Buffy slammed back another shot of tequila and glared at Spike. All three of him. Roughly 24 hours ago, Riley had beamed himself off to South America, pouting because she wouldn’t beg him to stay. As if she would after catching him playing ‘vampire chew-toy’ with that skanky vamp-ho!



Stupid, gelded vampire. It was all his fault.



Her original reason for seeking Spike out had been to kick his ass for taking her to that flophouse in the first place. Oh sure, he had said that it was something she needed to know, but she knew the real reason he had done it. The sneaky bastard had known what would happen when he led her to that disgusting place.


She had found him at Willie’s-- yanking him out of a poker game in the back room. When she had asked him why there were so many kittens running around the room he had laughed right in her face and refused to answer until she bought him a drink.



That had been almost three hours ago.



“SO,” she slurred, tipping the bottle of Cuervo Gold and sloshing some into her glass. Stupid, baby glass. She needed a BIG glass. “SO,” she was saying. “I hope yer happy you mish-misher-misherhubble piecsh of shit.”



Spike winced as the bottle hit the table. The table his forehead was currently pressed against. Soddin’ bint didn’t know her own strength. “Can’t hol’ ‘er likker either,” he snickered.



The only two other patrons remaining at Willie’s eyed the blond pair nervously. The Slayer and Spike. Things could get ugly real fast. Especially since alcohol was involved. They threw their money at Willie and hurried out. Willie sputtered in protest, but he knew his hands were tied. Drunk or not, if he tried to throw THAT pair out he was just asking for massive amounts of pain.



Spike sat up and leaned back in his chair, his head lolling as he tried to focus his eyes. “Happy ‘bout wot?” His train of thought had derailed about a fifth of Jack ago. His bleary eyes finally located the slayer and he watched in morbid fascination as she sucked juicily at a lemon wedge. He swallowed the sudden burst of saliva in his mouth and thanked the Powers that the tabletop hid his baser response to her food-play. Bitch! She had to know what she was doing to him.



“Coz it’s all yer fault, dummy!” Her squeaky, little girl voice rose several octaves, rivaling the cries of mating dolphins.



Slamming his hands over his ears, he glared at her. “And jus’ how th’ bloody hell is it my fault? Bleedin’ Christ, girl! I didn’t force Cap’n Card-Cardbahord to let that schkank have a lil nibble. I just figgered you’d wanna know.”



Buffy stared at the littered table. God! How much had she drank? And where the FUCK had all those lemon and lime skins come from? Tears pricked at her eyes and she gave a dejected sniffle.



“Wh-what the hell is wrong with me? I did what I was shupposhed to do, but it washen’t good eno-huff. He washen’t even that good in bed, but I would’ve shtayed with him. He was my last chance at normal and you…” She gave a hiccupping sob. “You ruined everything.”



He laughed heartily at that, sliding off his chair to land with a thud on the filthy floor. He hooted merrily, ignoring the outraged expression on her face.



“What th’ fuck is so funny, you bleashed menash?” she demanded, completely ignoring the shot glass and swilling the tequila straight from the bottle. Tasted kinda funny. Funny looking bottle, too. When had Cuervo started using black labels?



“Oi!” he bellowed indignantly, his merriment forgotten in defense of his precious bottle. “Git off my wishkey, bitch!”



“S’not yer wish-wish…bottle ya big baby.”


He knee-walked over to her side. Grabbing the bottle from her, his finger wavered as he pointed out the words to her unfocused eyes. “Read wif me, luv. Jack. Danielsh. Old. No. Sheven. Brand. Tennesh-heneshee Whishkey.” He managed to grasp the neck of the Cuervo bottle. “Here’sh yoursh,” he said happily.



Buffy nodded, her hair flopping into her eyes. “Thanks ever so mush,” she chirped. Manners. Mom would be proud.



“An’ I din’t ruin anything. Admit it, Shlayer. You were bored t’ tearsh with G.I. Jerk. Normal? You’ll never be happy with ‘normal’. You won’t be happy ‘til you find schomeone that you can be yourshelf with.”



Neither realized that they were leaning against each other for support; she in the chair, he sprawled on the floor between her feet, one arm wrapped around her hips. Feeling a wave of dizziness, Spike buried his face in her lap.



Mmm.



Slayer musk.


Buffy stared down at the blonde head in her lap, feeling an indefinable surge of…something…course through her as he rooted deeper. His nose bumped against her mound and he grunted happily deep in his throat. Her body went completely boneless as she slouched lower in her chair, her thighs falling open to allow him more room to play. A red haze drifted over her vision.



Willie chose that moment to make his move, blissfully ignorant of what he was interrupting. “Closing time! You wild and crazy kids are gonna have to take the party elsewhere,” he bellowed cheerfully.



Both came to what senses they had left and jerked apart. He with a growl of frustration, she with a horrified shriek. Lifting her leg, she planted a small boot in his chest and sent him skidding away on his back. They glared at each other, eyes wide and nostrils flared as they breathed heavily.



Still oblivious, Willie sweetened his bribe by thumping two fresh bottles on the table. “Here ya go, on the house. One for the road, eh?” he sang.



Spike lurched gracelessly to his feet, snatching the unopened bottle of Jack and shoving it in the pocket of his duster. His eyes never left her once. She had stood up to put on her denim jacket and was currently chasing herself in a dizzying circle trying to get her arm in the sleeve. She looked like a dog chasing its tail. Spike caught her with a sigh of disgust and stuffed her arm in the offending sleeve.



“Yer a loushy drunk, Shlayer,” he grumbled, guiding her unresisting body towards the exit. He quickly confiscated the neglected bottle of Cuervo and slipped it into his empty pocket. No sense in wasting a free bottle of alcohol.



Once outside in the relatively fresh air, they stood uncertainly, swaying like a pair of cobras in a basket as they eyeballed each other.



“So, as ushual, ol’ Shpike gets the blame, huh Shlayer?” Spike taunted.



“It ish yer fault, you nootered leach,” she insisted. “You ruint it for me.” Giving him her back, she tried for a grand exit and walked right into the back of his Desoto, falling over the trunk and sliding off onto the ground. She banged her head painfully on the bumper and ended up splayed out on her back in the gravel, her skirt bunched around her slim, golden thighs.



Of course, he snorted with laughter. “Shmooth move, shlick,” he gibed.



Buffy closed her eyes and played ‘possum. Sure enough, he fell for it. He was leaning over her unsteadily to haul her to her feet when she cracked him on the side of the knee with her fist.



“Bloody hell!” He dropped down beside her with a howl of pain.



She shot to her feet and danced a few feet away. “That’ll teash you to sic yer ol’ ugly car on me. Ow! My head!” Touching her forehead gingerly, she glared down at her bloody fingers. “IT BIT ME!” Stalking over to the heap of Detroit scrap iron, she gave it a vicious kick and caved in the evil bumper.



“OY! YOU STOOPID BINT!” he roared. She turned around and stuck a childish tongue out at him. He was on her in an instant, his hands wrapping around her throat as he shoved her against the bruised Desoto, bending her backwards over the trunk. Neither noticed the lack of reaction from his chip as he began to squeeze.



The smell of her blood wafted to his nose and he stiffened, his fangs practically exploding in his mouth as his demon clamored forth. She gasped as she stared woozily up at his glowing amber eyes and ridged forehead. He didn’t notice her reaction; he was too fascinated by the trickle of carnelian blood rolling down into the silky arch of her eyebrow. He breathed the scent in deeply, his nostrils flaring as he pulled her up against him. Flicking out his tongue, he caught the trail and licked upwards to the edges of the deep gash at her hairline.



Her blood was sweet ambrosia on his tongue, a heady aphrodisiac that had him hardening instantly. With a sinuous twist of his hips he was between her thighs, the loose, flowing skirt she wore providing no barrier between them as he ground his erection against her. A low, steady growl of pleasure emanated from deep in his chest.



Buffy knew she should be severely squicked by his actions; should be shoving him away and opening a can of Slayer whoop-ass all over him. But the amount of alcohol she had consumed combined with all those sexy growlies and the way he was pushing so insistently against her had turned her brain to mush. God, he felt enormous! Bracing her hands on the cool metal beneath her, she wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and used her arms to lift herself eagerly up and down against him.



Spike shuddered when her legs tightened around him as she rubbed urgently upon him. Her blood sang through his body as he laved his tongue across the cut, sealing it closed with his saliva. Some small, still sober part of him knew he was just begging to be staked for touching the Slayer like this, but the inebriated part of him didn’t give a large rat’s arse what happened. Since the night of that fateful dream, he had fantasized about an opportunity like this and he was damned well going to take advantage of it. He attacked her mouth with his, elated when she twisted her small pink tongue around his and pulled it into her mouth to duel with hers.



“Well, there’s something you don’t see every day.”



The incredulous voice brought them back to earth with a crash and they both lifted their heads. Oh, fuck! Spike thought. We’re buggered now.



Facing them was a line of about twelve vamps. A few of them were freshly risen fledglings, but the majority was older. Buffy lowered her legs from his waist and slid down off the car, moving close to him as the group began to form a loose circle.



“Spike coppin’ a feel off of…the Slayer?”



“Damn, Spike! You da man!”



“C’mon over here to Steve-o, baby. I can do ya better than ol’ Spikey ever could.”



Their hoots and catcalls were unnerving to say the least. Buffy grabbed a handful of leather and pressed even tighter against him. To the vamps she appeared frightened, but Spike knew she was pissed; both at the interlopers and at herself for dropping her guard and getting so drunk. “Game plan?” she hissed from the corner of her mouth.



“Running seems like our besht bet,” he answered, keeping his voice as low as hers. He turned to the gang and raised his voice. “Shorry mates, m’dear ol’ Mum never could get me to share m’toys.”



Their answering mutters and growls raised the hairs on Buffy’s nape. Much as she hated the thought of running away from a confrontation that ordinarily wouldn’t even have raised her heart rate, Buffy knew she was in no shape to fight so many-- even with Spike’s help. “Magic Box?”



“Right behind you, luv.”



Fortunately for them, Willie chose that moment to fling open the door of the bar. The distraction of him screaming like a girl and running back inside was enough to give Buffy and Spike a solid head start. They pounded down one alley and up another, hoping to lose the group that was yipping and snarling at their heels.



Yet another lucky break for the intrepid duo occurred outside the movie theatre when the monthly showing of ‘The Rocky Horror Picture Show’ let out, releasing a flood of costumed groupies in between them and their pursuers. Spike bellowed with mirth at the irony of it all.



Buffy slammed to a stop against the door of the shop and yanked her key ring from her pocket. Her hands were shaking and she still wasn’t anywhere near sober, but she managed to get the right key on the first try. They tumbled inside and she leaned against the counter gasping for breath.



“They’re gonna be able to shmell us if we don’t do somethin’,” Spike muttered. He walked hastily around, scanning the contents of the shelves before grabbing a small bottle of cloudy yellow liquid.



“Wha’s that?” she asked.



“Fyarl piss.”



“EWWWW!!”



“Oh, shtop bein’ so damned prishy,” he snorted. “S’not like you ain’t had Fyarl gutsh all over you b’fore.” Spike opened the door and dumped the urine all over the sidewalk in front of the shop.



He darted back inside and tossed the bottle in the trash just as the vamp gang went thundering by. “Huh. It worked.” A huge grin split his face before he was grabbed by the shoulders and flung on top of one of the big tables. Buffy was on him in an instant, kissing him hotly and writhing demandingly against him.



Breaking for much needed breath, she sat up and stared down at him as she tore off her jacket. His eyes were wide and his mouth slack with surprise as she crossed her arms in front of her, grabbing the hem of her top and dragging it over her head. Grasping him by the lapels of his duster, she pulled him into a sitting position and pushed the leather off his shoulders. She had his black t-shirt up and over his head before he could blink.



“Umm, Shlayer? Ya do realize what yer doin’ here, right?” He could have kicked himself for drawing attention to the fact that she seemed hell-bent on raping him.



Brass rivets flew around the room as the fly of his jeans gave way under her insistent fingers. She wasted no time in dragging the black denim down his legs. “’Course I know what I’m doin’!” she scoffed. “Yer the reashon he’sh gone, so yer gonna take over hish ‘duties’. ‘Sides, you shaid it yerself; I’ll never be happy with ‘normal’, and you, Shpikey, are ash abnormal ash they come.”



He reached out and dragged her back onto his lap, one hand grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You wanna to use me for sex coz you blame me for Cap’n America leavin’ ya?”


Buffy had discovered the fresh bottle of tequila in the pocket of his duster and was worrying at the cap with a frown of concentration. “Yeah, you got a prob-problem wif that?” she said belligerently.



“Not bloody likely!” Who was he to question the reasoning of a drunken Slayer? Spike grabbed the tequila and twisted the cap off effortlessly, downing half of it in two swallows. He handed it back to her and watched as she took a big gulp, dribbling half of it down the front of her.



Finding himself at eye level with her breasts, he watched the spilled alcohol run down her chest until it was absorbed by her bra. “Yer washtin’ perfickly good likker, luv,” he muttered. Leaning forward, he began to lap up the droplets of tequila.



Balancing the bottle on her thigh, Buffy lifted her free hand and raked her fingers through his hair. When she felt she had sufficiently mussed it, she cupped the back of his head and guided his mouth to one lace covered nipple.



He thoroughly wet the scratchy fabric with his tongue before darting a quick glance up at her face. Seeing that her eyes were closed, he sneakily vamped and used his sharp fangs to bite through the front clasp of the lavender bra. Shaking off the demon, he nudged the ruined lace aside with his nose and nuzzled the soft mounds. Skimming his hands up her ribs, he cupped her breasts in his hands and pushed them together, licking and sucking the tight pink nubs.



She purred in her throat as she arched her back, seeking more of his wicked tongue. Each tug of his mouth brought an answering quiver of sensation from deep in her belly.



Spike’s hands released her breasts and moved to her thighs, sliding up under her skirt until he found the ribbon ties of the lavender lace thong that matched her bra. He didn’t bother with untying the delicate strings; one quick tug and he was tossing the damp panties to the floor.



Buffy tensed in expectation as his clever fingers traced tiny circles on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She opened her eyes to see him smirking up at her.



“Somethin’ ya want, Slayer?”



She wasn’t going to beg him. No way. She had her pride, even if his voice was all sexy-growly-rough and he had that sexy accent that had always made her pussy pucker. She pushed her hips forward, trying to bring his taunting fingers closer.



He pulled back with a soft chuckle, the sound sending shivers up her backbone. She dug her nails into his shoulders. Pride be damned!



“Touch me,” she pleaded. “Please, Spike…Need you to touch me.”



“Kiss first,” he demanded, pouting up at her.



She eagerly complied. A drunken Spike was an affectionate Spike, she quickly discovered. And he was a wicked good kisser, too. He lavished her mouth with short sweeps of his tongue interspersed with light nibbles with his blunt teeth. Memories of their spell-induced engagement assailed her and she sighed into his mouth. She had missed this so much after the spell had been broken that the pain had felt almost physical at times.



While she had become mesmerized by the kiss, Spike’s hands had been busy. He’d searched the waistband of her wrap-around skirt until he located the ties that held it in place. The skirt fell away from her, drooping around her narrow hips before he pulled it away and sent it after her ruined panties, leaving her wearing nothing but her soft leather boots.



He slid his tongue into her mouth the same time that he parted her nether lips with his fingers and thrust one long digit into her dripping pussy. The feel of her; so hot and tight and swollen with desire, was incredible. Her squeak of delight was muffled against his lips and he was forced to press a hand to her lower back to hold her squirming hips still on his lap. A second finger joined the first and he slicked the pad of his thumb back and forth over her clit. A ragged moan escaped her when he added a third finger and she bowed over his arm until her hair pooled on the table behind her, slowly pumping his fingers in and out.



The scent of her arousal was heavy in the air and suddenly touching wasn’t enough. A startled yelp of dismay escaped her as he removed his magical fingers. “Why’d you…”



He laughed at her mutinous pout “What? Did ya think I would jus’ lay here and be your own personal fuck-toy? Don’t work that way, pet.” He grabbed her hips and lifted her up. “Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered. When she complied, he let her body slide down until the head of his cock nudged the entrance of her wet sheath and he began to push into her.



Her body slowly gave way to his as he pressed harder against her, moving more aggressively with each thrust until her tight muscles gave way and he slid completely inside her.



She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, wagging her head back and forth. She had never felt so filled; his hard, thick length causing an incredible pressure that bordered deliciously on pain.



“Look at me,” he demanded, refusing to allow her to hide from him. From this. When she opened dazed eyes he held her gaze, forcing her to acknowledge their intimacy and understand what it was like to be loved by such as him.



Buffy’s reply was to lock her legs around his hips and tilt her hips upwards, driving him even deeper into her. A breathless gasp burst from her as his cock nudged repeatedly against one highly sensitive spot, sending stinging prickles of excitement racing through her body.



Spike was enthralled. He couldn’t stop kissing her. The taste of her mouth had become an addiction and he fed his need shamelessly, attacking her with lips and tongue, barely allowing her time to breathe before he was back for more. Being this close to her was exquisite torture. Her moist sheath was like hot, slick velvet as it gripped and released him in perfect sync with his measured thrusts.



Her orgasm slammed into her from out of nowhere, stealing her breath with its mind-numbing intensity. She threw her head back, his name a strangled cry on her lips. “Spike!”



Spike felt the ripple of her inner muscles as she clamped down on him and he clenched his jaw, feeling himself teetering on the brink of his own release. Grimly, he fought against it, determined to make this moment with her last as long as he could. Stilling his movements within her, he waited patiently for her to come down from the high of her climax.



Quivering with aftershocks, Buffy wilted against his chest, her breathing ragged and her heart racing.



He ran a hand up her damp, shivering back and fisted it in her hair, pulling her head back at a sharp angle and crushing her lips beneath his.



Feeling him still hard and hungry inside her, she tore her mouth away, gaping at him in amazement. “You didn’t..?”



“No rush. We have all night, still,” he said with a wicked grin, rocking and swirling his hips beneath her.



Buffy felt like sobbing with joy. Her body was still humming with pleasure as he moved against her. “More,” she pleaded, nipping at his mouth with small white teeth as she kissed him.



“Yeah?” His laugh was a dark seduction that curled in the pit of her stomach.



“Mmm hmm. Now.”



Their eyes met and melded with a mixture of lust and awe. His hands tightened around her waist, lifting her up and slamming her down, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing under her hands as they roamed possessively over him. Her back arched as he laid claim to her breasts once more, worshipping the plump, perfect globes with lips, teeth, and tongue; his hands kneading and shaping the soft flesh as he suckled.



Pitching them forward and without missing a stroke, he pressed her back onto the table, hooking his arm under her knee and lifting it high as he surged even more deeply into her. The slick, hot friction their bodies were producing drove them both relentlessly towards the edge again.



Determined that he would fall with her this time, Buffy flexed her inner muscles around him, milking his cock with a constant rhythm that shattered his tenuous control.



He arched, throwing his head back as a savage growl ripped from his throat. The eyes that stared down at her flickered from sapphire to topaz as he fought to control his demon.



Giving him a look that was pure sin, she skimmed her palms up his arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him down and kissing him wildly; licking and biting at his lips and the hard point of his chin. She boldly stroked her tongue down the strong line of his throat. Reaching Drusilla’s mark, she quickly darted her head forward and latched on to it, sucking voraciously.



Spike came with a roar that made her ears ring, his body pounding hers into the table beneath them as he vamped and buried his face in her shoulder, his fangs sliding into her neck.



She screamed; the raw, carnal pleasure so intense that she nearly blacked out. Each pull he took of her blood brought another blinding wave of ecstasy and she shuddered around him.



His body jerked as he ground into her, spilling the last of his seed into her willing body. He carefully pulled his fangs out and lapped the wounds closed.


The lay quietly for a few moments before Buffy shifted beneath his weight. Spike tensed, pulling out of her with a sigh of regret and moving to lie beside her. He rested a forearm over his eyes and waited for the ass-kicking and recriminations to begin.


He was pleasantly surprised when she curled up against his side, smoothing her hand up his chest and pressing a kiss to his shoulder.



“Isn’t this the part where you start pummelling me in defence of your sullied virtue?” he asked suspiciously.


She raised her head and glared at him. “Dammit, Spike! Leave it to you to ruin my warm fuzzies. Now, shut up and hold me. I want afterglow-age.”


Stunned, he slipped his arms around her, pulling her closer while she settled her head back on his shoulder with an indignant huff. “You still sauced, Slayer?”


“No, and you aren’t either, so don’t try to weasel your way out of this using that lame old excuse. I want cuddling and you’ll damn well cuddle with me,” she groused. “And don’t even try to slip away before I wake up because—“


The rest of her complaint was smothered by his mouth. Spike was beginning to realize it as the most effective way to shut the Slayer up when she was off on a tangent. There were also other ways…


Buffy gave a squeak of surprise when he lifted her leg and drew it over his hip, sliding into her with one smooth stroke. She batted at his shoulders half-heartedly. “What…Ahh! What do you think you’re doing?”


He caught her arms and dragged them around his neck. Pressing his forehead to hers, he gave her a wicked grin. “’M cuddling, luv,” he purred.


 

Giles sorted through his keys, struggling to find the right one to unlock the shops door. Behind him, Xander and Anya were squabbling while Willow and Tara struggled with armfuls of books. His head was already beginning to throb from their constant chatter and for some odd reason the front step reeked of Fyarl urine. He seriously doubted the day could get any worse.


The door finally opened and he took three steps inside before he stopped, his mouth falling open in shock. The others crowded in behind him, nearly falling over the stunned watcher before they saw what he was looking at with such horrified fascination.


Buffy and Spike were twined around each other as they lay on the big table, covered with Spike’s duster and sleeping peacefully.


“Oh, dear Lord,” Giles uttered.