This Town
By stupidgirl

“…How could you use a poor maiden so?”

A primal roar tore from the throat of a now First-controlled William the Bloody. The chains holding him came away from the wall. He was snarling and spitting, baring his teeth to the room. Buffy ran to tackle him to the floor but he brushed her aside like she was just a child. His unseeing eyes focused on Dawn and she tried to back away, make it to the stairs. She couldn’t even scream, he held her neck so tight. But when he sunk his fangs in her skin she did scream. Tears were streaming down her face and all she could do was look for Buffy. Just as suddenly as Spike’s teeth were in her, they were gone.


She didn’t mean to. It was too fast. Before she had a chance to find another way he was dust through her fingers. Buffy dropped the stake and collapsed to the floor. Deep, wrenching sobs drown out the sound of the stake hitting the floor. Tears mixed with the dust of a former vampire and stuck to her skin, her clothes. Giles when to kneel by her and turn her head to meet his eyes…

“Buffy. Buffy! Damn!” getting no response, the Watcher motioned for Xander to right the cot Spike had flipped over in his rage. Once it was upright and against the wall, he hoisted the Slayer into his arms and placed her gently down on the cot. Xander ran over to Dawn who was sobbing hysterically and staring at a little off-colored pile of dust next to a tear-stained spot on the cement floor.

Giles took his handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping the gritty moisture from his pseudo-daughter’s face. He couldn’t pretend to be sorry about Spike, but he didn’t need to pretend to be devastated for Buffy. She was broken and unmoving, her eyes closed. The only sign of life now was her steady breathing and, if anyone had bothered to check, her strong, albeit uneven, pulse.


Buffy felt like she had been ripped apart from the inside out. Everything hurt. She realized she was standing upright, and she felt like she just got off of an hour long ride on a broken tilt-a-whirl. She opened her eyes to see the back of the Bronze bathed in a single light. She repressed the urge to vomit and whipped her head around, trying to get a grip on her surroundings. Everything seemed so familiar. She shivered in the chilly night air and froze. She had shivered. She never felt the cold in her dreams. She wasn’t dreaming, wasn’t in the basement with her dead lover covering her skin. Buffy looked down at her clothes and let out a sharp laugh. She was wearing a halter top. It was lavender. The last time she could even remember seeing that shirt was…. Oh no…

“Nice work, luv,” She froze on the spot, stunned and confused beyond words. Spike. Her vampire. Spike was standing under the light, slowly clapping in a mock show of appreciation. He looked her over, top to bottom, and curled his tongue behind his teeth, smirking with approval when he made it back to her eyes. Her wide, hazel eyes, glossy with… wait, were those tears? What the bloody hell was the Slayer cryin’ for? He’d barely even said anything and hadn’t come close to touching her.

She couldn’t move. It was him. Her William, standing right in front of her, as beautiful as the day he… the night he first met her. Where was she? Better yet, when was she?
“Spike?” her voice trembled and she lowered the stake she was unaware she had been holding. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at her. Confused, no doubt. But nowhere near as confused as she was, she decided.

He recovered from the perplexed look he had been wearing and raised his chin slightly.
“Heard of me, ‘ave you?” He lowered his head and looked at her through his lashes, “Nice to know the words getting’ out, yeah?”

She didn’t understand. She stared at him full on and took everything about him into her mind. His outfit: black denim, black shirt under a red shirt, still with the duster. That red shirt struck her like a slap to the face. She really was back at the Bronze with Spike; their first encounter. He was alive. All she could see was that he was alive. She didn’t see the way he sauntered towards her, didn’t see the way his body tensed, didn’t see the way his eyes became clearer and his face took on a more firm look. She just saw the man she loved. The man he would be for her years from this time.

What was wrong with this Slayer? He was practically in her face before her eyes stopped focusing on somewhere behind him and looked up at him. He was on edge, uneasy. This was the Slayer, wasn’t it? He saw the fingers of her left hand curl unconsciously around the stake, a natural reaction to the presence of a vampire. Especially one this close. He cocked his head to the side before launching his fist into her jaw.

Buffy cried out miserably when his fist connected with her chin. She didn’t even look at him. She just touched the spot he touched her and pulled her fingers away, staring at them in abject fascination. He was real. Spike was real. Alive. She didn’t know how or why, all she knew was that he wasn’t dust on her basement floor and it still hurt where he hit her. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth before she looked at Spike and burst out in hysterics. She clutched at her hair and desperately sucked in mouthfuls of air and tears. She looked at Spike again and her out of control mirth doubled in volume.

Spike had had enough of this crazy little Slayer. He grabbed her face roughly between his hands and stared into her panicked face. Now he was just plain curious. How on earth was this twig of thing, hysterical at that, he might add, the Slayer? How had she lived past her first day?
“Slayer?” he said softly. The response he got wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. That is if he was expecting anything at all, and he wasn’t sure if he had been.

She giggled a little and hiccupped before nuzzling into his hand.
“I’m so sorry, Spike. I’m so sorry. I love you.”

Spike ripped his hands away from her as if she were made of holy water. He backed away, stumbling a bit. Who the bloody hell was this girl? He didn’t think he’d ever met her before. Maybe he had. He didn’t blink, he was too worried about what she’d do in the space of one blink of his eyes. He held his hands up a little in utter confusion and went right ahead and asked her.
“Um, not to sound out of this world, pet, but have we um, met? Ever?” His fighting stance was slowly and subconsciously slipping away and he was now waiting patiently for her answer.

All the Slayer could do was nod.
All she could do was nod. Before he hit her hard in the side of her face, knocking her unconscious. She went limp and fell to the pavement. He just let her fall, staring at her. He was so confused. What was happening here? Spike pieced together the jagged edges of conversation.

So they'd met, and she loved him. She was indeed the Slayer, he decided after replaying the fight between the minion and the little girl with the lavender shirt. If he could even bring himself to call it a shirt. It was just a scrap of a thing, covering her barely legals and not much more. He realized he was staring at her with his mouth open and promptly snapped it shut. He grunted with frustration and kicked the lamp post hard enough to leave a dent in the metal. Why wasn't he on her right now, his mouth at her neck, her blood in his mouth? Why was he just staring her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen? He growled low in his throat and made his decision, and it was one that would most likely to get him killed.


Every minion in the place was staring wide-eyed at the vampire charging through the place with a Slayer in his arms. They could tell she wasn't dead, yet. He didn't even look down as he shoved a stake through the Anointed One's heart and kept walking. No one said a word.


Buffy woke up when something cold slapped against her face. A hand. A chilly little five-fingered vampire hand, she realized with a start. She sat straight up stilled. One: she had been laying down, and on a... bed? Two: she was chained to above said bed. Her eyes immediately found Spike standing in the corner on the other side of the room. Without thinking, she relaxed and gave him a small smile before remembering who he was in this time. Evil Spike. The new brassed off Big Bad of Sunnydale. And he had her chained to a bed. She saw a pack of cigarettes poking out from under the pillow next to her. His bed. She was in the Master vampire's bed and she wasn't even afraid.

She figured he would kill her, maybe torture her first. He might even have a little fun with her before he sang his fangs in her yielding throat and drank her dry. Oddly enough, none of those thoughts bothered her. An eye for an eye, right? She killed him, he would kill her. Seemed fitting enough. And who better to kill her anyway, than the Slayer of Slayers? She thought of Angel for a minute and how he had nearly killed her all those years ago, or a year from now in this world. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Angel, killing her, then leaving to torture himself for all eternity. Maybe he would just walk into the sun? Walking in the sun, something Spike did for her once, even if it had been just to finally off her.

“So, Slayer,” she was interrupted from her thoughts by a deep voice with a barely controlled edge, “care to tell me why you aren’t afraid?” He couldn’t even smell her fear. How insane was this girl, really? She was chained to his bed, immobile, vulnerable… he caught himself staring again and stalked frustrated over to the end of the bed. Big mistake. Now he could smell her skin, see its light tan, even the flush on her chest. He growled deep in his throat and brought his daemon forth.

She could see it in his eyes, the confusion, the want, the self -disgust. She pitied him. She knew exactly how he felt. In more ways than one. She just watched with a kind of sorrow as he moved to the bed. She was sad because he was alive. The more she saw him alive, the more it reminded her how she had made him dead. Inside, and out. She watched as he inhaled deeply, nostrils flared, eyes closed. She couldn’t even pretend to be afraid when he brought forth his vampiric visage. She could see his struggle for control and it reminded her that he wasn’t all that much different from his souled counterpart. As much as she tried, Buffy couldn’t help the twinge of arousal that shot through her when his ridges came forth, eyes yellowed, fangs grew. She licked her lips unconsciously and strained against her bonds.

Spike could smell it now. Not the fear, never the fear. He took another deep breath, just to make sure. The Slayer was aroused, because of him. A rumble tore through his body and he asked in a husky voice, “Care to answer my question, Slayer?”

“Buffy,” she breathed, “not Slayer. Buffy,” she couldn’t stand it when he called her Slayer. It was like a title for what she was when she shoved that stake through his chest. It burned her heart to ashes each time “Slayer” tumbled from those perfect, undead, lips of his.

He put his fisted hands on the bottom of the bed and tilted his head at her. Buffy moaned. For the love of the god Spike didn’t worship, she moaned. He hardened instantly and advanced on her, still with the daemon on his face.

“Spike,” she forced out in a breathy whisper.

That was when William the Bloody just plain lost control.

A/N: I must apologize for my horrible smut. I’ve never written any like, physical feelings down before, so cut me some slack. Please, heh. J enjoy!



“Spike,” she forced out in a breathy whisper.

That was when William the Bloody just plain lost control.




Moving like liquid, Spike made his way to the side of the bed near Buffy’s head. He didn’t understand why this creature wanted him, wasn’t fighting her restraints. He almost had the urge to unchain her. Almost.

Spike cupped Buffy’s cheek and watched with amazement as she nuzzled into his palm, her lips opening to draw in more air. He ran his thumb along her bottom lip watched her tremble, her eyes falling shut. The darkness of the room coated her skin, making her sun-kissed skin seem paler, more like his. He thought for a moment of her skin being relieved of the sun’s kiss for eternity. It made him even harder, if that were even possible. He moved like lightning, jumping onto the bed, straddling the Slayer.

She didn’t know what to do. Wasn’t sure if she should scream or, well… scream. Didn’t know if she should cry out in fear or desire. She let out a small whimper when his cool hand came in contact with her heated flesh. She was about to say please, when suddenly he was on her, surrounding her. He pushed his steel erection into her leather-clad mound and hissed in pleasure. Buffy, too, sucked in air through her teeth as he pressed into her where she needed it most.

It had been so long. So long since she had been with him. She almost felt like she was cheating. Almost. She mentally slapped herself for thinking of wanting Spike as cheating on the very same Spike, albeit a few years earlier. She had known, before she killed him, that she loved him. Buffy was in love with Spike. Who could blame her? I mean, with that body? But she knew that wasn’t all it was. He was everything to her, just as she was everything to him. They were like two sides of the same coin. She vaguely recalled him saying something like that once, but she couldn’t hold onto the thought. Spike, the fully aroused and still undead Spike, had morphed into vamp face and had his head bowed in concentrated pleasure as he forced himself against her heat again and again. Buffy came out of her stupor long enough to say the three words the vampire above her needed so badly to hear. He’d needed to hear them since he was a young man and in love with a young girl who didn’t want to “see” him, because she so clearly already had, and that was the problem. He’d needed the words on some primal level to touch his ears since the day Dru sunk her fangs into his human neck. He needed them when he first laid eyes on the girl under him. He needed them still. And he would have them.

“I want you,” she let it slip out as a soft moan, unaware of the chaos she was about to unleash. Her vampire ripped the button off her pants and pulled the zipper apart. She could feel him. He was already out and ready to pound her into the mattress. She could see the precum forming at his slit and had the urge to lick it off. But the chains prevented any movement. Kinky her inner!Buffy purred. She couldn’t have agreed more, especially seeing as how she was agreeing with herself and all. She found his eyes and nodded her head, but he wasn’t even looking at her anymore. He was looking somewhere off to the side, thinking. She was about to ask him what was wrong when he growled louder than she’d ever heard before and thrust himself fully into her waiting pussy. Neither were prepared for the fact that Buffy was a virgin.

She almost screamed in pain, confused and panicking. “Stop, oh god, stop. Spike, it hurts, it hurts,” she tried to move away but he put a hand on her abdomen and held her in place.
“Shh, sweetheart, shh. It’ll be alright baby, feel so good, I promise. Let me make you feel good, Sla- Buffy.”
She clung to his words as the pain engulfed her body like fire. Slowly, ever so slowly, it began to dull and she became aware of a few things. She realized she was, entirely, her previous self, virgin and all. She also became incredibly aware of the rock hard body on top of her, inside of her, and the daemon face the body wore. Was it so wrong that seeing his teeth made her even more aroused?

“Fuck, Buffy,” he began to move slowly out of her, “so tight, luv. How’d you get so tight?” he began to slide back in make beautiful little grunting noises to match the tiny mewls continuously pouring from the Slayer’s lips. Nothing could have been closer to the shock of a stake to the heart than the heady smell of her arousal combined with the sweetness of her virgin blood. He couldn’t take it anymore and began to pound into her savagely, forcing grunts and cries of approval from Buffy.

He could feel her nearing orgasm and he knew he wouldn’t be able to last with her walls quivering and clenching around him, tight as she was. He reached a hand down and twisted her clit. She screamed out and thrust up against him, driving him as deep as he could go and threw her head to the side in the throes of ecstasy. It was too much for Spike. He dove in and sunk his fangs into her neck. He came inside of her, jerking with wild abandon when he felt her hot blood on his tongue. Each pull of her blood sent her into another orgasm and milked Spike of more of his dead seed.

Buffy slowly realized that he hadn’t let go of her neck. In fact, he was sucking harder, pulling more and more of her blood from her body. She began to feel weak. He was going to kill her. That now familiar thought ran briefly though her mind before she stopped struggling and let herself succumb to the haze that was now suffusing her entire body. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.

Buffy slowly realized that he hadn’t let go of her neck. In fact, he was sucking harder, pulling more and more of her blood from her body. She began to feel weak. He was going to kill her. That now familiar thought ran briefly though her mind before she stopped struggling and let herself succumb to the haze that was now suffusing her entire body. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.

She could feel herself dying. It wasn’t like she had expected it to be. She had thought it would hurt, or maybe her life would flash before her eyes or something. All she remembered about it later was the pleasurable numbness that bathed her entire body. Not so bad, she thought.

She could hear him growling against her throat and she wanted nothing more than to answer him with her own. But she began to feel cold and her eyes became too heavy to watch the platinum head at her neck. She just lay there, limp and content as she felt her life slip away.


Spike could feel it the second her heart slowed down. He slipped his fangs gently out of her and roared into the empty room. She lay there, unmoving, near death. He couldn’t help feeling suddenly protective of her. Granted, she was lying there almost lifeless. He slipped out of her body and realized with a wave of nausea and confusion what his inner self was trying to tell him. Turn her. What? Where had that come from? No, he couldn’t seriously be considering turning the Slayer… could he? He thought about it for a moment. She would be stronger, faster. More magnificent. And she would be his.
“For hell’s sake, she’s the bloody Slayer!” he slapped himself across the face and looked once again at her inert form. But she was so beautiful. He heard her heart begin to stutter again and made his decision. It’d been over a hundred years since he’d had a Childe.


He brought his wrist to his mouth and sliced a deep gash with one of his fangs. He held it above her mouth and watched in a mixture of hunger and hope as the blood stained her pale lips, sliding in between them. When he saw her swallow, he pushed his wrist fully against her mouth. The only thing he could thing of was her and how she would be his. Already was. He let out a deep moan and had to support himself with his other hand against the headboard when she began to suck at his bleeding flesh. Feeling his blood becoming hers was the most erotic thing the vampire had ever know. Better, even, than when the Chinese Slayer’s blood became his. The wound soon began to close and he reluctantly removed his wrist from her now crimson lips. God, she was perfect.

Spike couldn’t have been more content as he felt the sun begin to rise behind his heavy curtains. He curled against the unresponsive body of the most beautiful girl in the world. Her body fit perfectly with his. Feeling sappy and not giving a bloody damn, he pulled her onto him so her head rested softly on his chest and drifted off to sleep. He dreamt of nothing but her.

She was breathing against his neck, whispering all the things she knew he wanted to hear. He was bucking wildly beneath her as she rode him hard. Her ridges brushed against his chin and he growled, grabbing her hips and forcing himself deeper into her cool quim. He couldn’t stop saying her name, couldn’t stop moaning. He could feel her grazing her fangs back and forth across his neck, making him shiver and groan. She squeezed her inner muscles around him and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He twisted his head to the side, baring his neck to his girl in obvious invitation.

She moved against him like liquid as she sunk her fangs into his neck, taking long pulls of his room temperature blood. Her walls quivered around him and she came with a cry, muffled against the skin of her lover. She raised her eyes to her Sire and a smile played on her pale lips.
“Spike,” she said his name once, then twice, “Spike,” he didn’t respond.
“Spike, wakey wakey,” Buffy purred at him.

When he opened his eyes he immediately noticed three things. One: he was covered with Slayer, two: said Slayer was on top of him, and three: his cock was incredibly stiff and wet, and still inside her. Buffy began to move against him again and he knew she had already come, he could feel it sliding down his ass and onto the sheets. He could tell she was already fully aroused again and he moved one hand between them and roughly pinched her clit.

She cried out and the pleasure/pain and Spike took advantage of her distraction and flipped them both onto their sides, her back on his chest, and his cock still imbedded deeply in her. He reached his arm around to her front and began roughly squeezing her breasts with one hand, while he worked his other hand between them and pushed his thumb against her puckered hole. He was still thrusting wildly against her when she came. He followed her over the edge as her pussy clenched and unclenched around his pulsing member. As he came down, he noticed they were both still wearing their pants, but both of their shirts were in tatters. Buffy hummed her approval and turned towards him, letting him slip from her. They both closed their eyes and groaned at the loss.

Spike could feel night approaching and took in Buffy’s disheveled form and torn clothes. He smiled softly at her and kissed her once gently on the lips. “Buffy, luv, we need to get you some new clothes,” he chuckled a bit when she just smiled and licked her lips.

“I don’t know…” she purred, running a finger up and down his abdomen, “I think I like not having any clothes,” she stared at him with yellow eyes, ridges fading, and he had to call upon every ounce of strength in him not to pound her into the mattress once again. His Childe still wanted him. He’d never been so happy. He hid his emotions behind a sultry smirk and tried to sway Buffy towards going out with him to get some new clothes. After all, his had been recently destroyed by the little blonde spitfire.

“But I like taking them off you so much, pet,” he nipped her pouty bottom lip with blunt teeth before he gave her a devastating pout of his own.

She rolled her eyes, “Fine. But only if I get to pick out some things for you,” she grinned widely at his bewildered look. He narrowed his eyes and pulled her in for a bruising kiss before pulling away and going to the end of the bed. She had stood up and let herself be wrapped up in the black leather before Spike went to grab his last black shirt and slipped it on. Tonight was going to be one for the telling.
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