."

"So, you're saying, what? A little O-Positive from the hospital?"

"Yeah," he said, hand gliding down, until he noticed the look on her face and changed gears. "I mean -- no! Not human... and not stealing!"

"Not human? What then? Dogs? Stray cats you find around the neighborhood?"

"No!" He dropped his hands, realizing he had one more battle to fight. "Pig's blood! Already dead pigs."

"Uh-huh," Buffy processed. "What about already dead people?"

"What? No!"

"Are you sure? What if there was some guy, lying there, dead on the street. Freshly dead. Would you do it? Have a little sip? He's already dead, right, what's the harm?"

"Well, I--" He tried to read the right answer from her face. "No?"

"Iiiis that a question?"

"No!" Spike began to wonder why he was even bothering to ignore his very nature, until he realized that she was doing the very same thing, for him. A staking seemed fairly low on her list right now. Of the wooden variety, anyway. "I'm telling you, I've changed."

"Spike," she sighed. "You threatened to kill my friends less than a week ago. One of them just got out of the hospital. Why would I believe that you've given up killing? And why would you do it for me, just because we...?" She trailed off, once again unable to say it out loud.

"Because," he said fiercely, eyes boring into hers, "you made me feel alive."

For a moment, she was hushed by this proclamation. It was hard to argue with it, considering she felt the very same way. And him, more impressive with the being dead to start with and all... But it couldn't happen again. There had to be a way to diffuse this. Wrong didn't even begin to cover what this could become, what this already was. "You can't just stop! It's in your blood, it's in your head... You won't stop. For me or anyone." She added defiantly, "I don't believe you."

His jaw tightened. "Look. You find me feeding, I give you permission to stake me on the spot, alright?"

"Gee, thanks," she said with a derisive snort, and noticed that his hand had begun a slow, soft journey up her thigh.

She wondered if she could convincingly blame the school's faulty heating for making her shiver uncontrollably. "Stop that." She swatted him away. "Why are you here?"

The corner of his mouth curled up. Head tilting to appraise her every curve, he drawled, "You know why I'm here."

"I do?" Her voice cracked unintentionally.

He nodded, and slowly backed her up against the desk. "Re-enactment."

Oh. God. "But..."

"But what?" Her skin trembled against his lips when he ghosted soft kisses on her neck.

She pushed him off, palms lingering on his flexed pectoral muscles for a beat longer than they should. "Everything, for starters."

"Starting with?"

"Angel, for one," she managed levelly, watching him do that thing with his tongue against the roof of his mouth that turned her knees to jelly.

"I don't see him around here, do you? Nobody's looking... Is that how it goes?" He bent forward, mouth on a collision course with hers...

She arched backward. "I told you. Stop it. I love Angel."

"So I've heard. I've also heard you hate him, and it's over. Which is it, love?"

She exhaled through flared nostrils. "None of your business. And I'm not your 'love'."

"Oh, I think it is..." His finger trailed down the cardigan sleeves that were tied at her collarbone, down her blouse. "And I think you are."

"You're... Stop it!"

"Make me."

She grasped his hand before it grazed her nipple. "I said... stop."

"I said... make me."

She meant to, she really did, but after a few seconds her hand was still clasped over his, following his feathery movements up and down her sensitive nipple.

He felt her flesh crinkle and protrude at his touch, smiled as he recalled how much she loved to have them sucked...

No, no, not good. She shrunk back, diverted his hand, tried another tack. "You don't have a soul."

Unfazed, his fingers travelled under the hem of her skirt. "Don't have a curse either."

"Well..." she gulped, god, he's making me wet, "I don't love you. I can't..."

He tugged her close and pressed his lips against her ear. "Do you want me?"

"No," she lied, eyes closing, breath hitching, hand involuntarily brushing across his denim-covered hard-on.

"All I need to know." Surging against her hand, he kissed her ear, her cheek, grazed her mouth--

Buffy evaded the kiss. "What if someone finds out?"

She'd evaded, and he knew that by 'someone' she meant 'Angel', but her voice had lowered to a shallow-soft, flirtatious pitch, and her hand hadn't moved. The battle was won. "We'll deny it." He lightly nudged her chin to face him. "Can we start the dream now?"

She hazarded a quick glance past his shoulder to the center of the library floor. "What if the Hellmouth opens?"

He didn't turn his head, said solidly, "We'll deal with it."

"How?"

"Won't know 'til we open it," he said, inching her skirt upward with his thumb. God, she smelled so good...

"Is that your evil plan?"

"No," he said, voice lowering, eyebrow cocking. "I have a different evil plan. Want to see?"

She gasped as he ran his fingers over the thin, moist fabric covering her clitoris.

Watching her face contort in ecstasy as she rode his fingertips, he said, "Yeah?"

Yeah, she thought. And what if it opened? They'd beat it down, that's what. Or, they'd go out with a bang.

She coasted a hand over his shirt, across his chest.

He hissed, her touch burning him. "Buffy..."

She pressed a finger to his lips, face tantalizingly close to his. "This is the part where you kiss me."

He didn't waste a moment. Kissing, again, finally, god how he missed those lips, that tongue, that ass, and oh yeah, remember to put her up on the table...

Moaning into his mouth, she fumbled with his belt buckle.

He yanked off her panties, got them caught on her shoes, and hurriedly dropped the shoes to the floor as well.

Leaning against the high stack of books on the table, she quickly unzipped and pushed his jeans down, palmed his balls, held his rigid shaft and guided him in.

Eyes heavy-lidded, hands hooked under her knees, he teased, "No foreplay?"

"You wanted it to be accurate," she said breathlessly, bringing him to her threshold. "The re-enactment...?"

"Works for--" He pushed through, and in, and "Oh..." Spike once again found himself swearing off biting for good. Unless it was Buffy, of course, and she really wanted him to taste her...

"Oh..." She took him in, ever so slowly, and almost laughed at the pure bliss of it. Reality? So much better than her dreams.

Spike couldn't help but groan in relief when he was fully sheathed.

"Yeah," she heard herself pant when he began to move.

"Like this?" he asked her, pelvis pitching slowly, fingers pressed deep into her thighs. "This how it went?"

She bucked against him in answer.

"Harder?" he asked, and she nodded. God, if this wasn't the woman for him... Clenching his teeth, he drove into her deeply.

"Unh!" Frustrated, she pushed a bit of the bookpile behind her out of the way.

Getting the message, Spike fanned his arm across the surface, catapulting books and binders and random looseleaf pages through the air, making way.

Buffy propelled herself backward on the table, pulling him by his coat lapels, dragging him along for the ride.

He climbed up and took her head in his hands, slipping his tongue into her mouth as he penetrated her soft, receptive pussy again, again, again. She wrapped her legs around his back, threaded her fingers through his hair, and worked him into a savage rhythm. The table shook and thumped beneath them.

"Best dream I ever had," he managed between thrusts.

Dazedly, she smiled. "It's recurring... so we're gonna have to... do it again."

"Bad girl," he said, voice strained. "Such a bad... bad... girl." He kissed her ear. "I love it."

Yeah, this was better than any dream, anything, anyone... yes, anyone, ever. No matter what happened next, he'd always be the man who taught her what life could be like without inhibition. "Always you," she mouthed silently into his ear.

He slowed, extending his arms to look down at her. "What'd you say?"

"Nothing," she said, body buzzing, making sure he didn't stop... and blushing because he'd heard her little slip. You're gonna take that the wrong way, aren't you, but I don't care, because oh god, the pumping, so good, don't stop, don't stop now, don't you ever...

He saw something flash through her eyes, something he'd seen before; the last time. Not exactly love, not strictly need, but something strong, something fierce. Something like...

Possession.

And fine... he was hers. Forever chained to her side.

Captivated.

"Don't stop," she gasped, and pulled him down by the nape of his neck to feel that mouth on hers again. "Mmph... Never stop."

He tore away from her to promise, "You've got me for life, you know."

"Spike?" She pushed his chest upwards, fire sparkling in her irises. "You never talk this much in the dream."

He grinned. "More action, then. Got it." He shrugged off his jacket, yanked his shirt over his head, and swooped down to tend to her properly.

* * *

Angel noticed the bulky manila envelope perched on his mantle as soon as he entered the room. Picking it up, he inspected the label.

ANGELUS - WATCH AND YEARN

He ripped off the top, dumped it into his hand, and a black unlabeled VHS tape fell out.

"Huh."





THE END