Made by spikeshunny

“He said he killed it,” she mumbled to herself.  That’s the vampire Ford said he killed…” 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Day 1 

“Spike!” the Slayer bellowed to gain his attention over the various screams and growls echoing around the room. 

“Everybody stop!” 

“Good idea.  Now, you let everyone out, or your girlfriend fits in an ashtray.”  Buffy tightened her hold on her stake and began to push it into the vampiress’ chest. 

“Spike?” Drusilla whimpered. 

“It’s gonna be alright, baby,” Spike reassured her.  He glanced around at the minions in various stages of feeding.  “Let them go.” 

Buffy stood on the landing leading down into the bomb shelter that had been converted into a club.  Sobbing and wounded humans streamed past her, and she divided her attention between the vampire she held and the seething Spike standing at the base of the ladder that was the club’s only exit.  She watched as Ford stumbled to his feet and made to leave, passing in front of the vampire shooting daggers at her from amber tinged eyes. 

As Ford began to climb the steps, Spike’s arm snaked out and wrapped around his neck, pulling him back against his chest. 

Buffy’s grip tightened on her stake and she glared down at the vampire. 

“Let him go,” she demanded. 

“Uh uh… he’s my li’l insurance policy,” he told her and began to climb the steps towards the exit.  “I get to the top… we make a li’l trade.” 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed, but she couldn’t call his bluff.  Ford, after all, was still human – even if he was a human that had set her up in order to become a vampire. 

“That’s close enough,” she told him once Spike and Ford reached the landing.  “Let him go.” 

“You first.” 

“I’m the one with the stake to your girlfriend’s chest… you first.” 

Spike growled, but did as the Slayer asked, sending the boy stumbling into the pair with a harsh shove to his back. 

Buffy started at the unexpected move, the death grip on her stake slackened just a bit, shifting away from the kill zone.  

Ford saw his opportunity and fell onto the vampiress, dislodging her from the Slayer’s grip and sending himself and Drusilla out through the open door.  He kicked it shut after falling onto the hard concrete, sealing both Buffy and Spike inside.  A roar sounded within and the sounds of fighting could be heard, but Ford ignored it – and what was most likely the end to his friend – and jumped to his feet.  He lowered his hand to help the fallen vampiress up. 

“You’ll give me my reward now?  I’ve given Spike the Slayer… I held up my part of the bargain… You’ll make me one of you?  An Immortal?” 

She smiled, her childlike features no longer concealing her malicious intent, and Ford felt the first twinges of fear settle in the pit of his stomach.  Her features shifted and she moved closer, and he struggled to control his rising panic.  He wanted this, he reminded himself.   

Don’t run… don’t run… don’t run… 

“You smell delicious,” she murmured, running a pale finger down his cheek.  “Your fear… it’s… intoxicating…” 

Drusilla gripped the boy by the back of his neck and brought him closer to her, rubbing against him wantonly, her tinkling laughter erupting at feeling an answering bulge form in his pants in response to her gyrations.  Her nose nuzzled his throat, fangs scraped along his flesh, nicking the surface.  The smell of warm blood hit the air, tantalizing her senses, and she struck. 

“Drusilla!” 

Drusilla tore her mouth away from her victim’s neck and turned to glare at the entrance to the alley.  She hissed upon spying her sire. 

“Let the boy go,” he demanded. 

She snarled and bared her fangs, her grip on the boy tightening. 

“Drusilla…”  The pitch was lower this time, hints of his sire’s voice evident in his tone. 

She finally dropped the boy and Angel let her leave, his only desire to determine Buffy’s whereabouts.  And, if the truth were known, Angel really doubted he’d be able to make himself stop her.   

He bent down and grabbed Ford by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. 

“Where’s Buffy?” he growled. 

Ford was weak from blood loss but managed to point towards the Sunset Club, gasping out, “inside.” 

Angel snarled menacingly, bringing the boy’s face mere inches from his own.   

“I should kill you myself.  If Buffy’s hurt… you better pray I don’t find you…” 

The vampire dropped Ford, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the sudden smell of urine permeating from the boy.  And Angel hadn’t even flashed his demon at the kid.

His sensitive ears picked up the sound of Buffy crying out, and he relegated the boy to the back burner of his mind and sprinted towards the door of the club.  His hand rattled on the latch but nothing happened.  Employing more of his strength, he tried again.  Still nothing happened. 

On the third try, the knob snapped off in his hands. 

He couldn’t get the door open. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy heard the sound of the door closing like a death knoll.  She struggled to control her rising hysteria at being locked inside the converted bomb shelter with Spike.  The self-professed slayer of Slayers. 

The backhand to her face took her by surprise and she lost her stake…and almost lost her footing on the steel landing.  As it was, she just barely managed to latch onto one of the rails when the momentum of Spike’s punch sent her reeling backwards.  Dangling twenty feet above ground, her gaze darted frantically between the smirking vampire as he moved closer and the ground below, trying to locate her weapon. 

She spied a table beneath her and let go of the railing; it broke her fall but didn’t hold up under her weight, shattering into a tiny pieces. 

‘Stake!’ she thought smugly, tossing the tablecloth aside. 

Only Spike was there before she could grab one of the broken pieces of wood.  His booted foot connecting with her temple sent her reeling towards something… hard. 

Her breath left her in a whoosh.  And she felt, rather than saw, Spike pressed up against her back. 

“Come on, Slayer… I get more exercise with my minions…” Spike baited.  He pressed his groin into her back, letting her feel how much he was getting off on the fight – how hard it was making him. 

Nothing like teasing the virginal Slayer a bit.  Throw her off her game even more. 

“Where’s that sass you had at the school the other night?”  His hand skimmed her stomach and cupped her breast, giving it a firm squeeze. 

Buffy gasped in shock. 

Her head jerked back and caught him in the nose.  Then she whirled around, delivering a roundhouse kick that rocked him back several feet. 

“Pervert!” she screamed. 

Spike caught himself against one of the club’s speakers to keep from going down.  He swiped half-heartedly at the blood that had spurted from his nose, grinning sadistically at the Slayer’s affronted look. 

“Well… yeah, pet… vampire here.” 

He licked the blood off his hand as if to prove his point. 

“Ewww… that’s disgusting.” 

His quirked brow said it all. 

Vampire. 

The two adversaries stood staring at each other.  Neither backing down.  One breathing heavily… warily.  The other debating on how much fun to have with the Slayer before sinking his fangs into her neck. 

Spike sprung forward suddenly, sending the Slayer staggering with a series of punches and kicks that drove her back several feet. 

“It’s no fun if you don’t hit me back, Slayer,” he taunted after delivering a particularly stunning blow to her head.  He followed it up with a left hook that sent her crashing into one of the support beams.  His blue eyes twinkled merrily.  “Oh… who ‘m I kiddin’… it’s fun regardless.” 

He moved in and barely flinched at the kick he received to his stomach. 

The Slayer was tiring. 

Time to move in for the kill… 

Her foot shot out again to hold him off and Spike easily caught it; he yanked her towards him and the Slayer crashed into his chest.  The feel of her lush curves pressed up against his body momentarily hindered his killing instinct. 

She felt good – her tits digging into his chest, her hot center cradling his erection.   

It surprised him just how good she felt. 

He’d forgotten the heat a live body could generate… 

Buffy took advantage of Spike’s inattention and brought up her knee between his legs. 

His reaction was instantaneous. 

“Bitch!” he growled and backhanded her to the floor. 

Buffy scrambled to get away, her head spinning – the damn vamp had hit her so hard, it felt like she had a concussion.  Her eyes darted about the room looking for a weapon… anything.  The sound of Spike looming above her roared in her ears. 

She felt something pressing into her hip and she recalled the stones Willow had given her.  Buffy remembered thinking her friend had been crazy for buying something that probably amounted to nothing more that a couple of prettily colored rocks, but she’d taken them anyway… especially when Willow had gone all mopey girl on her. 

Slipping them into her pocket, she’d just barely managed to suppress an eye roll at her friend’s animated jabberings about the three stones – and the words that supposedly “activated” them. 

She was hauled to her feet and Buffy scrambled to reach the stones in her pocket as she was slammed up against the wall and felt Spike press against her.  Her head was yanked to the side and she nearly dropped them when his fangs sliced into her neck. 

“Serva me!” she screamed. 

The stones roared to life, emitting a blinding white light that nearly burned her palm; her hand contracted around them in a knee-jerk response to the sudden pain.  The magic spread outwards, quickly enveloping her entire body.   

She was vaguely aware of Spike’s fangs leaving her throat.  Of the white glow that quickly enveloped him as it continued to spread outwards until it had covered the entire club. 

Then the stones cooled and returned to the natural color.  Her hand opened, and they fell to the floor. 

Buffy swayed, both from the blood that Spike had taken and the magic that had ripped through her body.  She moaned, forgetting completely the vampire that had been making a meal out of her neck, suddenly overcome by a wave of nausea. 

Covering her mouth, she raced towards the bathroom… barely reaching the toilet in time.  Afterwards, she rinsed her mouth out and washed her face, then stumbled from the bathroom. 

Right into Spike’s arms. 

“What the bloody hell did you do to me, you bitch?” he demanded, gripping her upper arms. 

Buffy could see the evil intent in his eyes, that he was trying to squeeze her harder – but it didn’t show in his grip.  She shrugged loose of his hold and was mildly surprised at how easy it was to escape his grasp, stumbling over towards the lone couch the club possessed.  Falling onto the cushions without any regard for the evil vampire stomping after her. 

Spike looked down at the Slayer sprawled out on the couch. 

“I don’t know if I should be offended or grateful for you laying yourself out so nicely for me, luv.” 

“I’m not your ‘love,’” she managed to get out, one hand flung over her eyes, silently begging to whomever for her head to stop spinning.  “Go away… I don’t feel good.” 

Spike’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. 

“Go away...? Don’t feel good…?” he sputtered.  He growled; demon features burst over his face in outrage.  How dare she make light of the threat he posed! 

He was on her in an instant – hard angles pressed against soft flesh, ignoring how her body seemed to fit his, he was in such a murderous rage.  He couldn’t believe she wasn’t fighting him at all. 

When he lowered his head to finish what he started, he found out why. 

He couldn’t bite her.  He could get within an inch of her neck… and no further. 

Fuck! 

Spike sat up, his knees on either side of her hips.  He glared down at her.  Watched how her eyes remained closed and her breathing evened out. 

The chit was going to sleep on him! 

Him! 

William the Bloody. 

He balled up his fist and swung.  By god, she wasn’t going to dismiss him so easily. 

His punch never connected – again stopping inches before its intended target. 

Disgusted with himself, with her… with the entire situation, he clambered from the couch, cussing a blue streak.  His booted feet made all kinds of noise as he stomped up the steps.  Since he couldn’t seem to kill the Slayer, he may as well leave and go join Drusilla on the hunt. 

He tried to pry the steel door open, but it was like his hand encountered a barrier. 

Pissed, he went to punch the wall, to let loose some of his frustration, but again his hand bounced back harmlessly before it could connect.  He threw his head back and bellowed his displeasure, his hands fisted at his side. 

When that did nothing to cool his ire, he stomped back down the steps and stormed over to the bar situated in front of the club’s kitchen area.  He needed a drink.  Several, in fact. 

His hand rummaged under the counter and closed around a bottle.  Reading the label, Spike smiled.  He’d always been fond of Jack.  The top came off readily enough, and he took a healthy swig of the amber liquid, delighting in the burn that warmed his throat. 

His thoughts strayed to the human that had concocted the plan for getting him the Slayer.  The annoying twit that had started this madness.  And he vowed that once he got out, he was going to take his time torturing the boy. 

Hell, he should have killed the git to begin with, no matter what his sire had said. 

It was his fault Spike was in this mess. 

Trapped with the damn Slayer and unable to kill her.

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy woke, clutching her head. 

“Ohhh…” she moaned, and even the sound of the slight noise hurt her brain. 

She sat up on the couch and immediately wished she hadn’t.  Jackhammers to the head were not a pleasant sensation to wake to. 

“Oh… quit yer bellyachin’.” 

‘Ok, that sounded like Spike’s voice…’ 

“Spike?” she called out, unwilling to open her eyes and locate the source of the sound.  She just knew if she were to open her eyes, the throbbing in her head would increase tenfold.  “Oh god… I think I’m gonna be sick again.” 

“Well, carry your arse to the li’l girl’s room.  Don’t fancy smellin’ your spew while I’m locked down here…” 

Buffy ignored his caustic words for the most part, focusing her attention – what little she could afford with her migraine – on the last bit of his retort. 

And replied with an intellectual, “Huh?” 

Her eyes opened, and she winced at the bright light, though in truth the club was rather dark.  She searched the shadows for the blond vampire and found him sitting at the bar, a bottle set in front of him. 

“We’re trapped.” 

“Trapped?” 

“Bloody hell, Slayer, you deaf?  That’s what I said…trapped.” 

“Well, why the hell didn’t you break the door down?” 

She stood up slowly and swayed for a moment before she forced her feet to move.  Clutching various chairs and tables along the way, Buffy carefully crossed the room to the vampire’s side.  She didn’t think to question why she would willingly put herself in such close proximity to the deadly vampire. 

Though, some small part of her hoped that by doing so he’d be merciful and kill her quickly – to spare her from the painful throbbing in her head.   

Spike looked at the Slayer through one bleary eye as she plopped down on the stool next to him.   

Right next to him.   

As in, not several feet away because she respected the threat he posed to her continued good health, but in the chair beside him… announcing to all – not that there really was an all – that she was cognizant of his defanged status and was throwing it back in his face.  

He scowled. 

May as well cut off his balls while he was at it.  Offer them up on a silver platter for her amusement. 

She looked up at him expectantly, and his mind replayed their “sort of” conversation.  Then he remembered. 

“Bloody well tried to get out, you bint.  I can’t.” 

“Well, try harder.” 

“It’s not a question of strength, Slayer,” he growled.  “You think you can do better, be my guest.”  He made a magnanimous gesture with his hand towards the exit.   

He took another swig of his drink while she stewed for a minute.  Then she stood up and Spike watched her stomp towards the stairs.  The sound of her heels echoed in the empty club as she marched up the steel steps. 

Spike smirked and took another long pull from the bottle, settling in to watch the show.  Like she was going to have any better luck at it than he. 

Ten minutes later, the Slayer was back on the stool next to Spike. 

“If you couldn’t get out, why haven’t you tried to kill me yet?” 

Spike threw a punch before she could react, but the second before his fist would have connected, his forward momentum stopped. 

Didn’t prevent the Slayer from going ass over tit off the stool, however – much to Spike’s amusement.  And he burst out laughing. 

“Oh, Slayer… that was almost worth the price of admission.” 

“Fuck you, Spike,” she growled up at him from where she lay sprawled on the floor.  “Ow… my head.”  She moaned in pain, both from her outburst and the tumble she’d taken. 

“Oi! Slayer! You kiss your mum with that mouth?” 

“Where the hell’s my stake?” Buffy grumbled.  “You may not be able to hit me, but I damn well should be able to stake you.” 

“Now… Slayer… no need to be hasty…” 

“This from the vampire who laughed because I fell on my head.  A head, let me remind you, that was already pounding…” 

Spike watched the Slayer’s hand close around a piece of wood lying on the floor.  He scrambled to his feet and put the bar between them. 

“Slayer…” he warned. 

“What, Spikey?  What are you gonna do?” she taunted as she came around the bar after him.  “Throw punches that just zip on by?” 

“Bitch,” he growled; he made sure he kept enough distance between himself and the Slayer. 

“That does it,” she hissed, and took off after him.  If she was going to be trapped in this place with no way of getting out, the last thing she was going to put up with was Spike’s mouth. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“You suck.” 

They were sitting side-by-side on the couch, close but not touching. 

“Well, yeah… vampire.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

“Weren’t one of my spells that got us into this mess, Slayer,” he griped. 

“Yeah… well… those stones suck too.  I mean, it was supposed to be a protection spell for me… It shouldn’t be protecting you too,” she complained.  “And why the heck can’t we get out of here?” 

“Dunno…” 

“Fat lot of help you are,” she muttered. 

“You do realize who you’re talking’ to, right?  Vampire?  Evil?  Ringin’ any bells? ‘m not here to help you. Was here to kill you…” 

“Shut up.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure someone will be along soon and open the door for us.”   

Spike blinked in surprise at his comment.  Why the bloody hell was he trying to reassure her? 

“Oh!!  That’s right!” She turned and gave him a brilliant smile, forgetting for a moment that he was her mortal enemy and placing her hand on his sleeve.  “Giles’ll come. He knows I’m here.” 

“See… problem solved.” 

Spike prided himself on the fact that his voice hadn’t wavered.  The smile she’d gifted him with had damn near curled his toes.  He didn’t even want to think about the hand resting lightly on his upper arm.  A hand that threatened to sear his flesh with its heat and kick-start his unbeating heart. 

Disgusted with himself for thinking about the Slayer in any terms other than the next notch on his Slayer-killing belt, he dislodged her hand from his duster and got up from the couch, trying to find something to do to help pass the time.   

And take his mind off the Slayer. 

Buffy didn’t notice the vampire’s restlessness as he prowled around the club.  She was too pleased with herself.  Soon, the nightmare of being locked up – alone – with Spike would be but a distant memory.  She tucked her feet up under her on the couch and settled in to wait. 

Two hours later, she was ready to climb the walls.   

Spike had found the remote control to the television mounted on the wall and had returned to his spot next to her on the couch.  He’d spent the entire time flipping through the channels.   

Rapidly. 

All five of them. 

It was enough to bring about the return of her waning migraine. 

She knew he was doing it on purpose, just to piss her off.  But, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.  Especially once she’d glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and seen the hint of a smug smile on his face. 

Yeah, he was doing it on purpose. 

“He should have been here by now,” she complained.  “I mean… what good is having a watcher if he doesn’t… you know… watch?  What time is it anyway?” 

Spike rolled his eyes and barely refrained from heaving an aggrieved sigh.  Better for her not to realize that her incessant bitching was getting on his nerves – she’d most likely keep at it if she did. 

He was rather peeved that she’d not picked a fight with him about the telly yet, though.  A nice argument was just the distraction he needed to get his mind off of being cooped up with the Slayer and unable to do any physical damage. 

“Same time it was when you asked me five minutes ago…” he told her, eyes still glued to the TV while his thumb worked overtime.  “…just add the five minutes.” 

“God… you sound just like my mother.” 

Spike’s thumb froze over the channel button, and he turned to stare aghast at the Slayer. 

“Take that back right now!”  

“No… Because you do.  Only a parent would make a remark like that.” 

“Well… only a child would ask the same bloody question every five minutes just because she’s bored.” 

“I’m not a child,” she huffed.   

“Sure sound like one to me,” he retorted. 

Buffy suppressed the urge to stick out her tongue at the vampire.   

Frustrated with him, with her current situation – and she was so blaming Willow once she got out of there – Buffy sighed heavily and leaned her head against the back of the couch.  She closed her eyes, determined to ignore Spike while she waited for Giles and the others to arrive. 

She fell asleep waiting.

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