I Just Can't Fight This Feeling Inside

by Spikesdeb

Riley tried to quash the conflict going on in his head that was urging him to run the short distance to Spike’s crypt.  He’d sunk really low, reduced to asking Hostile 17 for information -- how could something so insignificant be so irritating -- but his girl was in trouble and he needed help.  No, not help – never help from that filthy vampire – information.  If humans knew about the evil of Dracula, he had to be a huge legend in the demon world. 

Spike felt somebody approaching, human at that and none too stealthy, headed straight for his crypt by the sound of things.  He took himself off into the shadows, grabbing and priming a crossbow as he went.  He vamped out, just in case, and focused on the doorway.

The door burst open and in marched Buffy’s hulking toy soldier.  Spike de-vamped, he could deal with this fool himself.  He chuckled softly as he watched Riley screwing up his eyes in an effort to pierce the gloom.  Poor Slayer – at least Peaches had style.

Spike stepped forwards, uncocking the bow as he went.

“Well, well. You can take the boy out of the Initiative, but you can't take the Initiative out of the boy.”

Riley curled his lip up in disgust gesturing with his head to the weapon grasped in Spike’s hand.

“I'd put that down, unless you're bucking for one hell of a headache.”

Spike carelessly tossed the weapon aside, affecting an air of nonchalance.  Didn’t want the git to think he’d put it down because bwana said so.

“I can't be too careful.  I got quite a few demons after me these days.”

He looked at Riley pointedly, wishing he’d get on with it, had to be something of an apocalyptic nature if he was deigning to make a social visit.

“I'm looking for some information.  Might pay a little.”

So, money was in the offing.  He could always use some more smokes, and Willy was getting difficult about his tab; a few readies would come in handy round about now.  And once he got the money, he could just piss off and leave the little darlings to their mayhem and hopefully excruciating deaths.

He shrugged, not wanting to appear too eager.  “I'll play.”

He wandered over to his comfy chair, stopping as Riley’s next words piqued his curiosity; no need to let the overgrown boy scout in on that though.

“What can you tell me about Dracula?”

“Dracula?  Poncey bugger owes me eleven pounds, for one thing.”  Dracula, huh?  This was getting very interesting.  Spike pulled out a cigarette and popped it between his lips as he patted himself to locate the zippo. 

“You know him?”

The big, broad and homely face of the gormless sod in front of him was a picture of incredulity.  Tosser.

“Know him?  We're old rivals.”  He lit his cigarette, taking a deep drag before continuing. 

“But then he got famous, forgot all about his foes. I'll tell you what, that glory hound's done more harm to vampires than any slayer.  His story gets out and suddenly everybody knows how to kill us.”  Spike shook his head at the bloody stupidity of the ‘Dark Prince’, dropped into his chair and gestured to Riley.  “You know, the mirror bit?”

Riley warmed to his subject.  “But he's not just a regular vampire. I mean, he has special powers, right?”

Humans were so bloody predictable.  A lifetime of Christopher Lee and Anne Rice and they all thought Dracula was the undead Superman.

Spike tried to keep the amusement out of his voice.  “Nothing but showy gypsy stuff.  What's it to you, anyway?”

“He's in town. Making his presence known.”

Spike couldn’t stifle a smile.  “Drac's in Sunnydale-way?”  This could be just the excitement his dull life needed.  He leaned back, swinging his booted feet up on a hassock.  “I guess the old boy needed closure after all.”

“Actually, he's gunning for Buffy. But I'm out to find him before he gets another shot at her.”   The six-foot plus bulk of Buffy’s paramour filled the other chair in the crypt, as he sat down and made himself at home.

Maybe he should play him a little, no harm in winding the bastard up, it’d kill a few minutes.  “Tough talk, cowboy. But you're not gonna catch him napping in a crypt.  No, the Count has to have his luxury estate and his bug-eaters and his special dirt, don't he?”

“So you're saying I should check out mansions, that sort of thing?”

The man was a complete pillock, no doubt about it; you could almost hear the cogs turning.  Spike stood up; it was starting to smack a bit too much of “Home on the Range” with Hopalong Cassidy parked across from him.

“No. I'm saying ... you should go home to your superhoney. Have a nice, safe snog. You're out of your depth on this one, boy.”  He turned his back dismissively, wishing Riley would vanish so that he could go play with his old pal Drac.  He knew exactly where he’d be.

“You've helped Buffy before, so she has a problem with killing you now that you're helpless.  I don't.”  His voice had a steel edge to it that pissed Spike off beyond all reason.

The vampire turned to face him, menace glinting in his ice blue eyes.

“I'd like to see you try.”

Suddenly, Riley was on his feet, toe to toe with the smaller, blond figure.  He towered above Spike, both men’s fists clenched in anger as their eyes met and held.  The waves of animosity were almost tangible.

“Would you?”

Time seemed to slow and stop as neither of them gave an inch, Spike trying to put all the hate and disgust he felt for this most ordinary of humans into his glare.  He wanted so much to rip out the taller man’s throat and drink him dry.  The twinge of the chip in his head reminded him that it wasn’t a possibility…for now.  He’d get his chance someday…

“Pfft.”

Spike turned away, making it look like he was merely going to do something far more interesting than playing King of the Castle with his visitor.  He felt the air swirl as Riley moved to the door.

“You're never gonna find him!” he shouted as the door opened.  The clunk of the latch as the door swung to told him that he was alone.

He spoke softly to himself.  “Not before he gets to her.”  He ignored the momentary pang at the thought of Dracula draining Buffy – he meant the Slayer.  Why was he panicked at that?  Must be because it was his dream, his right, after all the punishment he’d endured at her hands…and feet.

Still, he might be able to cut a deal with the poncey bugger, share in the pleasure of offing another Slayer.  Should be easy enough to persuade him; after all, he owed him that eleven quid….

Feeling cheerful bordering on chirpy at the thought of a bit of fun, he grabbed his duster and smokes and headed out to find old Drac’s playground.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Knock, knock Vlad-man!  Any spare O-neg going begging?”

“William ze Bloody…vat are you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d look up me old mate Dracula, see how you’re getting on, check out the digs.  Still clinging to the old stately castle and gothic décor, I see.  Have to say, it beats my sorry crypt in the style stakes.” 

Spike sauntered about, one hand in his pocket, the other running over the surfaces as he perused the heavy furniture that dominated the room.  He looked up, noticing the stony silence.  Dracula was glaring at him, dark eyes glinting with distaste.

“Now, now…is that any way to treat an old buddy who once saved your overhyped ass?  Have you forgotten that angry mob with the torches in Transylvania?  And not to mention the eleven quid you ponced off me for that psychedelic waistcoat in Carnaby Street.  I mean – orange and puce?  You looked like one of those whirly windmill things kids play with.  What were you thinking?”

Dracula rolled his eyes, taking a step forwards.  “Zo, you ‘ave come to collect your debt.  I’m afraid I do not know ze exchange rate to American dollars.  Perhaps a cheque…?”

“Well, as luck would have it I’ve decided to cut you some slack with the readies, provided you let me in on the Slayer action.  Now, now …hear me out!”  Spike approached the snarling dark-haired vampire, both hands raised to mollify him.

“See, I have the lowdown on the Slayer.   You imagine she’s an easy target, all girly hair and snappable bones?  Well, think again, mate – she’s a tricky one.  Now, I’ve offed two Slayers in my time…don’t tell me you haven’t heard…well, you remember the Boxer rebellion…you’re kidding me?  You’ve really not heard?  Later, hear me out on this one first.”

Dracula took a seat at the table and gestured to Spike to do the same. 

“Continue.  I am listening…but I varn you…ze Slayer is mine…I have searched for her, I have yearned for her…”

“Yeah, yeah…that’s what you say to all the girls you bite.  High time you changed the chat-up line, Pops, that one’s got cobwebs on it.”

This was the life!  Baiting old Vlad, sitting at a cosy table and drinking freshly drawn blood some bird had placed before him.  Hadn’t had so much fun in ages! 

Dracula coughed, pointedly, as Spike drained the silver goblet, licking his lips to catch every last drop.

“I’m getting to it!  Just savouring the flavour – ‘s a good vintage.  It’s like this.  See, I’ve been sort of helping the Slayer out with stuff…don’t look at me like that, it’s all for money… you may not know but I’ve suffered a slight handicap just of late…oh, right, so you haven’t heard about the Slayers I’ve offed but you know all about the sodding chip…wonderful.” 

Spike lit up a cigarette and dragged the smoke down into his lungs.  Shaking his head, he outlined his plan.

“So, I figure I could bring her to you, all docile like.  Save you the whole “thrall” thing, that has to be a drain on you.  Maybe soften her up a bit, make her all needy and that.  I know I can’t physically hurt her, but she cries at anything, you know.  And I just love to watch her cry…”

Dracula looked thoughtful; to be honest he wasn’t entirely sure that the thrall would work at long distance with the Slayer.  He planned to have bug boy bring her to him after sundown, but human slaves were so unpredictable.  Maybe it would be better to let the vampire do the deed.

“Very vell, Villiam…ahem...Spike… I vill arrange for ze Slayer to be handed to you; you may do vith her vat you desire, but remember to bring her to me alive and relatively unharmed.  I mean to make her my consort.”

Spike’s gut twisted again at the thought of Drac getting his slimy hands on his Slayer…no, not his Slayer, the Slayer.  Must be coming down with something, maybe a bad rat he’d drained when Willy wouldn’t give him a pint on the slate.   He’d have to shake it off if he was going to be his creative best with the mental torture.

“You’re on, mate.  I’ll just mess with her a bit.  Tell you what would help though; you get the whelp to knock her out, which means I can tie her up and stuff without getting brain-fried; be easier to break her.  What do you say?” Spike lit up a second cigarette, smirking as he plotted precisely how he’d bring the Slayer to her knees.

“I agree.  I vill inform ze human of my instructions.  Go now.  I grow tired of your presence.  And remember, my debt to you has been repaid in full – perhaps you should give me a receipt.”

Spike lazily rose to his feet, “This’ll have to do,” he said and spat on his hand, holding it out to his horrified host.  His face wrinkled with disgust, Dracula spat weakly on his own palm and gripped the proffered object briefly before turning and scurrying off out of the back of the room.

“Poncey git; just bit of spit, it’s always gotta be sealed in spit or blood,” he muttered under his breath.  Spike headed for the door, grabbing a couple of silver candlesticks and the decanter of blood on his way out.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Buffy was feeling beyond antsy as she perched on the edge of the couch in Xander’s basement.  Anya kept babbling about Dracula, “Tell him hi from Anyanka before the staking, just to see if he remembers me.”  Xander was acting weird, darting about like a bluebottle on speed.  All in all, she was anxious to get to the vampire and see an end to him.  Yet something inside her was aching to go to him for more than the staking.  Yuk!   Get a grip, Buffy!  It wasn’t even as if he was a hottie really; yeah, the accent was kinda sexy, accents did that to her, all drawling and snarky and with the whole Cockney lilt…no, not Cockney, no Brit accent at all. 

Buffy stood up to stretch her legs and tried to clear the image of a snarky Spike taunting her, that stupid hair all tousled and his ridiculous tongue curled up behind his teeth as he grinned…  Hmmph…where did that come from?  Maybe she was coming down with something, that was it.  Dracula biting her had made her weak, otherwise no way would she be thinking of Spike as anything other than a big pile of dust.

She turned suddenly as she noticed the hammering coming from behind her and a muffled scream.  Xander had bundled Anya into the closet and was looking at her expectantly.

“I’m supposed to take you to the Master now.”

Buffy surprised herself by starting to walk with him without even thinking about it.   Maybe there was something to this thrall thing after all.  She stopped in her tracks when the door opened.  Spike was lounging against the wall, cigarette clenched between his teeth, both hands in his duster pockets.  What was he doing here?

Xander whacked Buffy on the back of the head with a hefty fertility goddess statue Anya had brought home to catalogue.  She crumpled into the waiting arms of the vampire, who smirked at the whelp.  Someone wasn’t going be such a smart arse once the thrall wore off and he realised what he’d done to his precious Slayer. 

“There’s a good puppy, Spike’s got her now; you can go back to slobbering the hand that feeds you.  Tell Drac I’ll catch him later.”

The last remark was directed back over his shoulder as he cradled the unconscious Slayer in his arms and strode off.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

As Spike carried the Slayer, head nestled against his shoulder and the stupid shampoo commercial hair flowing over his arm, he got a whiff of absolute paradise.  God she still smelled good, really good – all vanilla and sweetness but with a sharp bottom note, like wood smoke or some such.  This unique scent of hers… mmmmm … should be bottled as pure ‘Aroma de Slayer’.  Bloody hell, one whiff and it had gone straight to his dick, now he was hard and chafing against the metal zipper.  And it had taken ages to convince himself the thrills of their ‘engagement’ were all down to magic.  He stopped, mid stride, jiggling his hips in an effort to dislodge the engorged head from the rasping teeth that were just dying to do him a mischief.  When he was satisfied it was safe to walk, he continued his journey, nuzzling the Slayer’s hair as he went.

Thankfully, it wasn’t too far to his crypt and he soon had the Slayer manacled to the wall – no stake in the heart action tonight, thank you very much.  He’d removed her jacket and boots before fastening the shackles and now she was arrayed before him in the tightest pink leather trousers he’d ever seen and an equally clingy black top.  The neck had got torn somehow and gaped appealingly over a swell of golden breast.  Spike couldn’t resist – and didn’t want to, why should he?  After all, it was kinder than waking her up with a bucket of water.  He trailed a cool finger from beneath the veil of hair spilling over her shoulder and down, down across the mound and below the black fabric.  He watched Buffy’s face for any hints of returning consciousness as he gently caressed the nipple beneath his finger.  It puckered immediately; hardening to a delicious point as he circled it with the finger then added a thumb to tweak it. 

The only sign that Buffy was feeling anything was the speeding pulse and becoming blush that flooded her throat.  He looked at her from beneath dark eyelashes, but she was still out cold.  Emboldened, Spike tore the top further to reveal a lacy pink bra hugging warm flesh.  He moistened his lips as he cupped both breasts, the dusky nipples pressing into his palms through the delicate lace.  He growled, deep in his throat as his cock hardened again against the restraining crotch of his jeans. 

He hadn’t intended this, meant only to taunt her and tease her to tears.  But the sight of her helpless and chained, practically naked from the waist up, had sent him on a detour to the Playboy channel.  Mind made up, he ripped the remains of the black top from her then deftly unclasped the front fastener of the bra.  He gasped as her pert and rounded breasts filled his hands before pushing the bra away to the sides to hang from her shoulders.  He took a step back, wanting to record this for replay on those empty nights when he drank himself into oblivion. 

His mouth formed an ‘o’ of wonder as he beheld the goddess in front of him, her arms shackled overhead, her breasts high and trembling with her breathing.  His hands moved involuntarily to his zipper, the button almost popping open itself as he released the pressure.  Gazing at the Slayer, he reached inside his open fly and wrapped his hand around his throbbing erection, slowly stroking himself to almost painful hardness.  As he was about to come, he closed his eyes in ecstasy, the pleasure so intense that his knees threatened to give way.  He tried to keep the groans down and shot his load into his waiting hand, not wanting to spurt everywhere and give the game away.  Panting with an automatic response, he moved to clean himself up – only to look up into the huge, hazel eyes of the Slayer.

‘Oops - that’s blown it,’ he thought.  Trust the whelp to not even be able to knock a girl out properly.  He’d figured on a good half hour or so of playtime before having to deal with an enraged Slayer, and yet here she was awake and currently focusing on his hands – one full of cock, the other covered in jism. 

She looked up - regarding him with a mixture of shock and…could he see lust?  Nah, mind playing tricks again, must be.  He decided to brazen it out, “Erm… Slayer, I know what this must look— “

“Spike…”

Buffy’s husky voice cut through to his brain.  One word -- but the way she said it… This wasn’t the voice of a woman about to rip off his gonads; this was a bedroom voice, a come-hither-and-fuck-me voice, accompanied by a scent of arousal that was utterly overwhelming.  Almost in a trance, he wiped both hands on the seat of his jeans and approached the chained up Slayer, noting her flushed face, neck and panting chest, her moist tongue, her slightly opened mouth.  Oh yeah, she wanted him.

He didn’t give a thought to the how or why; if he didn’t have his hands on her in the next five seconds he’d spontaneously combust.  The gap between them shrank and he came close enough to rub his erection against her bare stomach, and was elated by the resulting groan in his ear.  He brought one hand up to cup her breast, kneading it gently, rolling and flicking the hardened nipple.  The other hand busied itself undoing Buffy’s pink trousers, easing inside when the button and zipper gave and sliding one finger down to rub against her cleft.  God, she was wet and so hot…like fire to his touch.  When she bucked against his hand, he nearly came again on the spot.

Deciding to go for it, he whispered against her ear, his cool breath moving her hair and raising goosebumps along her flesh.

“What say we get a little bit comfy, love?  Take you out of these chains, lay you down somewhere soft?”

Buffy nodded, then almost finished him off when she nipped at his shoulder, her sharp little teeth causing exquisite pain and pleasure mingled.  His hand slid from her breast and round to spread on the small of her back pressing her flush against him, her hot breath burning his neck.  She couldn’t help herself, waking with throbbing breasts, in a fever of arousal that rocketed at the sight of Spike’s orgasm right in front of her, she was wild for him.

“God, I want you so much…” she moaned, her tongue flicking out to run up the side of his neck and continue on to rasp the shell of his ear.  Bloody hell, he’d be spilling like a teenager if she kept this up much longer!  With a growl, Spike sprang away from her searching frantically for the key to the manacles.  The clinking behind him had him spinning back, alarm written all over his face.  Buffy was disentangling herself from the restraints like they were made of wet tissue.  Bugger; it was all just a ruse to distract him.

He was about to run for the hills when she spoke his name softly, and beckoned him towards her.  His brain was screaming DANGER’ but his traitorous legs had their own plan.  Next thing they were inches apart, face to face, and he found himself matching his breathing to hers, useless lungs rattling with the unaccustomed movement.  She raised a trembling hand and brushed his cheek, shivering her fingers along his sharp cheekbone and down, across his neck and behind his ear to tease the curls at his nape.  Her lips parted in a shaky sigh, the feel of his cool skin under her hand sending wild jolts of pleasure straight to her groin.

She’d never felt anything like this, never connected with somebody so much that every caress flooded her pussy with moisture.  What would it be like when she finally had him inside her?  Another jolt of pleasure at the notion…

A niggling thought that this was wrong kept trying to shove itself to the forefront of her mind but she wasn’t paying it any attention – couldn’t stop if she wanted to, this was too good.

She shrugged the bra off and made quick work of her trousers, kicking them out of her way.  Spike stood motionless as she removed her clothing, not wanting to spook her and have her hightail it home.  His arms hung limply at his sides, but his cock stood up hard and hungry, twitching as she bent her body into delicious shapes. 

His eyes scanned down her torso to rest on the scrap of pink lace that was sodden with her juices, curls dark behind the almost sheer material.  Spike licked his dry lips, hands reaching for her automatically.  Buffy giggled, the sound echoing throughout the crypt.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“What? Nervous? Me?  Nah, I’m the Big Bad,” he smirked. 

To prove his point, he grabbed her shoulders and for the first time crushed his lips to hers, swallowing the giggle that hovered there.  Giggles became groans as he brought the full length of his hard body against her softness, grinding his cock on her stomach as he rotated his hips.

“’eans …off… ungh…” she managed to get out around his thrusting tongue and somehow he did so, boots too, without ever relinquishing contact with any part of her hot body.

The only thing between them now was the lace thong, but not for long.  Spike lifted Buffy up against his chest, striding to the sarcophagus shrouded with a down comforter near to the centre of the crypt.  He deposited the Slayer on the surface, not giving her any time to change her mind before covering her body with his, his knees spreading her golden thighs wide enough to allow him to rest between them.  His cock was pressing at the entrance to her pussy, glistening with their juices, but he hesitated before pressing on and sinking into heaven.  Buffy was grabbing at him, urging him on, but she stilled as she noted his hesitation, her hands gripping his ass.

She looked up at him, his face sculpted by the light and shadow of flickering candlelight; azure blue eyes fixed on her as she lay beneath him and she felt a strange stirring in her chest.  Was she feeling… something other than hate for Spike?  No, definitely not.  It must be the thrall; she just wanted to scratch an itch that started when Dracula’s fangs pierced her neck.

But when he sank his hard length inside her welcoming warmth everything else receded.  It was just Spike and Buffy, two lovers entwined and moving towards an explosion of passion.  Spike kissed her again, his cool tongue igniting fires inside her that would surely consume her.  The feel of his skin gliding across hers, his chest skimming her hard nipples, was heavenly.  His hands, where they fisted in her hair, were gentle yet firm.  And his cock…god, the way his cock filled her - every stroke taking her towards unknown heights. 

She bucked her hips up to meet him, all restraint gone now, as she clawed at his skin, desperate for completion.  She needed to be closer to him… needed… something more…

Spike raised his head, although leaving her lips was torture.  Buffy’s head was thrown back in abandon, lips parted and wet, eyes closed, cheeks flushed.  The smooth expanse of her neck filled his vision, the pulse throbbing just begging to be suckled.  He couldn’t resist; before the thought could fully form, his features changed and he bent his head to cover Dracula’s mark with his own, his fangs sinking deep into the tender flesh, his tongue lapping at the crimson nectar that spilled forth from the bite. 

Buffy immediately tightened her hold on him, mewling as the pleasure grew inside her.  The kitten sounds she made urged Spike on, his hips moving faster and harder, the lapping at her neck more frenzied, the bite deeper.  As he raced towards orgasm, he felt Buffy’s own pleasure tremble around him, his name screamed from her throat the final impetus to send him over the edge, his semen shooting deep inside her. 

They gently rocked, tiny movements drawing out the pleasure until finally he stilled, his fangs still buried in her neck.  Surely now she’d turn, throw him off, stake him in disgust.  He licked at the wounds to seal them, before lifting his head to meet the Slayer’s eyes.  He was astounded by what he saw in their depths.  Not disgust, not anger.  Not love either, but something: an understanding that perhaps that they were more alike than she liked to think.

He hadn’t been nervous before – but he was now.  What the hell just happened to him?  Suddenly panicked, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips and vaulted away from the warmth of her embrace.  He grabbed his clothes, dragging on his trousers before turning to speak.

“Buffy…Slayer…er right then…I’m supposed to take you to Drac so he can ‘thrall’ you up and make you his bitch; but I won’t.  Okay?  Don’t make a big deal of it, just don’t wanna help the pillock.  Can’t stand him – what with his accent and his stupid bat thing.”

 Buffy sat up, strangely unashamed by her nudity in the vampire’s presence.

“Okay…” she murmured dazedly.

Spike strode off, dropping down to the lower area of the crypt, leaving her alone to find her clothes.  She dressed, wild thoughts running through her head.  What had just happened between them?  Would it happen again?  Was it wrong to hope that it would?

She was the Slayer, he was a vampire.  It must be the thrall.  She checked that she had everything; the thong was definitely deceased and she left it on the rumpled bedclothes, a memento to remind him.  There she went again!  Making this into something it wasn’t. 

But still…maybe next time she got the urge to hunt, she’d restrict her prey to a bleached blond vampire with ‘to die for’ eyes and abs you could read in the dark -- and it wasn’t just the eyes that were to die for. 

She closed the door behind her quietly as she left, a soft smile on her lips, knowing that although she couldn’t see him those eyes were fixed on her, fathomless and blue.

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