This chart is a prompt for my Spuffy pairing for the LJ community Smut_69.  As stories are written, links will become available.  (They'll be in no particular order, nor will they be confined to any particular season/story/etc.)  Think of this as being 69 Spuffy stories that will range in length from 100-word drabbles to small fics. (Oh, the possibilities...)

Prompt #1: Moan

Title: The Bet
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike.

‘Ten minutes, Buffy.  Ten minutes without making a peep and you own him for the night.  Anything you want…’  

What had ever made her think so could win this challenge?  Not a word? Not one sound?  With Spike doing all those sinfully wicked things with his tongue?  

She squeezed her eyes tight and tried to count off the seconds in her head.  Anything that would distract her…  

The moan came unbidden, torn from her lips as Spike removed his tongue and slipped the iced vibrator inside her overheated pussy.   

The bastard!  Where the hell had he been hiding it?  

When he’d lain down the ground rules of their latest bet, Buffy had felt confident she could last ten minutes without uttering the slightest whimper.  Finally, a chance for her to have the upper hand – an excuse to be the aggressor for once.  To demand what, up till now, he’d only been able to coerce out of her.  

She should have known he’d find a damn loophole.  Trust an evil vampire not to play fair.  With the stakes as high as they were, his prize something she’d been denying heretofore in their nocturnal activities… Yeah, there was no way he wasn’t going to win this one.  

Conceding defeat, Buffy arched her hips off the bed as Spike worked the rubber phallus in and out of her hole, his blunt teeth nipping at her clit until she saw stars.  She wound her fingers in his hair, disrupting the slicked-back locks.  Fisting the surprisingly soft strands in her hands and grinding his face into her mound.  He growled, the sound vibrating through her pussy and producing an answering rush of liquid.  

The vibrator was suddenly removed and then he was there, positioned at her entrance and sliding home.  Buffy was mindless to the pleasure only he could give, her body poised on the brink of orgasm and eager to fall headlong into the abyss of mind-numbing ecstasy.  Her hips surged upwards as he buried himself in one smooth stroke, Slayer muscles worked his shaft while he slid in and out of her heated passage, driving her higher…and higher still.  

Spike was babbling now, whispering words of love and devotion in her ear that he could never stifle in the midst of their dance.  She took them all into her heart, cherishing them in silence, even if she could never acknowledge them.  He hit that place deep inside her and Buffy felt the beginnings of her climax start to wash over her.  She keened, her legs tightening reflexively, and she begged him to do it again.  To tease the spot that would grant her release. And he did, angling his hips while increasing his pace, his body now on autopilot as he, too, strove for that peak.  Desperate to reach it with her.  

Buffy screamed his name as her body shuddered beneath his; her fingers dug into his smooth back creating tiny crescent marks in the pale skin, riding out the waves of pleasure coursing through her limbs.  This was what she craved every time she came to him.  Knowing with absolute certainty that he was the only one that could give it to her.  That tiny death that told her she wasn’t actually dead.  That she could still feel.  

She held him tight as he achieved his own release.  His semen flooding her passage causing her to smile in feminine satisfaction.  He collapsed on top of her and Buffy held him close as she struggled to draw much-needed air into her lungs.  She smiled against his neck as he did the same.  Not that he needed to breathe; it was just one of the humanistic traits he couldn’t seem to help – and she’d yet to get used to.  

For those brief moments as they lay there, both basking in the post-coital glow, she could pretend.  Pretend that they were a normal couple.  That this, what they were doing, was normal.  Not some attempt at…what…she didn’t know.  But, when she was here, like this, held by her vampire lover, she felt like she could actually do it.  Get through the day and not regret being ripped from heaven.  

Because here, for at least a few seconds in his arms, he gave her that.

Prompt #2: Writhe

Title: The Bet Pt. 2
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

She writhed upon the silken sheet, completely bare, blindfolded.  Wondering what he was doing – if he was looking at her.  He made no sound as he ran his hand the length of her leg, causing her to twitch yet again.  Eager for what he was about to do. 

If he’d actually get to it.  He’d been teasing her for a while now.  

She’d showed up, like she’d promised.  He’d cheated during their bet, but she still came.  Wanting to see what he’d do next.  Needing to feel it.  Wanting it. 

He’d said he’d be in her blood, and damn him, he was right. 

The blindfold had been a surprise, though she hadn’t balked….much.  Just enough to throw him off.  Prove to him, that she wasn’t eager for this.  Eager for his touch.  And for whatever he planned to do with her. 

Too occupied with the feel of his hands skimming along her bare thigh, Buffy didn’t notice the manacle wrap around her right wrist, its thick band closing with a loud clank of finality, until it was too late.  Her arm was then raised so that the chain link affixed to it could be fastened somewhere… probably to the metal bed frame.  The rather sturdy metal frame.  Shit!  She thought to protest, unsure whether she could handle being both bound and blindfolded.  Before she could, the second was clicked around her other wrist.  It, too, pulled taut over her head and anchored to the bed’s metal frame. 

Trapped.  

Her legs were still free, true, but without her hands, she was vulnerable.  Helpless even. 

Her eyes widened behind the blindfold when it dawned on her that he could hurt her now.  Could, in fact, actually kill her.  She began to struggle in earnest, her sensual writhing of before changing to a desperate straining of muscles as her hands worked to break free from the shackles about her wrists. 

The growl froze her momentarily.  It had been awhile since she’d heard it.  Pre-chip Spike had had a growl like that.  That Spike had wanted her dead.  

The dip in the bed went unregistered by the Slayer.  Her legs were pulled apart, and she felt the brush of his cock against her slit for just a second before he’d rammed his way home. 

“Fuck, pet!  So wet!” he cooed, thrusting into her pussy with sure strokes. 

God, he was right.  She was wet.  The thought of her being at his mercy a kink she didn’t know she’d had.  The thrill it gave her, something she shouldn’t be feeling. 

Spike hadn’t meant to fuck her just yet, but the unconscious perfume her body had elicited after having been shackled to the bed was too much for him to resist.  He had plans for his Slayer. 

Fun stuff. 

Kinky stuff. 

Things that neither his git of a grandsire or Captain Cardboard thought to do to her.  Or with her.  They didn’t understand her like he did.  Figured that because she was the Chosen One, good’s weapon against the darkness, that she didn’t have any of it in her.  Any of that darkness.  

They were wrong. 

More so now that she’d been ripped from heaven by her friends.  Forced back into hell of the world’s making.  But, at least here, with him, with the things he could make her feel, she could perhaps deal with the repercussions of their betrayal.           

He just had to force himself to go slow, and not overwhelm her.  Give her just a tiny taste.  Let her become accustomed to things…here in the dark with him. 

The thought alone caused him to groan in anticipation, his hips unconsciously picking up their pace at mental images of her laid out beneath him, hazel eyes begging him for more.  He felt her body’s response to his and gripped her hips tighter, lifting her ass off the bed and into his powerful thrusts. 

She was glorious, his golden goddess.  Arms stretched taut to either side of the bed, head thrown back in wild abandon, pert breasts jiggling with every surge he made into her liquid heat.  He knew she was moments away from orgasm, the tightening of her legs about his lower back telling him without words that she was about to come… and come hard.  The pulse in her neck drew his gaze, and he licked his lips, not surprised in the least at feeling his canines elongate. 

But not yet though.  He’d save that for another time. 

For now he just rammed into her for all he was worth, eyes nearly crossing when her inner muscles clamped down on his length as her body climaxed.  Nostrils flared wide when the savory tang of her blood suddenly tickled his senses.  And it was the smell of that sweet elixir that drew him over, causing him to spill himself inside her grasping channel. 

After the last tremor had run its course, he lowered the Slayer back to the mattress.  His eyes sought out the source of her wound and noticed the bloodied lower lip from where she’d bitten herself to keep from crying out.  He smirked, knowing that by the end of the night, she’d be as vocal as he usually was – and started to get hard just thinking about it.  Hearing her moan in delight, Spike reluctantly slid free.  He took comfort in her down-turned lips, the slight slip as she let out a small groan of disappointment.  She wasn’t one to beg. 

No, his Slayer was a tough one.  Determined not to admit to what he made her feel.  Her sneering looks once the afterglow had worn off and she’d remembered who held her would tear at his unbeating heart. 

But no more. 

After tonight, she wouldn’t be able to hide anything from him. 

And he was looking forward to showing her.

Prompt #3: Satin

Title: The Bet Pt. 3
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

Where in the hell had he managed to locate something so refined?  So expensive?  The luxurious cloth had felt heavenly beneath her bare skin as she lay there, flushed from her recent orgasm, her hands released from their bindings.  It hadn’t been long.  Spike had been quick to pull out and use his hands to shift her into a new position.  The soft glide of the silky texture had done nothing but stoke the flames that had threatened to engulf her even before she’d set foot inside his crypt.  A fire that had been building from the moment she’d made her excuses to Dawn and escaped into the night.   

Twenty-four hours.  A full day of letting him choose where... and how.  And when.  Although, she'd no doubt that when would be constantly.   

Spike was never one to waste an opportunity.  “Want, take, have” was his motto now; her body a willing participant to the things the blond-headed vamp could do with mouth, hands, and cock. 

So, she knelt there on all fours, her fingers clasping and unclasping the satin sheets... waiting.  Forcing her muscles to relax.  To wait and see what he had planned next.  She took deep calming breaths, willing her heart to slow its furious beating within her breast. 

She thought she'd done it.  Affected that nonchalance she'd perfected since being sucked back to Earth.  She should have known better. 

Just one look from his piercing blue eyes could reduce her to a writhing mass of want and need.  Something she struggled to hide from him. And had been successful, heretofore.   

The goings on behind her was too much for her not to look.  The soft clank as drawers were opened and then closed providing too great a lure to be denied.  She spied him walking back to the bed, her eyes taking in the tube he held in his hand, the determined look upon his face... 

Buffy licked her lips, her pulse skyrocketing, and prepared herself for the worst.

Prompt #4: Lube

Title: The Bet Pt. 4
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

“You ever been fucked up the ass, Slayer?” Spike asked as he knelt between her legs, trailing one cool finger along the crack between her butt cheeks. 

Positioned on all fours, her head facing the headboard, Buffy’s eyes grew wide at the vampire’s harsh question.  Surely he wasn’t going to put it there.  Her body tensed, her head frantically shaking in the negative, that no, she hadn’t indeed had someone’s dick up her ass.  That she’d never even thought of it before now.  The idea petrified her, made her want to dive from the bed and escape.  And to hell with her forfeit. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” he growled. 

The Slayer stiffened in outrage, and no small amount of fear.  Since finding out that he could hurt her, he was back to sounding more like the Spike she’d met back when things were simpler.  Back when he was an evil vampire, and she the Slayer he was bent on having as his third kill.  Maybe that’s why this excited her so… being with him.  The uncertainty of whether today would be his “one good day,” or if he’d just fuck her senseless.  

It turned her on, the fine line she walked. 

It made her feel.  And, god, she needed to feel. 

Buffy tamped down her unease, forcing herself to remain where she was, waiting nervously while he flipped open the top of the lube he carried.  The popping noise was loud in the sudden stillness, causing her to flinch slightly.  There was a soft squooshing sound as he squeezed some of the artificial lubricant out of the tube, and presumably into his hand.  She didn’t know, and she refused to turn around and look at him.  Instead, her fingers gripped the sheets tight, her eyes squeezed shut.  Waiting… 

The feel of his finger pushing its way past the tight ring of her ass brought a low moan from her mouth.... before she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to let him know what he did to her, and bit her bottom lip to stifle the noise.  But, god, it felt good.  Wickedly so.  

Spike slid his index finger in and out for a bit getting her used to the sensation.  When he felt the Slayer’s body start to relax, a second finger soon followed the way of the first, stretching her a bit more.  He felt her stiffen for a moment, then forced her muscles to relax.  And he smiled. 

Buffy’s eyes opened in shock at the slight burning sensation she was beginning to feel as two cool fingers scissored in her ass, stretching her opening.  It was a bit painful at first, but there was an underlying pleasure that began snaking its way through her limbs.  Slowly driving her out of her mind.  Her hips started to move of their own accord, pushing back against his hand, driving him deeper inside her. 

“Mmmm… think the Slayer’s gonna like takin’ it up the ass,” Spike murmured, wedging a third finger past her tight sphincter.  He heard her groan.  Watched smugly as her hands gave way, sliding out from beneath her so that her head fell forward on the mattress.  Her face screwed up with need.  He couldn’t help himself, he chuckled smugly.  “Oh yeah… baby’s gonna love takin’ it up the ass.” 

His three fingers continued to saw in and out of her ass, stretching her wider.  His cock was hard and heavy, ready to burst if he couldn’t be inside her soon.  With his other hand he reached down and grabbed the discarded tube, squeezing a copious amount on his dick.  Then he threw it aside and palmed his length, making sure it was good and slick. 

With deliberate, slow movements, he pulled his fingers free and stared down at her virgin hole.  He was the first to do this to her, if the vigorous shake of her head earlier in answer to his question was any indication.  But, deep down, even without her confirmation, he knew it was true.  She’d as much as told him about her one time with his grandsire – strictly missionary, without a lot of peeking.  And he knew Captain Cardboard would never think to sully his girl by sticking his dick here. 

But he would.  And smile while he did it, too. 

Lining up his cock with her puckered entrance, he was half tempted to ram his way home.  Make her bleed.  Like she’d made him bleed for the last two years.  He wanted to show her the violence he was capable of.  That he was still the Big Bad.  Could still be the Big Bad with her.  

But, then William, the poetic sap, reared his ugly head.  Reminding the demon of his love for the Slayer.  The pillock. 

Slow, tentative thrusts marked his taking of the Slayer’s second virginity.  His senses attuned to make sure that he wasn’t hurting her… much.  That the slight pain she felt as he breached her entrance was eclipsed by the pleasure as he filled her.  This he did until his cock was buried to the hilt.  And even then, he waited a moment more and let her body adjust to his invasion. 

He wasn’t surprised that he was staring down at her through amber colored eyes.  Hell, the pleasure he felt at being sheathed in her tight passage was enough to send his demon into an uncontrollable fuck frenzy.  So, rather than concentrate on keeping his human mask in place, he felt it better for him to work on not ravishing her to death.  Her body lying bloody and broken beneath him in the aftermath of his lust. 

“Gonna move now, Slayer,” he told her gruffly, and watched as she nodded against her forearms, willing her body to relax. 

His hips drew back and slid home again.  Nice and slow.  Setting up a steady rhythm sure to drive her wild.  And he knew he had her when she began to tentatively push back against him, until she was grinding her ass against his groin.  He grinned around elongated fangs and tightened his grip upon her waist, speeding up his thrusts.  Pushing himself in as far as he could go. 

Buffy moaned around the arm her mouth had latched onto in order to keep quiet.  When he’d first told her what he planned on doing, she’d been scared to death.  

Now the feel of him, thrusting into her… 

She couldn’t stop herself when the strength returned to her arms and she was back on all fours, driving herself back against him.  Smiling secretly as his control slipped and he began pounding into her for all he was worth. 

His fingers found their way into her pussy, pumping in counterpoint to the cock in her ass and Buffy saw stars.  The smile transforming into a scream as her release washed over her.  But she was safe here in the lower level of Spike’s crypt.  Knew for certainty that the only one able to hear her was the vampire situated behind her.  His hands about her waist keeping her from collapsing to the mattress as her orgasm seemed to go on and on.  A second later, she felt him join her, shooting his load into her ass as his hips bucked against her spasmodically. 

Even though he hadn’t bellowed to the rafters like she had, Buffy knew he was overcome with emotion in their post-coital haze.  It showed in the way he gently slid free and lowered her down upon the tangled sheets.  How his fingers roamed over every inch of her body, assuring himself that she was alright.  

She couldn’t help the smile that blossomed on her lips at his tender regard.  Her muscles putty beneath his touch. 

A moment later, she felt the bed dip as he climbed to his feet and moved off.  Her lips turned down, for once not minding being held in the aftermath of their spent passion.  But, he didn’t go far.  Only to the set of drawers on the other side of the room.  She heard him rummage around for a moment… then the drawer closed. 

The silence was deafening, the hairs on the nape of her neck rising suddenly.  And Buffy couldn’t help but lift her head and look over her shoulder at Spike. 

She felt her blood run cold at the item he held in his hand.  But, it was the evil stare, how his amber gaze blazed with ownership that made the Slayer want to tuck tail and run…

Prompt #5: Ring

Title: The Bet Pt. 5
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

“What is that?” Buffy managed to get out, eyeing the silver ring warily as he approached.  It was gorgeous, expensive looking.  But the way he held it, the gleam in his eye… 

She sat up in the bed and made to leave, again.  For some reason, put off by the thick metal band. 

He was on her in a flash, pinning her back against the mattress.  One hand wrapped around her throat, hard enough to make her wonder what the hell had possessed her to show up at his crypt.  His legs straddled hers, and he used his weight to keep her from struggling. 

Panicked, but unable to do anything but lie there, she waited. 

Spike held the ring up for the Slayer’s inspection.  The silver collar was half an inch thick and would just barely circle her neck and still allow her to breathe.  At the front was a much smaller ring, allowing it to be anchored to something.  A leash, perhaps.  Or restraints.  But what was special about this collar was that once it was on, only he could remove it – it being magically enhanced, and all. 

At a short phrase from him, the clasp sprung open, and Spike hauled the Slayer up, away from the mattress, and secured the silver ring about her throat before she could think to object.  Satisfied at the visible reminder of his ownership gracing her delicate neck, he shoved her back down upon the bed and climbed off of her.  Pleased when she remained where he’d left her.  

Unmindful of his nudity, or the erection jutting from the wiry hairs at his groin, he walked back to the dresser and snagged his smokes.  He pulled out one stick and lit it, tossing his lighter back on the dresser as an afterthought.  His lips tightened around the cigarette and he inhaled deeply, causing the tip to glow red as the flame ate the end.  The nicotine hit him hard, as the smoke filled his undead lungs, and he held his breath for a moment before expelling it in a rush.  

His lips turned upward as he watched her try and take the collar off.  Smirking when her actions proved futile. 

“Won’t come off,” he finally told her.  “Not until I take it off.” 

His words just seemed to make Buffy struggle harder.  It was only when he laughed outright, that she stilled, her eyes narrowing as she glared back at him. 

“Take it off,” she demanded, her voice low. 

“No.” 

“I don’t like it.” 

“You’re not supposed to like.  I am… And I do.  Looks good on you, pet.” 

“I’m not your pet.” 

“Oh, but you are, Slayer.  You are.”  At her fierce expression, he allowed, “At least for the next twenty-four hours you are.” 

“When your time is up—” 

“When my time is up, you’re gonna want to be right where you are, begging me for more of the same.” 

“In your dreams, Spike.” 

“No, luv.  In yours.  Or did you think I couldn’t smell you as you tossed and turned about in your bed?  How your body called out for me as I stood beneath your window.  Too bloody stubborn to give in, is what you are.   I’m just allowing you to have what you want.  Without all of that guilt you love to wallow in.” 

“Spike…” she growled. 

Spike stubbed out his forgotten cigarette and stalked towards the bed.  He leaned over the bed and looped one finger through the smaller hole, dragging her head up until they were nearly nose to nose. 

“No more talking, Slayer.” 

“But—” 

“I said… no more talking.  You’re not to open that lovely li’l mouth of yours unless it’s in answer to a direct question.  Understand?” 

She just stared up at him mutinously. 

“I’d hate to have to beat you so early in the game, but I will,” he told her conversationally.  Spike felt the fear rush over her and he couldn’t help but inhale the sweet-smelling aroma.  But, he didn’t want to break her so much as make her admit she wanted him, so Spike relented just a bit.  “You gave yourself over to me, luv.  Shelve the Slayer for a while and let me take care of you.  I promise to make it worth your while.” 

Buffy blinked, and meekly lowered her eyes.

Prompt #6: Restraints

Title: The Bet Pt. 6
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

Spike abruptly released the Slayer, allowing her to recline back against the pillows.  Now that she’d given in, she was looking anywhere but at him.  Meek and biddable, like a good slave should be.  But that would soon change.  He straightened and turned away, walking over to a heavy, wooden chest situated in a far corner of the room.  

The metal hinges creaked as he opened it, and his lips tugged upward at her startled response to the noise, the sudden rush of adrenaline that flooded her body.  He knelt down, rifling through an assortment of goodies – most of which he’d get to at some point – until his hands finally closed over what he wanted.  

If he thought the collar was hard, he knew this next step was going to be nigh on impossible.  The last time he’d had her restrained, discounting the weaker ones he'd used a bit earlier… Suffice to say, it hadn’t gone over too well with the Slayer.  Had actually led to him being barred from her house.  That had hurt.  A lot.  But, it was water under the bridge, his revoked status having been rescinded as the confrontation with the hell god drew near.  

Praying he wasn’t making a mistake, that when all was said and done and his allotted time with her was up, she’d look back on her time spent here with him as something… special.  

He stood abruptly, palming the magically enhanced steel chains in one hand.  Affecting a cold manner, he strode purposely towards the bed.  

“On yer back, Slayer.  Arms and legs to the side.”  

He swallowed his astonishment when she complied without protest, eyes averted while she assumed the position he’d demanded.  His hands shook slightly when he reached out, and he paused for a moment, trying to get himself back under control.  He’d never admit it, but her trust floored him.  Not that she realized it, or was even aware that she’d given it to him.  But he did.  He knew.  

Before she could look over at him to see what was taking so long, Spike gripped her wrist and secured the heavy manacle in place.  The length of chain attached to the cuff dangled off the bed – this he secured to a bolt in the cement floor.  There was no way she was getting out of these unless he let her.  In a matter of minutes, he’d repeated the procedure to her other limbs until she was spread eagle on top of the satin sheets, unable to move but for the tiny bit of slack in the metal chains.  

Spike stepped back, admiring his handiwork.  

She was glorious, his Slayer.  Hair unbound and arranged in a golden halo about her head.  Tanned skin glistening with sweat, cheeks still flushed from their last encounter… and a bit of ire because of the collar.  With her head turned to the side, away from him, his gaze took in the slim column of her throat, and the pulse that beat beneath her flesh.  Just looking at her made him hard, his cock rising to attention from the thatch of curls at his groin.   

It made him salivate, it did.  Knowing that he could taste her now.  Drink the sweet elixir of her Slayer’s blood that called to creatures like him.  Like a moth to a flame.  

He watched silently while she just lay there.  Unmoving.  Not even bothering to test the voracity of the bonds that held her in place.  

It was like she didn’t care what happened to her.  Like the fight had just gone out of her once he’d opened his mouth and told her what to do.  And, Spike wondered if it was really her trust in him that made it possible to bind her, or indifference.     

He didn’t like it, this apathetic nature of hers since being ripped out of heaven.  The lack of any feeling shown towards her friends – though truthfully, he couldn’t fault her for it.  But, it was the way she practically neglected the Bit until the girl made her presence known by being a shrew to her big sister that caused him concern.  

Frowning, he vowed to make her feel something if it was the last thing he did.  He had the tools.  Looking down at her gave him the motivation.  She’d probably hate him for it afterwards.  But, hey, emotion, right?  Probably stake him good and proper like she’d threatened to do.  

His lips quirked.  Well, she could try anyway.  

What started out as a simple bet to have her any which way he wanted had suddenly turned into something else.  He didn’t stop to rationalize why he was doing it.  He just knew he wanted his Slayer back.  The old Slayer.  The one that gave as good as she got.  Bad quips and all.  

Spike slipped into his pants and returned to the chest.  He grabbed items and discarded others until his hands were full, then returned to the bed and laid out his toys at her feet.   

The Slayer still had yet to move, and his eyes narrowed.   Stubborn bint.   

That’s ok.   

He had all night.  

His hand reached for the first item, a devious smile on his face.  

Prompt #7: Feather

Title: The Bet Pt. 7
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

Buffy lay there, praying the vampire would just finish her off already.  Degraded as low as she could possibly feel – and there was that word again – she waited… knowing that it would be only a matter of time before he did it.  Sank those fangs deep into her throat and finally bag his third Slayer. 

Yeah, he’d claimed to love her, but she knew the truth. 

Demons couldn’t love.  Didn’t feel.  Their emotions long buried after having the soul sucked out of them.   

No, they just inhabited the dead corpse of their victim.  Giles had told her so often enough until it became gospel.  The truth had been rammed home in her young heart after Angelus’ return.   

She knew Spike was just fucking her to get back some of his own.  After nearly two years spent at the whims of her and her gang, he finally was able to take back his pride.  And she’d let him.  How sick was that?  It was only a matter of time before the tales made the rounds… about how she’d been brought down a peg by the Big Bad.  Eagerly spreading her legs for him like a good little whore. 

The Slayer’s mind drifted back to that first night.  She wasn’t sure why she’d kissed him in that abandoned building.  Hell, she’d been trying to get him to kill her.  Desperate to reclaim the peace that had been snatched away.  Screwing the vampire hadn’t been part of the equation.  

It had been his taunting that had finally decided the matter.  Kissing him had been the only way to get him to shut up.  The first touch of his lips had been electric, causing ripples of awareness to snake along her limbs – and that was even before he’d responded to her mouth pressed against his.  If kissing him had done that, the Slayer could only wonder what having him fill her would be like.  And before she’d thought to change her mind, she jumped him, fiddled with her skirts and his jeans, and sheathed herself on his cock. 

The ride had been wild.  They’d tumbled back to the floor then fallen a story or two; she couldn’t remember.  Nothing had mattered but the feel of him inside her.  How he stretched her.  Filled her so completely it scared her.  Made love to her more intensely that Riley could ever think to. 

He’d not let her lay there like an unfeeling corpse, either.  Wrangling cries from her lips that had gone bloody from where her teeth had tried to keep them locked away – Spike had just licked the drops and forced her to scream even more. 

By the end of the night, she’d been too exhausted to move. 

The crude comment Spike made before she’d left abruptly that morning brought home his intent to kill her.  As the days passed and he held off, Buffy had been confused.  She finally broke down and sought him out at his crypt, eager to see the matter done; his smirked response to her presence made itself known. 

He wasn’t done with her yet. 

After losing the bet, and deciding to actually go through with it, she figured that at the end of the twenty-four hours he’d do it.  Give her the death that he’d told her in the past she’d come to crave.  The slave collar had been a bit over the top, and after a brief heated exchange with the vampire, she’d managed to tamp down her natural tendencies at being owned by anyone.  She just prayed the vampire had the foresight to remove the thing after he’d killed her – though, even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t much matter.  The restraints had been obvious, but not necessary.  She wasn’t going to fight him. 

Spike had been right when he said that all Slayers, at one time or another, had a death wish.  Call her a coward, but she couldn’t deal with everything that had been dumped in her lap upon her return.  A bratty sister that was going to be thrust in the foster program if she didn’t get her act together, a friend that was stuck on magic, and a watcher that had deserted her when she needed him most.  She was in Hell. 

Stuck in the mire her life had become, she didn’t feel the gentle glide of the feather on her leg at first.  It wasn’t until it had circled her nipple, drawing the bud taut, that she became aware of the delicious torment.  The answering need blooming in her crotch. 

She twitched, trying to get her body away, but the bonds only allowed her so much room to maneuver.  

“There she is…” Spike murmured appreciatively.  “Was wonderin’ where you’d gone off to…”   His hand drew random patterns on the Slayer’s chest and stomach, flicking the tip of the feather along every erogenous zone of her body. 

“It’s ok, Slayer.  You can scream.  No one can hear you down here.” 

Buffy, her eyes squeezed shut, shook her head frantically back and forth, unwilling to give up that small sliver of control.  She’d given him so much already.  

Spike smiled at the picture she made.  Her body, slick with sweat, the way her back bowed from the mattress, shoving her tits up invitingly.  Couldn’t refuse so generous an offer, now could he?  He leaned down and sucked the one closest to him into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the nipple, making it even harder.   

Her throaty moan was music to his ears.

Prompt #8: Leather

Title: The Bet Pt. 8
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

The leather crop came down on her bare thigh, making her stop mid-laugh and gasp.  Not that Spike’s latest torture device had really hurt her in any way.  In fact, she was almost grateful for the slight sting to her skin. 

Grateful because… 

The bastard had made her laugh.  Laugh.  And not one of those girly chuckles either.  No, it had been a full-bellied, nearly piss your pants, wipe the tears from your eyes kind of laugh.  

Not since… ever, she suddenly thought, had she laughed so hard. 

And all because of that damn feather.  Throw in the sadistic whims of the vampire that had her chained to his bed.  He couldn’t just get her off with the damn thing.  Oh no.   

Not Spike. 

It had actually felt good, those first few initial glides against her skin.  But, then something had gone wrong.  She wasn’t sure exactly what had caught his attention, but suddenly she’d been straining against her bonds – bonds she’d quickly found out were unbreakable – desperately trying to get away from the perverse vampire, and his sudden fetish with her feet.  

The first bark of laughter had taken her by surprise.  The noise so foreign, it hadn’t sounded quite right coming from her lips.  

Spike had been like a dog with a bone after that, teasing her feet mercilessly.  First one and then the other, until her stilted chuckles had blossomed into full-blown peals of merriment – interspaced between her shrieks for him to stop.  Oblivious to the way her pleas sounded like outright begging. 

Another smack to the opposite thigh brought her back to the present.  It was just like the first, not enough strength behind the blow to make her cry out in pain, but not so light that she couldn’t feel the slight burn to her skin. 

Yet, she refused to remark upon this latest ploy of his.  He could swat at her until her skin was a mottled shade of red and she’d not give him the satisfaction. 

Thwack. 

‘Ok, that hurt!’ Buffy thought, wishing she could rub the sting out of her right breast – his latest target.  The next hit, dangerously close to the nipple on her other one caused tears to fill behind her closed lids. 

Cry for me, Slayer. 

Her eyes flew open at his whispered words, angry hazel orbs boring into own.  Frowning at the knowing smirk on his face. 

What was his deal? 

The more she stared at him, the wider his grin became… and the angrier she got.  It went on for several minutes, until his teeth were all but gleaming in the darkened interior of the vamp’s bedroom and her eyes had narrowed to mere slits. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” 

The Slayer just continued to glare at him, his words not penetrating her haze of indignation. 

“Anger.  Good emotion, that.  Not that I didn’t like the happy a bit ago… it’s a good look on you.  But this one… this one’s my favorite.  Brings back memories, it does…” 

Buffy gasped, eyes going wide for a moment before they narrowed once more. 

“Fuck you!” 

“You offering, pet?” 

“You’re a pig, Spike,” the retort sprang from the Slayer’s lips before she could stop it, arms and legs pulled at her bonds to no avail. 

His smile grew wider, if that were even possible, and Buffy saw red. 

“Just wait till I get out of these…” she warned. 

Spike moved to the end of the bed, trailing the riding crop from her waist, down over her knee and all the way to her feet.  He chuckled when she squirmed upon the silken sheets, trying to get away from his touch. 

“That a promise, luv?  Now, now…” he added, when he felt her bristle.  “Like a cat, you are.  All arched back and hissin’.  Makes me wonder if I can make you purr too.” 

He walked back to the head of the bed, leaning down close to her ear. 

“You gonna purr for me, Slayer?”

Prompt #9: Massage

Title: The Bet Pt. 9
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

Buffy swallowed around the lump in her throat as his husky voice sounded right next to her ear.  It washed over her with all the subtlety of a tidal wave upon a narrow strip of beach.  Already she could feel her anger beginning to melt away at his words, the promise in his voice. 

But, she didn’t want to.  Wanted to hang onto it… because it felt good.   

Damn good. 

It made her feel…alive. 

And she wanted to cling to that feeling, if only for a little while. 

Before it wore off and she was once more craving the release that could only be granted by him.  Craved the peace that had been snatched away from her by well-meaning friends. 

“In your dreams, Spike.” 

Yeah, she was probably going to pay for that remark.  He’d probably have her begging before all was said and done.  Yet, the words had tumbled from her lips before her brain could command her traitorous mouth to silence. 

“Don’t need dreams any more, luv.  Got you here with me right now…at my mercy, so to speak.” 

And score one for the quick comeback by the smirking vampire. 

“Yeah, well…I’m not always going to be this handy for your sick games.  So just get on with it already and quit talking…” 

Ok, I really need to shut my own damn mouth.  What the hell is wrong with me egging him on that way? Oh, right, that would be the purring comment that did it… 

Spike stared down at the defiant Slayer and almost gave her what for. 

Almost. 

But, when he leaned down towards her face, he saw something flicker in her eyes. 

And he shelved the anger her comment had garnered, and got back to his plan of attack. 

It was time to make the Slayer purr. 

Schooling his features, he turned away from her and walked towards the end of the bed.  Spike grabbed one ankle and pulled it up to his mouth, whispered a few short words to release the catch of the magically enhanced manacles.  He heard the Slayer gasp, but he ignored her, dropping the iron shackle to the floor – within easy reach if he so desired in the future. 

With one leg now free, he was able to massage the limb unhindered, and he set to it, starting with the bottom of her foot, kneading his two thumbs from toe to heel and back again.  Until he was supporting the weight of her leg fully, and she was biting her lip to choke off a blissful moan. 

That was ok, though.  He still had time.  And he made it his mission in life to wrangle a cry from her lips before he moved on to other, more entertaining, areas of her body.

When he was through with her, she’d be so relaxed that it would take supreme effort on her part for the Slayer to lift her arms and legs off the mattress. 

And she’d be purring… just like he promised.

Prompt #10: Candle Wax

Title: The Bet Pt. 10
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

“What are you going to do with that?” She eyed the vampire warily, but was too relaxed to do much more than quirk her brow in enquiry. 

Spike looked at the burning candle in his hand, then back at the Slayer.  An evil smile blossoming on his lips. 

“Do I need to get the chains, or can I trust you to lie still?” 

Three.  Two.  One.  And cue the panicking…  

“Uh…”  Her mouth had suddenly gone dry, and she swallowed several times to clear the lump that seemed to have formed in her throat.  

When Spike made to set the candle down on the dresser and reach for the chains, Buffy let out a vehement denial. 

“I’ll… I’ll be still.” 

Spike looked at her face, saw the fear – the slight curiosity – and how she was trying to deal with it, and reluctantly nodded.   

~*~ 

Her eyes grew wide as saucers, watching Spike slightly upend the candle so that a dollop of liquid wax leaked over the top.  And landed smack dab in the valley between her breasts. 

‘Fuck!’ she screamed silently, eyes misting at the sudden, intense pain.  She remembered one time, getting hot wax on her fingers.  How it had seemed to sear her flesh until it had finally cooled and hardened.  Much like it was doing now. 

But there was something different about this time.  It might have been the location.  The way Spike’s nostrils flared at her hissed breath.  Or even the way his cock seemed to strain even harder against his jeans. 

It made her feel… 

Hot. 

And wicked. 

And damned if she didn’t ask for more. 

~*~ 

Spike gazed down at the Slayer, covered in dried splotches of wax in various places on her body – he’d gone through a few candles – and thought that there was no way he wasn’t fucking her this time.  Hell, he was surprised he’d managed to last as long as he had.  That he hadn’t come in his pants from her shrieks and screams…her begging him for more. 

But first he needed another candle. 

The huge “S” covering her abdomen was still drying on her skin, her scream of pain ringing in his sensitive ears, when he crawled onto the mattress.  Pausing only long enough to shuck his jeans so that his throbbing cock could spring free, Spike settled between the Slayer’s thighs and rammed his way home.  He fell on top of her, hands tucked under her ass, his face buried in her neck.  Enjoying the slight pain at the still-wet wax now burning his flesh. 

Beneath him, the Slayer was screaming for an entirely different reason now.  Cries of “more,” “harder,” and his name were interspersed with her unintelligible grunts and moans as he drilled her with his cock.  His own shouts of pleasure could be heard when she scored her nails down his back taking the top several layers of skin with her, when she bit his ear hard enough that it momentarily disrupted his pounding rhythm, then laved the offended appendage with lips and tongue. 

The way she wrapped her legs around his hips, her fingers sliding beneath his jeans to grip his ass, squeezing him, digging into his flesh… coaxing him to an even faster pace, damn near drove him mad. 

And had he mentioned the grunting and the biting… like a little hellcat, she was.   

God, he loved every minute of it! 

Passion and violence – they both had it in spades.   

The bed shook with the ferocity of their lovemaking.  Not that either really noticed.  Both caught up in the maelstrom as they were.  Until it became too much and their bodies shuddered with their dual orgasms.  Their screams of completion mingling together, until they withered and died – much like the mini-death both had just experienced. 

They collapsed together, Spike still buried deep inside her, panting heavily – breath for breath matching the Slayer.  Too sated to do anything more than lay there. 

Buffy didn’t mind though.  For once, she enjoyed the feel of him on top of her.  How he covered her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, but not overly so.  Luxuriated in the weight of him settled on top of her, how his cock still seemed to throb within her pussy. 

It felt… good.   And, her last thought before dozing off was that it was something she could get used to.   

Amazing how truly honest the subconscious mind can be….

Prompt #11: Ice

Title: The Bet Pt. 11
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

The ice should have felt good against my skin.  And, it did at first when he’d trailed it along the “s” he’d emblazoned on my chest with the candle wax.  The lazy forward and back motion soothing my raw flesh. 

But he kept at it. 

And kept at it. 

Until the ice began to burn. 

Marking me anew. 

I think I whimpered his name.  I wasn’t supposed to; he’d commanded me to silence for this latest torture technique.  I think I got lucky, though.  He was so intent on his task he’d not heard me. 

Then he lifted his head. 

Prompt #12: Oil

Title: The Bet Pt. 12
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

“Roll over, Slayer.” 

Buffy blinked her eyes open, her body so relaxed she’d not realized that Spike had stopped what he’d been doing and was resting on his haunches at the foot of the bed.  If getting a full body massage – complete with the scented oil – was going to be her punishment, she’d gladly break more of the vampire’s rules.   

And here she’d been, so leery at the look he’d given her… 

She nodded dazedly and rolled over, eyes already closing in preparation of his hands resuming their mind-numbing pleasure.  Purring in contentment as his thumbs kneaded the sole of one foot before beginning the trek up her leg.  Whimpering when he bypassed her mound – the source of her frustration – once he’d reached the top of her thigh and started all over again with her other leg. 

Though, she didn’t complain too much.  His hands felt like sin against her flesh, and as long as he was touching her like this, it didn’t matter where. 

~*~ 

Spike inched up the Slayer’s body as he worked, his knees splayed on either side of her closed legs.   

He knew what she wanted.  Could smell the delicious tang permeating from between her legs, tickling his senses, causing his nostrils to flare.   

Making him hard once again.   

Spike mentally berated himself for not pulling off his jeans after shagging the Slayer. Instead, he’d pulled out of her and climbed from the bed, drawing his jeans up over his sated prick – not bothering with the buttons.  He’d just barely managed to smother a groan at the loss of being buried inside her pussy.   

Now, instead of being able to rub his throbbing erection between the globes of her ass while he soothed the aching muscles of her back, it was encased within unyielding denim.  Chaffing. 

He’d dealt with worse – both at the hands of his family and his own twisted fantasies.  A little discomfort wouldn’t hurt him. 

He wouldn’t stop what he was doing.   

Not with the Slayer all but purring in response to his touch. 

It pleased him to no end how relaxed she appeared lying face down on the top of the mattress.  Like she didn’t have a care in the world.  The faint creases normally lining the corner of her mouth and eyes absent for now. 

So, he poured more oil into his hands and continued to knead the worry out of her – until there was nothing left between them.   

Nothing to make her close in on herself, denying what could be because the weight of her responsibilities kept her from seizing what she wanted, what she needed. 

Him.

Prompt #13: Thrust

Title: The Bet Pt. 13
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

Spike wasn’t sure how long he lay there, his hand propping his head so that he could look down at the Slayer.  Minutes had turned to hours – which had come to herald the approaching night. 

He should be asleep himself.  Much like the Slayer was.  

She appeared so peaceful lying there, her head nestled on his pillow, mouth slightly ajar as she slept.  Oblivious to the vampire that couldn’t – for the unlife of him – keep his eyes off her. 

Even knowing that his time was almost up, that the Slayer would soon awaken and slip from his side, having lived up to her end of the bargain, Spike couldn’t bring himself to move.  To cover her body with his and slake his burgeoning need for her.  A need that had grown steadily throughout the night and into the early hours of the morning. 

He’d told her that she’d come to crave him as much as he craved blood.  But, blood wasn’t all he craved anymore.  Not after having the Slayer as his virtual captive. 

He’d been the one ensnared.  Drawn to the flame that was the Slayer’s body.   

A body that, even now, was waking. 

He watched as she opened her eyes, stiffening slightly at seeing him staring at her so intently.  She eyed him warily, but not overly so.   

Spike smiled, causing the Slayer to offer one of her own back, and he nearly wept with the sincerity of the action.  Feeling like he’d been given a precious gift – unworthy though he might be.   

His hand reached out to ghost over her features, fingertips tracing the contours of her lips, as if sight alone wasn’t enough to prove that she was indeed smiling at him. 

It was a magical moment.  

There was only one more thing to show her. 

Spike eased the Slayer onto her back, then his hands and lips went to work.  Worshipping her body as it was meant to be.  He took his time, committing to memory every whisper, every moan, every twitch of her body in reaction to his touch. 

When he finally parted her legs and slipped inside her, they both nearly wept at their joining.  Spike felt her legs wrap around his waist, holding him in place.  Her hands roamed over his back and shoulders, almost as if she were afraid that this wasn’t real.  That at any minute she’d wake up and be alone in her room, rather than here, experiencing this moment with him. 

He made love to her slowly, and this time, that was what it was.  Bracing himself on his elbows, he watched her face contort with pleasure at each slow thrust.  Willing her eyes to open and look at him.   

See the depths of his feelings for her.  The love he was unable to hide. 

Then she did. 

And he watched the sudden dawning on her face before her eyes fluttered closed.  Then her body seemed to vibrate beneath him.  Her back arched, thrusting her breasts against his chest, and she was coming.  A seemingly endless wave of sensation that had her bucking helplessly beneath him.  

Spike gritted his teeth as the Slayer’s inner walls rippled along his cock, not quite ready to join her.  But it felt so bloody good – his dick sliding in and out of her hot quim, slick now with her body’s release. Slayer muscles testing him to the edge of his endurance. 

But, he wasn’t quite through with her.  

He still had a bit of time left.

Prompt #14: Breast

Title: The Bet Pt. 14
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

“God!  Spike!  I lov—” 

Her scream as he’d plunged his fangs into her breast, sending her into a second, more powerful orgasm, had cut short her declaration.  He’d pounded into her then, high on the words that had stuck in her throat. 

Slumped against the wall, not having bothered to move since she’d flung him aside an hour earlier, Spike couldn’t help but hear it over and over again in his mind, relive the final moments with the Slayer, how he’d held her close in the aftermath of the coupling.  Until she’d stiffened in his arms.  He’d sat up with her, trying to get her to lie back down, just for a little while, but she’d shoved him away, and when he’d tried again, he’d gotten the right cross to his jaw. 

His eyes closed again. 

“God!  Spike!  I lov—” 

Oh, how they taunted him. 

Because he knew he’d never have her love. 

But he wouldn’t change a thing.  Not about anything he’d done over the previous twenty-four hours.  Even the tears that had streamed down her face as she’d clutched her clothes and raced up the ladder to disappear from his crypt – though they’d cut him to the quick.   

She was just on sensory overload, he rationalized.  Her friends, hell, even her watcher, had tiptoed around her, fearful of getting the girl upset.  Only trouble was… she needed it.  Needed to experience the emotions that she’d suppressed to prove to herself that she was alive – even if she didn’t want to be. 

No, he wouldn’t regret the tears.  As far as he could remember, it had been the first time she’d cried since being back.  Maybe after she’d finished, she could finally begin to live again. 

Fingering his abused jaw, grateful that the Slayer hadn’t broken it with her punch, Spike clambered reluctantly to his feet.  He’d given the girl her emotions back, now he had to see a man about getting her life back.  He was tired of seeing her working her fingers to the bones in that place that tried to pass itself off as an eating establishment.   

Aging her far quicker than her calling ever had. 

With a little ingenuity – ok, lies – he could pass off the money he was going to give her as an insurance payout of Joyce’s.  That the paperwork had gotten misfiled, oh so sorry, but we’re correcting the problem now, just sign here please.  He only wished he could be there to see the relief on her face. 

Too bad she probably never wanted to lay eyes on him again. 

Spike threw on his clothes and climbed the ladder to the upper level.  A quick look in his fridge revealed the last two outdated blood packets.  No matter, he could get more once he got to LA – no shortage of demon bars there.  Besides, the good lawyers of Wolfram & Hart would be happy to comp him a glass or two.  Managing his holding had netted them a pretty profit, especially since he never bothered to use any of the money his mother had left him.  It just hadn’t seemed right at first, he being the cause of her death.  Then, under the tutelage of Angelus… suffice to say, he no longer needed it.  They’d been more than content living off their victims over the years. 

Giving a last look around at his crypt, Spike let himself outside.  He’d just lit up and was about to strike out towards the warehouse that housed his DeSoto when he sensed another demon’s approach.  He spied Clem walking towards him and took a pull on his fag as he waited for his tone-challenged friend to near. 

“Where you off to, Spike?” Clem offered by way of greeting.  “I got a movie and some popcorn.”  He held up both items hopefully. 

“Can’t… Got business to take care of out of town.  You mind keepin’ an eye on the place ’til I get back?” 

“Sure, Spike!  No problem!  When you gonna be back?” 

“Not sure, mate.” 

Spike touched two fingers to his brow in mock-salute then ambled off, leaving Clem standing there, watching his departing back in confusion.   

Finally, the demon shrugged and let himself inside the vampire’s home.

Prompt #15: Throat

Title: The Bet Pt. 15
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Buffy makes a bet with Spike. Bring on the consequences.

Buffy stared at herself in the mirror.  She’d barely slept in the week since her “date” with Spike.  She was tired – tired of running, tired of fighting her feelings, tired of letting her friends influence her life. 

Her fingers traced the silver circle still enclosed around her throat – the only remnant of the time she’d spent with Spike.  At first, she’d done everything she could to try and pry the thing from around her neck, even going so far as to whisper the words he’d used to open the catch.  But, nothing had happened.  She’d finally settled for prying the small circle attached to the collar off, leaving just the slim silver band around her neck.  If anyone happened to notice it, it would appear as nothing more than a fancy piece of jewelry. 

Only she knew better. 

He’d changed things that night.  Their final dance had been an eye opener for the Slayer.  Both by what he’d done and what she’d remembered. 

Images had crystallized in her mind when he’d bitten down on her breast, drawing her blood into his mouth, sucking at her much like a babe would have.  She remembered him weeping brokenly in the shadows, unable to look at her crumpled body.  How she’d tried to lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder, telling him that it would be alright, only to have it pass straight through his body.  Remembered, too, his caring for her sister, when all her friends began to shy away from the house on 1630 Revello Drive, finally moving into the basement when it appeared no one else was going to look after her. 

It was the peace she felt at knowing Dawn was being cared for that she’d been trying to reclaim.  Her failed attempts at making any kind of go with her life, the reason for her death wish. 

And there had been Spike, ready to give it to her. 

When he’d hit her, then showed no signs of having one of his crippling headaches, she’d finally felt free.  Free of the worry.  Free of the pain. 

He’d given her what she needed – after all, he always looked after his “girls.” 

In the end, he had. 

The doorbell ringing jarred her from her thoughts.  For a moment, Buffy thought to call out to her sister to answer the door.  Then she remembered.  Dawn was out with her friend for a few hours. 

That was another thing Spike had given her.  He’d given back her sister.  Buffy remembered stealing into the house that night, tears still streaming down her face.  She’d wanted only to sneak up into her room, but had been confronted by an enraged sister.  The rage had disappeared in the face of Buffy’s tears, and the Slayer could only follow docilely as she’d been led into the living room by Dawnie. 

They’d stayed there, huddled on the couch for the remainder of the night, sometimes talking, sometimes not.  Until they’d drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms. 

They talked all the time now.  No more stewing.  No more lies.  No more shutting the other out.   

It was slow going, but both were determined to make it work.   

Buffy stood and slowly made her way downstairs; she wasn’t in any rush.  No one she knew could be at the door.  Especially given that it was still daylight outside. 

After waking on the couch after her heart-to-heart with Dawnie, she’d shooed her sister upstairs and back to sleep.  She’d called Giles then, telling him to rally the gang at the Magic Box, that she wanted to talk to all of them – but only wanted to say it once. 

She was taking a break from her friends.  And wasn’t that an oxymoron if she ever heard one?  But, she needed to make things right with her sister before she could deal with what they had done.  They’d stuttered and stammered, but she’d held up her hand, firm.  Her growled, “shut up!” finally rendering them to silence. 

The afternoon she’d spent walking before the designated meeting time, Buffy had done a lot of thinking.  She’d had to face a lot of hard truths.   

The most important – that when she’d needed them the most, they’d not been there for her.   

Buffy was tired of living only to please them.  It was time for her to make her own decisions, good or bad.  If they were truly her friends, they would support her regardless.  And if not… well, they were never her friends to begin with.   

“I’m sorry if you don’t like it… but that’s just the way that it has to be,” she’d told them.  Then she’d walked out of the shop, uncaring of their astonished looks. 

The phone had rung off the hook that first day and she’d resolutely ignored it.  She didn’t have caller ID, but Buffy could bet that it was one of her friends, trying to make her “see reason.”  After the first day, the number had dwindled.  By the third, they’d stopped altogether. 

Buffy opened the door, scowl firmly in place to warn off whoever happened to be lurking on the other side.  Her eyes widened upon spying the well-dressed man standing on her front step. 

“Miss Summers?” he asked. 

“Uh, yes…” 

“Miss Summers, my name is Lindsey MacDonald.  I’m an attorney.”  Lindsey extracted one of his business cards that bore a fake practice name.  “I work for Wilson and Smith, an insurance company based out of Los Angeles…” 

“Attorney?” 

“Yes.  It’s about your mother.  Would you mind?” he gestured his hand towards the foyer. 

“Uh… sure.” 

Buffy stepped back and indicated the living room, watching as the man sailed into the room and made himself comfortable on the couch, setting his briefcase on the wooden coffee table.  She closed the front door, leaning heavily against it for a moment.  Finally, she took a deep breath and walked into her living room. 

She walked around the front of the coffee table and sat in the chair next to it. 

“Miss Summers, let me start by saying how sorry I am regarding the loss of your mother,” Lindsey began.  At her slight nod, he continued.  “Also, Wilson and Smith is a reputable law firm… we’ve been in business for over fifty years, as a matter of fact.  Which is why, this is so embarrassing….” 

“Embarrassing?” 

“See, the thing is… your mother took out a policy with our company.  But, through some filing error on our part, it was never submitted to the correct department for payment.  I assure you, this has never happened before… which was why I was called in to handle everything.” 

Lindsey snapped open his briefcase and pulled out a packet of legal-looking documents.  On the top were two checks.  He pulled the paperclip off and rifled through the sheets. 

“Here… this is the policy.  Your mother’s signature is at the bottom.”  He held it out to the girl and waited for her to take it.  “May I be frank, Miss Summers?” 

“Buffy,” she corrected automatically, staring down at the legal gibberish in her hand; the only thing that made sense was her mother’s signature at the bottom of the sheet.   

“Buffy… your mother… she was a smart woman.  As a single parent, she wanted to make sure that in the event of her death, you were looked after.  Your father—” 

“Was an asshole,” she answered. 

Lindsey found his first smile.   

“Yes,” he replied.  “She knew that if something were to happen to her, that you and your sister would be all alone.  Buffy… that piece of paper lays out the specifics of your mother’s policy.” 

“I don’t understand… I thought my mom…” she began. 

“It’s entirely our fault.  As I said, it was an error on our part.”  Lindsey reached down and grabbed the two checks off the top of his stack.  He handed the top one to Buffy.  “This is payment for your mother’s policy.” 

Buffy reached for the check, and gasped at the amount. 

“Half a million dollars?” she whispered, her eyes lifting to pin the lawyer in place. 

“As I said…your mother… she wanted to look out for you girls.” 

Buffy couldn’t help it, tears clouded her vision. 

“I have another check… it’s… well, in not so lawyerly terms, it’s hush money.  An apology of sorts from our firm to you.”  He handed her the second check. 

“A hundred thousand dollars?” 

“You’d have to sign a paper, though.  Acknowledging your denial to seek recompense with our company.  Not that I’m admitting to any wrongdoing,” he hastened to add. 

“Ok…” Buffy agreed distractedly, mind already spinning with the things she could do with the money.  Pay off the house.  Dawn’s college fund.  Quitting her job, maybe going back to school. 

Lindsey reached for his stack of papers and pulled out his pen. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Buffy burst into Spike’s crypt, wincing as the door crashed against the wall.  She was so happy and felt like celebrating.   

She didn’t even question her need to share her good fortune with the vampire.  Nor did Buffy miss the sly looks Dawn had given her when she told her sister that she had to talk with him. 

“It’s…” she’d begun, but Dawn had silenced her protests.

“Go!  Just don’t stay out all night,” Dawn had replied.  “I’m going to sit here and finish off this pizza.  Then nurse my bellyache while watching TV.” 

Her eyes scanned frantically around the room, even knowing that he wasn’t here – the tinglies she felt in his presence decidedly absent.   

“Oh!  Hey, Buffy!” Clem greeting. 

“Clem?” 

“Yep.” 

“Where’s Spike?” 

“Out of town.  Said he had to take care of a few things.” 

“So, he’ll be back then,” she asked in a small voice. 

“Said he’d be.  I’m just looking after his place until he gets back.” 

“Oh… ok then.” 

She was almost to the door when Clem called out. 

“You want me to tell him you stopped by?” 

“Yeah… that’d be great.  And, Clem?” 

The wrinkly demon looked away from the TV. 

“Can you tell him to come by… my place?  He knows where it is.” 

“Sure thing, Slayer.” 

He waved, and Buffy silently let herself out of Spike’s crypt, softly closing the door behind her. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Two months  later… 

“How did you know I was back?”  His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but the Slayer still heard. 

Buffy stepped up beside him to look down at the marker.  Her mother’s name was etched into the stone, along with the dates that proclaimed to all her birth and death.   

She pointed to the fresh flowers, answering his questions. 

“I think I used to watch you…”  She caught his questioning look out of the corner of her eye.  “When I was… when I was in heaven… I used to watch you… putting flowers on her grave.” 

“I… she was always decent to me.  T’was the least I could do…” 

“I appreciate it… I think she did too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.  She liked you, you know.  She was… she could always see the good in people.” 

“A true lady,” Spike echoed softly. 

“I was going to patrol.  Would you like to come with?” 

Spike couldn’t help but stare at the Slayer.  It was still chilly at night, and she was wearing a turtleneck sweater and leather coat to protect against the chill. 

“Sure…” he managed to stammer out, then covered his git-like attitude by reaching for his cigarettes. 

They wandered out of the first cemetery and into the second, neither saying a word. 

“Awfully quiet tonight,” Spike commented some time later. 

“If you weren’t standing here next to me, I would have thought you’d had something to do with it.” 

Spike played dumb.  In the month that he’d been back in Sunnydale, he’d steered clear of the Slayer.  Avoiding the places she frequented for his spot of rough and tumble.  Clearing out of his crypt through the underground exit when he sensed her approaching.   

If she couldn’t find him, she couldn’t stake him was his rationale. 

That, and he wasn’t sure if word had reached her yet that he’d gotten the chip out.  Demons were worse gossips than humans could ever think of being. 

Oh, he still bagged it; he wasn’t going to give the Slayer an excuse to stake him – not that the lack of his chip wasn’t reason enough.  But, Spike didn’t confine his “White Hat” status to just the demon variety.  He thought nothing of giving a deserving human a glimpse of the Big Bad, frighten them enough to see the error of their ways – or get the hell out of Sunnydale. 

“Look… doesn’t appear to be anything going on tonight… would you… would you like to come over?  Say, watch a movie or something?” 

Spike nearly stumbled over his Docs. 

“Come over?” he managed to choke out. 

“Yeah.” 

“What about your mates?  I’m sure—” 

“I’m taking a break from them.” 

“Come again?”  He stopped, drawing the Slayer to a halt next to him. 

“I said, I’m taking a break from them.” 

“A break?” 

“Yes… as in, I’ve not yet decided if I can forgive them for what they’ve done.” 

“They were only tryin’ to help, pet?  They couldn’t know—” 

“About heaven.  Yeah, I know.  But, that’s not what I’m talking about.  I saw, remember?” 

Spike’s brows drew together, indicating his confusion. 

“Only… I didn’t remember, until…” 

“Until?” 

“Until you bit me,” she replied.  “I—” 

“I’m sorry about that, Slayer…” he interrupted, remorse evident in his gaze. 

“I’m not.” 

“Say again?”  Surely she hadn’t… 

“I said I’m not.  It was… special.  It felt… I can’t describe how it felt.  But, I don’t regret it.  Any of it,” she told him truthfully.  “Spike… you…you brought me back.  All the way back.” 

She reached up and softly caressed his cheek. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to come back… so I can thank you.” 

Buffy kissed him then.  Right there on the side of the street, where any of her friends could drive by and see her.  Just wound her arms around his neck and stood on tip toes to plant her lips on his. 

Spike could have been staked in the heart and wouldn’t have felt it.  He stood there, eyes wide open, gazing down at the Slayer in amazement – for all of five seconds.  Then his arms tightened about her, hauling her up against his body, ravaging her mouth like a man dying of thirst, and she, the means of quenching it. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“I’ll be right back,” she told him after closing the front door.  “There’s beer and blood in the fridge.  Make yourself at home.” 

Buffy hurried upstairs to her bedroom – her mother’s old room – pulling off her coat and tossing it onto a chair.  Both she and Dawn had redecorated the house not long after receiving the insurance money.  It had been a time of bonding for the two sisters, boxing up old things to make way for new stuff.  A fresh start for both, thanks to their mother.   

She pulled off her jeans and sweater and slipped on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, wanting to be comfortable.   

~*~ 

Spike looked around and was pleased with the changes Buffy had made to the place.  Personally, he felt that something should have been done awhile ago to help cheer up the homestead.  As much as he’d cared for Joyce, the house had been like a shrine to the elder Summers woman.   

He heard Buffy moving about upstairs and wandered into the kitchen.  He opened the fridge, and sure enough, beer and blood were there on the top shelf.  For an insane moment, Spike wondered if the blood had been bought for his grandsire, but quickly dispelled the notion.  He would have known if the git was in town. 

Spike poured himself a mug of blood and heated it in the microwave.  At the first taste of human blood on his tongue, he stiffened in shock, but shrugged and finished it off – making sure to rinse out his cup when he finished.  Joyce hadn’t liked the blood rings; he was betting her daughter was the same way.  That chore seen too, Spike snagged a bottle of beer, twisting off the top and depositing it in the trash can, then made his way into the living room. 

The beige couch, as well as the rest of the room’s furnishings, was gone. The walls had been painted – red, surprisingly.   Hell, the whole room was awash in color, right down to the area rug.  The room looked like it could be in one of those magazines Joyce was always harping on about.   

He shrugged out of his duster and set it on one of the chairs, then made himself comfortable on the couch.  Setting his beer on a coaster, he reached for the remote and turned on the television, fumbling with the volume when he was almost blasted out of his seat. 

Bloody hell!  Was the Slayer deaf of a sudden? 

Spike was still flicking through the channels when he heard the Slayer walk down the stairs.  When she sat down next to him and laid her head in the crook of his arm, he swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“Anything good on?” she asked.  “If not, I’ve got some movies in the cabinet.” 

“Haven’t really looked yet… something you want to see?” 

“Not really.  Just having you here is fine with me.” 

Ok, that couldn’t go without comment. 

Spike set the remote aside and tried to twist on the couch to face the Slayer. 

“Buffy… what…?” 

Buffy looked up at Spike and couldn’t help but smile at his confused expression. 

“I’m sorry… It’s this thing me and Dawn have… we try to say what we mean, no matter what.  I’m… I’m not saying I want to jump your body… well, that would be a lie, but… this here is good too…” 

“Buffy.”   

If anything, Spike’s voice had grown even more hoarse.  His hand lifted to brush the Slayer’s hair back behind her shoulder.  Frowning when his fingers revealed the silver collar he’d put on her nearly two months ago. 

“I tried like hell to get it off that first day… nothing would work,” she told him. 

Spike opened his mouth to release the clasp, but the Slayer’s fingers were suddenly there, shushing him. 

“No…” 

“But, Slayer…” 

“Don’t.”  She shushed him again, then couldn’t help trailing her hand along his cheek.  “It’s alright… I… I’ve come to like belonging to you.  Though… I made a tiny adjustment.”   

Buffy pulled the neck of her sweatshirt down, revealing the absence of the tiny ring that used to be on it.  “I knew… as long as I had it… you’d have to come back to me.  And I was right.” 

“Buffy…”   

Her name was a whispered prayer on his lips, and he could no longer hold himself back.  He kissed her with all the pent up feelings of love he’d been dying to express, claiming her lips with his own.  Gently, his mouth never leaving hers, he lowered them down onto the couch, his body coming to lie on top of hers.   

Her scent was intoxicating.  The feel of her… like coming home. 

Spike finally tore his mouth from hers, gasping for a breath he didn’t need to take.  His lips trailed along her jaw, whispering words of love and devotion against her skin.  Her head was thrown back, the veins in her neck standing on end, and Spike trailed his tongue along the line they made, feeling the vibration against his questing appendage.  Hearing the rapid beat in his sensitive ears. 

And then he remembered. 

His chip… or lack thereof. 

He managed to pull away slightly and lean up on his hands to look down at her.  Nearly saying bugger all when she pouted and made to pull him back down on her. 

“Buffy…I… there’s something I’ve got to tell you…” 

The Slayer opened her eyes at his serious tone. 

“About your chip?” she probed. 

“How did you—” 

“Same reason I knew about the flowers.  And the humans you’ve teased,” she told him.  “Sunnydale is my town, Spike.  Not much goes on in it that I don’t eventually find out about.”

“And, you’re ok with it?  The chip… and the other?” 

“I trust you, Spike.  I love you.” 

“What about your friends?  Your watcher?  The ‘Bit?” 

“As I’m sure you know, Willow and Tara are in England with Giles.” 

“Red’s got a problem with the mojo.” 

“Yes.  Giles recommended taking her to a coven there.” 

Spike sensed her need to talk, so sat up and drew the Slayer onto his lap. 

“It was bad Spike.  Willow… she couldn’t see what she’d done.  I told her I didn’t want to see her, but she barged her way in here… Dawnie got hurt.”  She felt Spike stiffen beneath her and rushed to reassure him.  “She’s ok.  Sprained her wrist.  But, Tara… she had to restrain her with magic.  She and Giles together had to physically force her to get on the plane.  She’s doing better though.  I got a letter from Tara the other day.  I think England seems to agree with Willow.” 

“Better bloody well hope she stays there,” Spike grumbled under his breath. 

“Maybe they will.  I… I just don’t think I could ever trust her again after that.  I mean, pulling me out of heaven is one thing… but nobody hurts Dawnie.  She—” 

“Shhh,” Spike soothed.  “It’s over now.” 

Buffy nodded against his chest. 

“Anya and Xander broke up, though I’m really not surprised.  As much as Xander was my friend, she deserves better.  Anyway… he’s left.  Up in Seattle from what Tara tells me.  Anya still manages the shop, though I think Giles is going to sell her his half.  We still get together.” 

“She’s an alright bird.” 

“Yeah… and me all with the honesty now… I can appreciate her candor.  She’s funny.  Anyway… that’s about it… except for Dawnie.  And, you know how she feels.  Moon rises and sets with you.” 

Spike snorted. 

Then he grew serious. 

“You really are ok… about the chip being out?” 

Buffy sat up and looked at him. 

“Yes.  I told you… I trust you.” 

“And the humans too?” 

“You don’t hurt them, do you?”  At his negative shake, she continued.  “I didn’t think so.” 

“Just flash a li’l fang, is all.  It’s just… demons ain’t the only thing that go bump in the night, love.” 

“I know.  Now… are we done here?  We were right in the middle of some very good kissage.” 

“Mmmm… believe you’re right, pet.” 

He stood and drew the Slayer to her feet as well.  Startling a shriek of laughter out of her when he threw her over his shoulder. 

“The ‘Bit?” he asked. 

“Staying over at Stephanie’s house.” 

Spike was racing up the stairs the next second. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“When,” he asked sometime later, the Slayer tucked against his side. 

Buffy didn’t pretend to misunderstand. 

“I’m not sure, really.  But, I knew my feelings for you were changing when you took that beating from Glory.” 

“Wouldn’t give up the ‘Bit, love.  Woulda dusted first.” 

“I know… though, major points lost for the robot.” 

“Yeah… about that…” 

“It’s in the past… let it go.  I have.” 

Spike kissed her forehead, saying nothing.  The Bot hadn’t been his shining moment, that’s for sure.  But, if the Slayer had put it behind her, so could he. 

“Anyway… then you managed to put your own pain aside to help me get Dawnie out of Sunnydale.  I never thanked you for that, did I?” 

“Didn’t need to, luv.  Nothin’ I wouldn’t do to keep you and the Niblet safe.” 

“Well, you just kept surprising me.  And then that night…” 

He knew what night she meant.  The night she’d invited him back in. 

“I could feel myself falling, and I was… I was still trying to live up to my friend’s expectations.  I’d just hoped you’d understand… with the invitation and all… And then you said those words, and I could feel myself caving…” 

“It’s alright, luv.” 

“Then I came back… and it was like those memories were gone.  And I just wanted to go back to heaven so I could remember…” 

Spike was running his hand along her back, trying to soothe her, knowing she needed to get it off her chest.  He remembered the death wish she’d had in her eyes.   

Thank god it was nowhere in sight now. 

“I wanted you to kill me that night.” 

“I know, pet.  Couldn’t do it though.” 

“Then you showed me, and I started to feel.  When you bit me, it all came back… all of it.  I got scared, so I ran.  I couldn’t love another vampire.  But, it was too late.  I already did.  I went to your crypt… a week later.  Clem was there.  He said you’d gone.” 

“Had some things to see to.” 

“The chip?” 

“Yeah.  Couldn’t hurt you, even when I was able to… figured I didn’t need it anymore.” 

“You don’t.” 

Spike still couldn’t believe the Slayer’s easy acceptance of his lack of having the chip.  He was waiting to wake up any moment, still lying on the floor where she’d flung him aside before racing from his crypt. 

His arms tightened about her and he murmured into her hair.  “Never do anything to make you regret it, luv.” 

“I know… now kiss me.” 

“Whatever you say, pet.” 

He rolled the Slayer onto her back and settled himself between her legs.  Spike watched as she leaned up eager for his kiss, but he just smirked and shook his head.  She pouted then, and Spike was half tempted to reach up and pull her lower lip into his mouth.  But, the scent of her arousal convinced him otherwise. 

His tongue lapped at the moist curls covering her sex, grinning at the Slayer’s moans… and the way she gripped his hair to hold him in place. 

Like he wanted to be anyplace else but right where he was.  His tongue danced over her outer folds, teased her clit, then plunged into her velvety heat. Surprising a gasp from the Slayer.  His hands soon replaced his tongue, three fingers delving deep, brushing repeatedly over her sweet spot. 

She moaned and begged and ground herself against him, and Spike basked in the knowledge that he could do this to her.  His mouth latched onto her clit.  Blunt teeth nibbled at the swollen button until she screamed his name.  Her inner walls squeezed against his fingers, until he could take the delicious torture no longer. 

He removed his fingers and prowled up her body.  His hands grasped her slim waist and hauled her up onto his lap, splaying her legs wide.  Fucking beautiful, he thought, nudging the head of his cock against her opening.  He slid home and a tortured moan fell from his lips.  Her body yielded to his thick shaft; liquid heat burning him so enticingly, leaking out onto his balls, mingling with the coarse hairs surrounding his prick. 

Heaven and hell, she was. 

And he wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Spike wrapped his arms around the Slayer’s back and drew her all the way up onto his lap, her nipples searing his flesh where they ground into his chest.  His mouth found hers – open and waiting for his tongue.  And he took all that she offered and gave all of himself back. 

His hips barely moved, content to just rest inside her heated channel.  His hands cupped her jaw while he rained kisses upon her face. 

“Love you, Buffy,” he murmured over and over again.  Kissing away the joyful tears that fell unheeded onto her cheeks.  

“Love you…love you too, Spike,” she whispered back. 

His own eyes misted at her fervent declaration, but he didn’t care.  Just allowed her neck to catch the tears as they finally fell. 

“Please, Spike,” she eventually whispered, and Spike gave her what she wanted.  What they both wanted. 

But he took his time. 

Because in the end, it was all about the journey.

Prompt #34: Foreplay

Title: Consummation
Summary: A smutty rewrite of The Girl In Question.

The Italian club was packed with humans, some of them writhing and sweating on the dance floor, others drinking and chatting amicably, trying to be heard above the noise.  Arousal and alcohol perfumed the air, along with copious amounts of tobacco smoke – and other kinds as well – but the vampires paid no attention to it.   

Instead the pair wended their way through the crowds and towards one of the bars. 

“Dancing… why did it have to be dancing?” Angel muttered, but Spike ignored him.  He didn’t have time to explain the benefits of a room full of sexually charged adults and the high that could be had capitalizing on such a situation; his grandsire had borne his soul so long the details would be lost in the translation. 

Spike sidled up to the bar and struck up a conversation with one of the bartenders. 

“You speak English, luv?” 

“Si… si!” she nodded.  “I love the English.” 

“We’ll get along fine, then.” 

“We’re looking for a girl,” Angel interrupted, stifling any attempt at flirting.  “American.  Blonde hair.  Blue eyes…” 

“Blue eyes!?”  Spike turned towards Angel, his look incredulous.  “Shows what you know, you wanker.  Supposed love of your unlife and yet you can’t even remember the color of her eyes.”  He looked back at the bartender.  “He got the blonde part right, pet, but her eyes are more of a hazel.  And if she’s really happy… they look almost green.” 

The bartender didn’t say anything to the blond’s correction of his companion’s description.  Or the underlying tension between the two.   

Ignoring the dual growls audible even over the pounding base blaring from the speaker systems, she gestured to the crowd. “Many blonde American coeducationals.  Spring break…the girls, they go wild…” 

“No… no… Buffy’s… she’s a friend of ours,” Angel cut in. 

“Apparently, she’s been hanging around this Immortal git,” Spike added. 

“Ah… si.  Si!  The Immortal’s new ragazza.   They come in a little while ago.” 

Both Spike and Angel turned when the bartender pointed towards the dance floor. 

“Right!  Hold down the fort, mate.  I’ll be right back,” Spike growled.   

He blended into the crowd before Angel could stop him.   

Fisting one hand through the handles of the bowling ball case, Angel signaled to the female bartender for a shot of whiskey.  He downed it in one and motioned for another, two fingers raised to make it a double.  Again it went the way of the first.  When he felt the burn of the alcohol all the way to his toes, Angel felt it was safe enough for his sanity to turn and watch the scene unfold. 

~*~ 

Spike waded through the throng of people gyrating on the dance floor, ignoring hands, both male and female alike, that ran along his leather duster, trying to lure him to their side.  His eyes were locked on the blonde twitching her ass to the beat.   

And what a nice ass it was, too.   He thought the dress that covered it should have been outlawed. 

He moved in behind her, at first doing nothing more than copying her movements; a few inches separated them as she swayed back and forth in time to the beat.  One hand finally settled on her waist, and he felt her stiffen momentarily.  Then she melted against his chest, and Spike wrapped his arm around her middle, grinding his erection into the Slayer’s ass – smirking at the look that manifested itself on the Immortal’s face. 

“Miss me, pet?” he murmured against her ear, eyes never leaving the other male. 

Buffy wrapped her arms around the back of Spike’s neck and ground herself against his crotch. 

“’Bout time you finally showed up,” she whispered back. 

Spike thought he did will at hiding his what-the-fuck? face.  Finally showed up? 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed at the fierce look on her “date’s” face; when he made to separate her from the vampire her foot shot up and planted itself on his chest. 

“Cara mia…” he whined petulantly. 

“Don’t you ‘my dear’ me,” she hissed.  “You think I didn’t know who you are?  And what you were trying to do?  Please… Like I would ever!” 

Her words were shocking the hell out of Spike, but he allowed none of it to show, just continued to smirk at the git doing everything to get back in the Slayer’s good graces. 

“You heard the Slayer… bugger off.” 

The Immortal ignored the vampire.  Seeing red at the loss of his chance to add the illustrious Slayer’s notch to his proverbial bedpost, he made to interfere again. 

But Buffy was ready for him.  Her stiletto heel moved from his chest to his crotch. 

“You may be immortal, but I bet a sharp, pointy heel in the groin will leave its mark.” 

Her tone was conversational; there was a smile on her face.  The move she’d made appeared like foreplay to the crowd around her – only the Immortal knew the promise in her eyes at her strategically placed foot. 

His eyes bored into hers, promising retribution against the pair.  Then he backed away and stormed off.  

Spike waited until the Immortal was out of sight before he swung the Slayer around and pulled her up against his body.  His mouth was on hers the next instant, his tongue delving into her eager mouth, reacquainting himself with the taste of her. 

The music continued to pulse around them, but neither noticed nor cared.  Their attention was solely on each other.  Hands and lips roving… clutching, unwilling to let the other go.   

Until the need for oxygen overcame Buffy, and she tore her mouth away, gulping in huge quantities of air. 

“Let’s get out of here.”  Her voice was low, husky…tinged with arousal. 

Spike grasped her hand and practically raced towards a side exit, forgetting completely the vampire he’d left back at the bar.   

A vampire who watched the two blondes’ departure with a sense of finality. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

The side door slammed shut, muffling the music from the club, as well as the overwhelming scent of sweat and arousal pouring off its patrons.  There was only one person whose delicious perfume he wanted to smell. 

It hit him at once, overpowering the stench of stale food, urine, and excrement prevalent in the darkened alley.  

He found himself thrown up against the wall the next instant, the Slayer’s body practically draped over him.  Her mouth seeking his. 

Spike’s hands gripped her ass, grinding her cleft against his rock-hard shaft.  His nostrils flared as another whiff of her musky scent wafted upward between them.  His mouth swallowed her groan of pleasure. 

Cool, nimble fingers wormed their way between their bodies and slid beneath the hem of her painted-on dress to tease her slit through the scrap of lace attempting to pass itself off as her underwear.   

Another moan… and this time her head fell back, exposing her neck to his heated gaze.   

Her body arched into his hand, grinding the sodden silk against his palm.  A quick tug and it fell away, and Spike shoved the tiny scrap of material in the pocket of his duster and had two fingers buried in her tight passage – transforming her groan of loss into a moan of pure pleasure. 

“Please, Spike,” she begged softly, bucking against his hand, trying to drive his fingers deeper inside her slick passage.  Knowing that they could reach that special place inside and bring her to a quick orgasm. 

Her softly whispered plea seemed to penetrate his lust-filled haze.  He stared down at her flushed face, how she continued to fuck herself against his hand. 

Sanity returned and Spike remembered where he was.  Where they were. 

He didn’t want their first time back together to be in some darkened alley.   

No, he wanted the dream. 

A nice bed…pillows and soft sheets.  Maybe a little bubbly. 

He wanted to do right by his girl, not take her like some whore against the wall.  Though, he had no objection to doing that once locked away from prying eyes. 

It took everything he had in him to free his fingers from her slick sheath.  Made more so by her petulant whine, and the way her eyes opened and stared up at him with such burning need. 

“Wanna do right by you,” Spike murmured, drawing her up against his chest.  He held her loosely with one hand, using the other to brush her sweat-dampened hair back from her face.  “Don’t want to take you in some alley.  You deserve a nice bed…” 

She opened her mouth to object.  To tell him that she didn’t care.  That she couldn’t wait. 

But a finger to her lips waylaid her protestations.  

“Let me do this for you, luv.” 

Buffy stood there for the longest time, staring up into blue eyes unlike any she’d ever seen before.  Gazing down upon her with all the love he felt.  Pleading for her to let him have his way. 

Finally, she nodded – her body still radiating tension.  Poised as it had been, on the brink of her first (of what was sure to be many) orgasm of the night. 

She was swept up in his arms and held close to his chest.  Buffy laid her head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and tobacco that she’d thought never again to be privy to. 

As he walked out of the alley and began striding down the city’s cobbled street, a feeling of rightness overcame her. 

They’d come full circle, she and her vampire.   

Even if it had taken a bit of deception on her part to get him here. 

But, then… she would have been waiting forever for the damn noble vampire to do the right thing and come back to her.  It was a good thing she wasn’t quite so noble anymore, though her first impulse on finding out – inadvertently – from Andrew that Spike was alive was to book a flight to Los Angeles and lay into him for not coming before now. 

It had only been the boy’s confession about what had transpired in the warehouse that held her back.  Not that she hadn’t wanted to rush to his side and help baby him to recovery. 

But, Andrew had spoken of Spike’s place within Angel’s gang.  How they treated him much better than her friends ever had. 

And she wanted him to have that.  A sense of belonging.  Of comradery between friends. 

Her ruse with the Immortal had been her childishness getting the better of her.  Though, why Spike would think she would ever get with someone of such questionable morals, she would never understand.  It was something she’d have to ask him… much, much later. 

After two days in the man’s company, she’d been ready to throw in the towel.  She wasn’t that much of a martyr to put up with his annoying habit of talking about himself… or his barely veiled attempts to lure her into bed.  Then she’d gotten the call from Andrew. 

Angel and Spike were on their way. 

She’d said yes to the Immortal’s plans for dancing that night and settled on the cover story that Andrew would give the two vampires. 

Then she just had to wait for her man to show up and become all possessive guy. 

It hadn’t taken long.  Even with the bass resounding in her ears, she knew the second Spike walked into the club.  The tingling sensation had been faint at first, growing steadily more pronounced when he finally decided to intervene. 

By the time he’d gained her side and stood swaying in time to the music with her, Buffy’s body had been on sensory overload.  When his hand had settled lightly on her hip, she’d gone weak with relief.  Relaxing against his slightly larger frame.  Trusting that he’d keep her upright. 

Buffy spoke up when she saw the direction he was taking. 

“Turn here… my place is closer.” 

“What about Niblet and the other… Andrew?” 

“Dawnie’s out with her girlfriends.  She’ll be home tomorrow.  Andrew…”  Buffy winced, hesitating to tell him the truth.  Even without looking, she knew he was staring down at her. 

“Pet?” 

“Andrew doesn’t live there,” she rushed out.  There!  She’d said it.  Now maybe he wouldn’t dig into the whys. 

“But he said...” 

She felt him stop and could practically hear the wheels turning inside his head. 

“What I told him to,” she finished finally.  “Spike… I—” 

“I knew that wanker was lying,” Spike grumbled.  He didn’t specify what he believed Andrew had lied about, however.  Hopefully, it had been everything.  Well, at least everything to do with Buffy and the Immortal being together. 

He started walking in the direction the Slayer had indicated.   

“Peaches fell for it though,” he added as an afterthought to cover for himself. 

“Oh, and that wasn’t you being all ‘grrr’ back there either, then?” 

She gave him a smug look at the possessive gleam in his eye and the way his arms tightened almost imperceptibly around her. 

“It was the bloody Immortal.  What did you expect, Slayer?” 

“Trust me, Spike… I know all about him.  Hands as slippery as an eel’s… which I easily evaded,” she rushed to add, when Spike stopped abruptly – ready to turn around and head back to the club to go a round or two in a vain attempt at preserving her honor. 

Spike stomped off again, and she could feel the anger radiating along his frame.  But, he was still headed towards her apartment – which she counted as a plus. 

Buffy lifted her hand to trail along his jaw. 

“You’ve nothing to be jealous about,” she told him softly. 

Spike grunted not bothering to look at her, eyes facing straight ahead and watching the road in front of him. 

“It’s you I love, Spike.” 

They were already making a scene with him walking down the crowded street carrying her in his arms, but when she suddenly found herself pressed up against one of the shop windows and her lips nearly devoured by the vampire, they became center stage; the crowd could do nothing but stare at the two going at each other so passionately. 

Some made encouraging catcalls. 

There were a few sighs from some of the women. 

Buffy didn’t care.  Her fingers sought purchase on Spike’s shoulders and hung on for dear life.  When he finally deigned to raise his head, she buried her face against his chest and panted heavily.  She thought it was a wonder she could even stand. 

“Let’s go, pet.  Or I’m gonna say sod it all and take you right here and care less who watches.” 

She nodded against his jacket and Spike gripped her hand and dashed down the street amidst more catcalls and cheers.   

Buffy tried to keep up, but it was rather difficult to run in heels.  Hell, it was difficult to walk in the damn things.  She stumbled and would have fallen to the ground, but Spike was there, easily sweeping her up into his arms. 

She laughed, her arms flung wide as he hurried towards her apartment. 

They had a lot of time to make up for…and there was no time like the present to get started.

Prompt #18: Strained

Title: Consummation, pt. 2
Summary: A smutty rewrite of The Girl In Question.

The wooden door strained against the two leaning heavily against it. 

Buffy jabbed furiously with the key, trying to stick it in the hole and escape inside her apartment, but Spike was pressed up against her back… slowly inching the bottom of her dress up over her ass.  Her bare ass. 

His fingers teased her slit and the key ring slid from her own shaky ones and fell to the door.  Unthinking, she bent down to retrieve them and caused his knuckles to bump against her clit. 

She stifled a moan… barely.   

Buffy pushed back against his hand, and felt a finger slip inside her pussy. 

Her keys lay forgotten on the carpet beneath her feet as she fucked herself on his cool digit, thankful for the duster that shielded her from anyone’s prying eyes. 

“Spread your legs a bit, luv,” he growled next to her ear, then nibbled on the lobe. 

The Slayer scrambled to do as he asked, waiting for another finger to slip inside her pussy and take her over the edge. 

Only it was something much larger she felt pushing its way into her opening.  She bit her lip, her eyes fluttered closed. 

And she waited. 

Waited for that moment that he slid inside.  

“Spike,” she whimpered. 

Her inner muscles stretched to accommodate his girth until he was in as far as their upright position would allow.  Still it was enough; her nerve endings were still tingling from that heated kiss a few blocks from her home, and the heavier petting they’d engaged in outside the club. 

He pumped his cock into her slowly, barely unsettling the duster wrapped protectively around them.  Buffy’s vision was blurring; her hands grasped at the door in front of her, his arms – anywhere that might provide her some type of support.  She felt one of his hands leave her waist and delve into her curls, seeking out her hidden nubbin that throbbed with need. 

A sharp twist and she saw stars.  She felt her inner walls clench around his cock.  Knew without turning around the look of satisfaction on his face, before it would soften, transforming to one of rapture in the instant he joined her. 

“Come with me,” she coaxed softly. 

He thrust into her one last time and held her still while his cock twitched with his release. 

“Buffy…” 

Buffy wasn’t sure how long they stood there in the aftermath, him still buried inside her, right outside her front door.  As far as she was concerned, they could have stayed like that forever. 

It was Spike that finally came to his senses, sliding free from her wet sheath.  Tucking himself back into his pants and settling her dress back around her legs before bending down to retrieve her keys. 

He made short work of getting them settled inside the Slayer’s home, sliding the lock home and tossing the keys onto the table by the door. 

“Shower?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 

At her nod, he leered and swooped her up into his arms, striding quickly in the direction of the bathroom.

Prompt #62: Wet

Title: Consummation, pt. 3
Summary: A smutty rewrite of The Girl In Question.

Water rained down on top of their heads from the shower head, but neither of the two occupants noticed. 

Buffy’s legs were wrapped around Spike’s waist holding him deep inside her, preventing him from moving just yet; though the feel his cock, and how it seemed to pulse with life inside her, had her very close to relenting. The cool tile of the shower wall was a sharp contrast to the warm water cascading over her heated skin, and her nipples already hardened by desire, tightened even more.   

His mouth closed around one taut peak, and Buffy’s back arched away from the wall as she thrust her chest forward, silently begging him to take more. Her fingers gripped his hair, holding him against her as he sucked and licked, and generally did everything in his power to drive her right over the edge. 

The Slayer was squirming against the wall, and Spike doubted that she was even aware of how her pussy was squeezing his cock so enticingly.  His eyes rolled up and a low growl rumbled in his chest, and he was grateful that her hold on him began to loosen enough so that he could pull out partways…  

Then he slammed home.   

“Oh, god yes,” Buffy hissed, finally caving to her need to have him move inside her.  “Again.” 

Spike was nothing if not obliging of his lady.  He shifted his hips, sliding out of her heated channel in one long, slow move.  And then back in again, feeling every ripple of her inner walls as he pushed his way inside.   

“Fuck, pet!” he cried out when his was fully seated again, the strength of her Slayer muscles clenching his cock threatening to send him to his knees.  

Buffy whimpered at the loss of his mouth on her breast.  Then it didn’t matter because his hands were digging into her waist, pinning her there against the wall as he filled her with his length, driving into her over and over until she was mindlessly babbling his name, begging for release. 

Eventually he took pity on her and shifted one hand from her waist to her clit. 

It wasn’t long before she was screaming like a banshee as her climax swept through her body.  Her pleasure spurring Spike on, he continued to fuck her through her first orgasm, his jaw clenched tight against the desire to come.  His hand massaged her clit, the sensation now bordering on painful. 

“No…no more,” Buffy choked out.  “Can’t…” 

Spike ignored her plea, refusing to let up in his torment…her inner walls had barely finished their rhythmic contractions around him before they started all over again. Thoroughly undone by the constant stimulation.  

This time he couldn’t hold back.  His cock erupted without warning and he thrust one last time and held himself there, locked deep inside her tight sheath. 

He may have muttered her name; Spike couldn’t remember.  He buried his face in her neck and held on for all he was worth, praying he had enough strength in his legs to keep them upright. 

The cool water splashing down on his back finally penetrated the mush that was his brain – enough for him to realize that the Slayer probably wouldn’t care to experience the shock of having the rapidly cooling water hit her skin.  Biting back a groan, Spike reluctantly pulled free and stepped under the water, washing himself quickly.  When he was done, he cut off the cold tap.  The temperature of the water rose enough for the Slayer to tolerate, and he dragged her beneath the spray and hurriedly cleaned her up as well. 

“Bed,” Buffy whimpered as Spike shut off the remaining tap and guided them out of the shower. 

Spike paused long enough to wrap a towel around his lean hips before grabbing a second and gently drying the Slayer, afterwards sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her into her bedroom. 

They both lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms beneath the covers, neither saying a word – though they would come.  For now, they luxuriated in the rightness of the moment, and how they fit together… perfectly.

Prompt #32: Champagne

Title: Consummation, pt. 4
Summary: A smutty rewrite of The Girl In Question.

When Spike woke, he knew right away he was alone in bed.  He had an insane thought that the Slayer had pulled a runner on him – before he calmed down enough to hear her shuffling around in the kitchen. 

And she was humming. 

It was such an innocent gesture.  He didn’t think he’d ever heard her do it before.  She’d be humming all the time, if he had anything to say about it. 

He propped himself up against the headboard and settled in to wait for her return – she wasn’t long either. 

“Oh! I didn’t know you were awake.” 

“Whatcha got there, pet?” 

Buffy smiled and held up the bottle for his perusal, along with the plate of cookies – something she’d made special before her “date” with the Immortal. 

“We’re celebrating,” she told him, walking across the room. 

Spike quirked his brow. 

“Yeah?” 

“Uh huh.”  The Slayer nodded emphatically. 

“What’re we celebratin’?” 

Buffy held out the plate to Spike, indicating that he should take it.  He did, and she slid back onto the bed. 

“Chocolate chip… my favorite,” he commented, not understanding the significance. 

“I’ve been practicing.” 

“You made them?” 

At his look of horror, Buffy frowned. 

“Even I can’t mess up cookies, Spike.” 

“So says the girl that can’t even toast one of those frozen waffles.” 

“Hey… that wasn’t my fault.  Someone must have changed the settings on the thing.  It had worked fine the day before… and so not rehashing. If you must know, I’ve been taking some cooking classes.” 

“Uh huh…” His look was anything but believable as he eyed the near-perfect cookies. 

“Look, are we celebrating, or not?” she grumbled. 

She held up the bottle of champagne, swinging it enticingly. 

“Careful with that, Slayer… or we’re gonna have us a mess.” 

“Oh… I don’t know… I hear Chateau Slayer a la Korbel is an excellent vintage…” 

Spike caught her meaning and leered at her, the cookies in his hand now forgotten. 

“Is it now?” 

He set the plate on the table beside the bed and crawled his way towards the Slayer. 

Buffy gave up the bottle readily enough when Spike asked for it and allowed herself to be positioned on the bed.  The pop of the cork was overly loud, and the Slayer started at the noise, letting out an inelegant eep as she did so.  She watched, entranced, as the bubbling champagne foamed from the opening and ran down the side of the bottle, gasping as the cool liquid splashed onto her stomach. 

Spike’s mouth was there a second later, slurping it up, and she didn’t know whether to giggle at the outrageous noises he made, or moan at the feel of his lips on her skin. 

“Mmm… think you may be on to something, Slayer.  Excellent vintage…” 

He tipped the bottle and more champagne fell onto her stomach. 

Buffy hissed again when it hit and she jerking slightly, causing rivulets to run down either side of her body, soaking the sheets beneath.  Not that she minded in the least – Spike’s lips had a way of making everything else seem trivial.

Prompt #33: Cuddle

Title: Consummation, pt. 5
Summary: A smutty rewrite of The Girl In Question.

Buffy snuggled closer to Spike and sighed happily.  They’d never done this before – cuddling after sex.  In the past, she’d done her best impersonation of “Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am,” and was often quick to scurry from the vampire’s side, shame at herself, at what she’d allowed to happen with the evil undead, foremost in her mind. 

“What’re you thinking about, luv?” 

“Nothing… not really.” 

“So, that contented sigh was nothin’?” 

“I was just thinking that we never really did this… this cuddling afterwards.” 

“Well, you had a habit of stormin’ from my side like your knickers were on fire.” 

“Yeah…”  She sighed, feeling suddenly morose.  

“Hey now… none of that,” Spike murmured, rolling to his side so that they were eye-to-eye.  “It’s in the past, yeah?” 

Buffy nodded, her eyes unnaturally moist.  “I’m sor—” 

Spike put a finger to her lips, silencing her apology. 

“It’s in the past, Buffy.  There’s nothin’ to forgive.” 

“But, I treated you so badly…” 

“And some of it I brought on myself.”  At her questioning look, he explained.  “Shouldn’t have… hell…” 

“What?” 

“It’s just… there were so many things I could have done different.  That morning… when I said those things… I wanted to spout poetry, we were so bloody good together.  But, then you’d think me a sap, so instead the demon in me spits out the worst.  Then you go calling it a mistake, and that just gets my back up… because I knew you wanted me, and it was my fault I’d made a mess of it.  Guess I was just like the others, huh?  No good morning after?” 

Buffy smiled, delighting in this softer side of Spike – not that the possessive, snarkier, yes-I’m-evil-ask-me-how persona didn’t curl her toes.  

“They say the second times the charm…” 

“Yeah… I guess they do at that.”  He kissed her, a soft acknowledgment to her words.  “’m just sayin’… you weren’t the only one to have things to be sorry for.” 

“Okay…” 

“So… starting over?  A clean slate and all that?” 

“Sure… I’m Buffy… Buffy Summers… Chosen One, though not so much of the singular variety anymore.” 

“William Pratt… though, my friends call me ‘Spike.’” 

“Hmmm… Spike.  I have to say, I’m not in the habit of finding myself naked in bed with someone I’ve just met.” 

“What can I say…? ‘s a gift.” 

Buffy snorted and smacked his chest. 

“But, if the thought gets your knick— erm, gets your virtue all aflutter, I suppose I can take you out on a proper date.” 

“Oh… you do know how to sweet talk a lady, Mr. Spike.” 

“Just ‘Spike,’ sweets.” 

Buffy rubbed against him. 

“Hmmm… yes. I can see that.” 

“Minx!” 

“What are you going to do about it?”  Oh please, oh please, let it be— 

“Make you a proper breakfast,” he told her straight-faced. 

‘Wha? Huh?’ 

Spike couldn’t help chuckling at the look on the Slayer’s face; she was such fun to tease.  His cock soon made its presence felt however, and his need to possess her, to give her what she so clearly wanted, quickly overcame his mirth. 

He rolled her onto her back and settled himself between her legs. Amber eyes regarded the girl – woman – beneath him as the demon prepared to claim his mate.

Prompt #49: Heart

Title: Consummation, pt. 6
Summary: A smutty rewrite of The Girl In Question.

Spike could hear the Slayer’s heart pumping away inside her chest, though she looked up at him calmly enough.  As much as they’d had sex in the past, it had never been like this – with his demon prevalent.  But, he refused to shake it off, wanting to know if she would take him this way. 

If she loved both man and demon, as much as both entities loved her. 

~*~ 

Buffy stared up at Spike, and her heart nearly broke at the vulnerability she glimpsed beneath the demon staring down at her so defiantly.   

“I love you,” she whispered, her hand lifting to caress the ridges prominent on his brow, smiling slightly as he unconsciously leaned into her touch.  “William… Spike… Slayer of Slayers… whatever you choose to call yourself…” 

“How about mate?” 

“Mate… husband… lover… those all work well too.” 

“I do this… there’ll be no going back.  ‘s not something you can walk away from. Ever.” 

“I know… and I don’t want to. I want to be with you.” 

She kissed him then, unmindful of the fangs cutting into her lips, proving to him that she accepted him as he was. 

Buffy heard his muffled grown, felt a shiver run through his body.  She felt his cock press against her opening.  Then she was filled to near bursting, and she felt a sense of completion.  Like she was only truly content when he was inside her. 

Their pace was unhurried, as if neither were ready for it to end.  Both luxuriating in the moment.  They touched, they kissed, whispered words were spoken between them – love, devotion, encouragements for more. 

She was ready for his bite when it came. 

Buffy wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to describe the feelings it evoked – the way his fangs would pierce her flesh and draw her blood into his mouth, his rumble of pleasure and how the vibrations could be felt against her own body.  Not now, or in the years to come. 

Sometimes she would come close, and when asked, would simply reply, “It feels like heaven.” 

And she should know…

Prompt #42: Relationships

Title: Halloween Done Right
Summary: Post-NFA. It's Halloween. The Slayer should be enjoying her one day off. So, why is she out? Because Fate has a way of giving you a second, and even a third chance, if you take it...

Buffy wasn’t quite sure why she was out.  It was Halloween – her one official day off.  It was also cold, and there was this cross between a fine mist and outright fog that she’d yet to come to appreciate since moving to London floating about.   

Rome hadn’t done it for her, neither had the Immortal for that matter.   

Buffy had wanted wild and dangerous thinking to replicate what she’d had with Spike, only it hadn’t been that… just a cheap copy of the original.  Having realized that, she’d severed her ties.  Eventually having to leave the country because he was turning into such a whining sniveling pain-in-the-ass.   

She wasn’t the only one that had relocated to London either.  Both Willow and Xander were there.  They’d done their distancing thing in the wake of the Sunnydale fallout, much like she had, but had found, like her, that they had too much history together – good and bad – to stay apart indefinitely.   

Xander had been the last to arrive, showing up at the end of the summer, looking for all the world like death warmed over.  He’d lost weight, too much, in fact.  Buffy had taken it upon herself to fatten him up just a bit, at least so his bones wouldn’t show quite so much.  Dawn had also had a hand in his rehabilitation. 

Buffy wondered when her sister and her best friend were going to announce that there was more than friendship going on between the two.  She’d seen the looks that passed back and forth when they thought no one was looking.  And she was all for the match; Dawn was at an age to contemplate a serious relationship, and her sister was just the thing Xander needed to keep him from wallowing in his misery. 

Willow, too, had seemed to find someone – another witch like herself.  One of the daughters of the coven she was a part of, though she was not nearly as powerful as her friend.  Danielle was nice, too.  Her soft-spoken manner reminded Buffy of Tara, though the two were nothing alike.   

Even Giles had a girlfriend.  His secretary.  She wasn’t the clichéd twenty-something built like Barbie.  No, Frances, was close in age to her watcher and was his exact opposite.  They’d hurled insults back and forth from the moment they’d met.  Much like she and Spike had, she couldn’t help but think.  It had been a running joke as to when the two were going to do the deed and whether or not they were going to bring the new Council Headquarters down around their ears when they did so – thankfully no one had been present when the two had finally caved. 

So now, everyone was pretty much paired up – except for her.  Which was ok.  She’d had her chance and remembered fondly her time with Spike there at the end.  It still hurt, seeing him like that, how the pendant had erupted with light, how he’d eventually told her to leave.  But she knew now why he’d done it, though it had taken her endless tears and a rebound bad boy to see. 

He’d wanted her to live. 

She was trying to, because that was his wish.  But it was harder now… now that she’d found out he’d been resurrected.  Only to die again.  All without her ever knowing, until it had been too late. 

She remembered staring transfixed at the television screen when the reports came in.  A helicopter had shot footage of a confrontation taking place in some back alley of Los Angeles.  Buffy had easily made out the features of Angel and Spike; there’d been two others – a black man, and a blue-faced chick in leather.  She’d learned later that Angel taking out a group known as the Black Thorn had triggered the attack… after she’d returned.  Giles had told her. 

Buffy had caught the first flight out of London, but there’d been nothing in the alley once she arrived.  The bloodied remains had been removed, the battle explained away as rioting gang members by the press.  Spike’s duster she’d found buried beneath a wooden crate, one she’d kicked when her anger had gotten the better of her.  It was mangled with cuts and holes, and seeing it, Buffy knew that he was gone again. 

Buffy shuffled along the path that skirted one of London’s cemeteries then crossed the street so she could peer into the darkened alleys on the other side, oblivious to the chill seeping into her bones.  She’d make another sweep and then head home.  Dawn was out with Xander at an all-night club, and with Xander having his own place now, she doubted she’d be seeing her sister before breakfast.  She’d take a shower and then warm up in front of the fireplace with a book and a cup of tea. 

Thinking about her sister and her best friend, the sounds of fighting didn’t penetrate her consciousness at first.  She hadn’t really been expecting to actually have to slay anything.  Had barely taken the time to tuck a stake into her pocket – thanks to Spike and his message of long ago to always have her weapon ready.   

“It’s… Halloween… you’re… supposed… to take… the night… off.”  Each word was punctuated by a punch or a kick and the sound of an answering groan of pain. 

Buffy tore around the corner and stopped dead in her tracks.  Her eyes seemed to clamp onto the vision in front of her, barely sparing the girl at her feet a glance. 

It was Spike.  Her Spike.

And he was beating on some vampire. 

His back was to her, but she’d know that voice anywhere… 

She watched as he threw his opponent against a wooden crate.  It splintered beneath his weight and the vamp exploded into dust. 

“Well, that was a bit of a letdown,” Spike muttered under his breath.  He turned around to see if the girl he’d rescued was alright, and froze upon seeing the Slayer.  His Slayer.  Not one of the many now inhabiting the planet. 

Bloody hell. 

He’d felt the tinglies, but discounted them, figuring it was some other bird.  Not Buffy. 

She was supposed to be in Rome. 

“I left,” she told him, and Spike realized he must have voiced that thought out loud. 

“Oh.”

He ran a hand through his streaked hair, unsure how to proceed.  His gaze ate her up like a starved man suddenly being offered a seven-course meal. 

Buffy was busily conducting her own assessment.  She devoured him from head to toe, taking note of the t-shirt and blue jeans, and his ever-present Docs – though they were new by the looks of them.  His duster was gone, but then, she’d known that; it was tucked away in a bottom drawer, hidden even from her sister. 

“You look…” Good, she thought.  “… different.  Your hair…” 

One corner of his mouth turned up. 

“Haven’t had a chance to bleach it yet,” he told her. 

The Slayer nodded. 

The two lapsed into silence again, neither sure what to say.  It eventually was too much for Buffy because she blurted out, “I thought you were dead.” 

That seemed to open the floodgates on her emotions, and she burst into tears. 

Spike was beside her in an instant, drawing her against his chest, his arms closing around her back and holding her tight. 

“Oh, luv… don’t cry,” he whispered into her hair.   

His pleading tone only made her cry harder. 

Unmindful of the drizzle that was threatening to develop into a full-blown rain, Spike sat down on the ground right there in the alley, his back resting against the building.  There’d be no point in trying to talk until her tears were spent.  No point in getting her to move either.  The wet ground soaked his jeans, but he didn’t care.  The Slayer huddled on top of him was more than enough to keep him warm. 

Spike wasn’t sure how long the two of them sat there.  But, when the skies opened up and drenched them in a matter of minutes, Buffy seemed to rouse enough to realize where she was… and what she’d been doing.   

She was a mess, she had to be.  Between the tears and the rain, she knew she was looking anything but Slayer-ly. 

She leaned back, intending to invite Spike to her place to get out of the rain.  Their eyes met and held.  His head lowered.  Hers lifted.  Their lips met somewhere in between. 

The kiss started out soft, both scared the other would bolt.  Finally Buffy sighed, and that seemed to be all the encouragement Spike needed to deepen the kiss.  His tongue sought entrance to her mouth, and Buffy eagerly complied, her hands winding around the back of his neck to pull herself closer. 

Sighs turned to moans, and then to growls as their desire for each other grew.   

Spike was ready to roll the Slayer to her back and take her right there on the ground.  Which is why he broke away, panting heavily, his eyes squeezed shut as he head rested against the building, trying to fight the demon inside him.  To will away the raging hard-on he was sporting. 

Buffy was also trying to catch her breath, but for an entirely different reason.  There was no mistaking the bulge beneath her ass, and she couldn’t resist a teensy wiggle in his lap. 

He groaned, begged her to have mercy. 

“My place isn’t far from here…” 

That got his attention.   

He set the Slayer on her feet and stood.  Then he grasped her hand and started out of the alley; at her silent prompting, he turned right.  A crack of thunder startled an un-Slayerlike meep out of Buffy, and Spike increased his pace until they were all but running. 

“Here,” she yelled over the deluge, tugging him to a stop before a brick townhouse.  They hurried up the walk and Buffy fumbled to get her hand in her pocket to reach her keys.  With her pants practically painted on her thanks to the rain, it was proving a difficult task.  Then there was the added bonus of Spike at her back, nudging her backside with his obvious desire. 

“Need some help, luv,” he whispered in her ear, his hand seeking out her pocket.  The other came around and cupped her crotch. 

“Spike…” she whimpered, her head falling back on his shoulder. 

Foreplay was fine, if it wasn’t being conducted in a monsoon.  Better to be inside, Spike thought.  So, he put off his teasing and pushed his hand deep into the Slayer’s pocket.  They closed around the keys, though it took him a few tugs before his fist came free. 

“Here…” He jingled the ring in front of her face, smirking behind her back when it took her another minute to actually reach for them. 

They stumbled in through the front door and ended up sprawled on the floor when their wet shoes slid on the hardwood floor.   

Buffy started laughing, and once she started, she couldn’t stop.  Tears were streaming down her face, happy ones this time, and her hands clutched at her sides. 

Spike smiled too, seeing the Slayer so carefree. 

“Come on, luv.  Let’s get you in the shower before you catch cold.” 

He climbed to his feet and held out his hand.  She took it, and Spike felt as if his heart kick-started for a moment. 

Buffy was pulled to her feet, her laughter dying abruptly as Spike’s look, the intensity of his gaze.  She swayed forward, her eyes drifted shut and she met… nothing but air.  Her eyes blinked open and she saw Spike’s solemn look. 

“Shower first, Buffy.  Then we can talk, yeah?” 

She nodded.  He was right.  They had a lot to discuss.  Things that needed to be said before they could indulge in the physical side of their relationship. 

They showered quickly, their touch impersonal as they washed each other off.  Afterwards, they curled up in front of the fireplace. 

And talked. 

At some point, the Slayer drifted off.  Spike watched her for a time, amazed by her revelations, not the least of which that she loved him still, and had never stopped, even when she’d been seeing the Immortal.  He had every intention of picking her up and putting her in bed, then crawling in beside her, but his eyes had shut and he’d fallen asleep too. 

~*~*~*~*~

Buffy awoke to the most delicious sensation.  Someone was nibbling lightly on her neck.  Cool fingers had skimmed their way down her stomach and were now teasing the curls at the apex of her thighs. 

She sighed happily, her legs falling open to allow his fingers – Spike’s fingers – easier access.  They brushed back and forth along her slit but refused to slip inside and put an end to his teasing. 

The front door opening cut short their play and had the two blondes scrambling to cover themselves.  Dawn came through the door, which was bad enough.  But then Xander walked in behind her. 

He was the first to notice Buffy and Spike curled up beneath a blanket in front of the fireplace; Dawn had gone ahead to the kitchen. 

“Hey, Xander,” Buffy called out weakly. 

“Buffy…” he greeted somewhat stiffly. “Spike…” 

“Coffee’s on,” Dawn announced, bouncing back into the living room.  The pep went out of her step at seeing Xander’s somber expression, and her head turned to where he was staring. 

“Hi, Dawnie.” 

“Buffy!” Dawn squealed.  It went up another notch when she called out Spike’s name.  “Spike!” 

“Hey, Bit.” 

Buffy looked back over her shoulder and she could have sworn that Spike was blushing.

She grinned.   

“Spike’s alive,” the Slayer told her sister unnecessarily. 

“Yeah, I can see that.” 

“And we’re together.” 

“Yeah, I can see that too,” Dawn grinned. 

“I’m just saying.” Her gaze swiveled to look at her friend, and how he was taking things.  “You have a problem with that, Xander?” 

Xander pursed his lips, then sniffed.  “Nah,” he said.  “Figure if you don’t have a problem with me and your sister being together, then I can’t really say anything about you and Dead Boy Jr.” 

The nicknamed rolled off his tongue easy enough, though it lacked any of the malice it used to have.  Spike realized it too, because he grinned. 

“Mighty generous of you there, Whelp.” 

“Yeah, well… I’ve mellowed in my own age.  Either that, or I’ve lost what’s left of my mind.” 

“Fair enough.  Now, would you two get lost?  Slayer and I were in the middle of a reunion here.” 

“Spike!” Buffy hissed. 

“Wot?” 

“TMI much?  Sheesh!”  

“Come on, Slayer.  We’re layin’ here beneath a blanket without a stitch of clothing on… what do you think they think we were doin’?” 

“What we’re going to be doing if you don’t shut that big mouth of yours.  Absolutely nothing.” 

“See… that’s why I love you.”  He wiggled his eyebrows and Buffy dissolved into giggles. 

“Ok… and on that note, we’re gone,” Xander announced.  “Come on, Dawnie.  No sense trying to hide that I was sneaking you back in before big sis got up.  Her bloodhound’s done sniffed us out.” 

“And just remember, this bloodhound has fangs if you ever hurt her,” Spike called out as the two reached the front door. 

“Same goes for you, Spike.  Same goes for you.”

Prompt #60: Enemies

Title: My Darkness

Summary: A "darker" take when Spike sees Buffy in the Bronze during School Hard.

What was it people said about enemies?  That they sometimes make the best lovers?  No tender emotions to cloud one’s physical release.  Nothing more than a hard fuck to relieve the body of pent up energy. 

Seeing the Slayer for the first time, watching her gyrate her body to the beat, easily outclassing the two hangers-on by her side, and Spike’s plans to just watch the girl, to study her moves, took a back seat to the lust now racing through his body. 

Oh, there’d be no doubt he’d eventually kill her – that’s what he did after all.  Slay Slayers. 

But, they would dance before they danced. 

Willing or not, made no never mind to him.   

He watched her from the shadows and realized the second she sensed something was off inside the club.  That there was a “baddie” in her midst.  The graceful line of her spine became taut with nervous energy.  Tension radiated from every pore, making her movements jerky, less fluid.  Out of sync with the beat. 

That would soon change. 

Soon they’d be dancing to their own special rhythm. 

Spike licked his lips in anticipation. 

Prompt #67: Writer's Choice - Blood

Title: Love is Blood
Summary: Set sometime in Season 6, post "Wrecked." Just a short piece based on a manip by noaluvjames.  You can see it here.

Love is blood. 

And he wears it so well. 

Pale skin gleaming like white marble in the moonlight.  The holes on his chest and stomach, holes made by her stake, leaked blood and only enhanced his perfection.   

The reddened cross had been her crowning touch.  She’d taken the blunt end of her stake and dipped it in holy water.  His blue eyes had watched her warily as she’d approached him with her weapon.  Fading briefly to amber at the first touch of the blessed water placed against the middle of his chest. 

It fascinated her, the way his skin began to sizzle and burn as she drew the cross on his flesh…and how he just stood there stoically, but for the tensing of his body, and let her do it.  Deep cobalt staring down at her, understanding her need. 

The bastard. 

Why was he the only one that could see? 

She hit him twice.  One time catching the outer edge of his lip, the other…just beneath his eye. 

“Grab yourself,” her voice harsh, all Slayer. 

She watched as he looked down at his dick.  Her own eyes followed his hand, and she licked her lips at seeing him hard.  At the way he gripped his cock. 

“No.  Don’t look at me,” she told him when he made to raise his head.  “Put your other hand over your head… good.  Now don’t move.” 

The camera whirred to life, forever capturing him like this.  A study of pain. 

Her pain. 

Buried deep inside. 

Unable to show her friends, her watcher... 

Just the vampire who was here with her now.  He understood her pain.  Felt it.  Took it into himself so that she could function at being back. 

She took a few more pictures then shut the camera off. 

Methodically, she stripped off her clothes until was as bare as he.  A secret smile coming to her lips as he caught wind of her arousal – nostrils flaring, his hardened length pulsing beneath his motionless hand.  

She had to give him credit.  He’d not made the first move towards her, continuing to hold the pose she’d left him in, leaning there against the wall, his wounds seeping blood. 

Her fingertips caught the end of one red line, drawing it back up his body, feeling his muscles ripple beneath her touch.  She pulled her hand away to stare at the reddened tip of her finger. 

Starting when her wrist was suddenly captured in a cool grip and lifted to equally chilled lips and licked clean. 

The action seemed to wake her from her trance, and Buffy stared, horrified at what she’d done to him. 

His face. 

The holes where she’d driven her stake into him. 

The cross.  

‘Oh god,’ she thought.  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ 

The question went unanswered as she felt herself enveloped in his arms and carried back to his bed.  Afterwards, too exhausted to even remember the question, or the actions that elicited it in the first place. 

For once, relaxing in the arms of her vampire lover. 

The soft rumblings of his chest oddly comforting while she drifted off to sleep.