Have to Have You

by Spikesdeb

It had been ten days since Buffy’s memorable sojourn at Spike’s crypt and things had returned to normal – well, Sunnydale normal.  Oh everything was peachy; Dracula disappeared, Giles ecstatically making notes for posterity and gloating about his dazzling scoop on the Watchers’ Council, Xander no longer the bug-eating yes-boy, Anya was still whining at him for shutting her in the cupboard, and Willow and Tara were still in tease mode about Drac’s ‘sexy stare’.  And Riley… Riley.  Well, he was still the good old reliable hunky farm boy Buffy had convinced herself she was in love with.   

Yes siree!  Of course she absolutely loved Riley, why wouldn’t she?  He was the perfect boyfriend, the epitome of normal – enhanced super-soldier issues aside – and so caring and protective!  And he loved her - the way he wrapped those manly arms around her and snuggled her against his chest…  definitely big with the loving.  Well maybe it was a bit smothering sometimes, too hot… not like the other… the pale, tightly muscled, demon other… God it was driving her crazy!  Every time she her mind wandered, all she could see was azure blue eyes, tender and intense and fixed on her.  If she closed her eyes, she could feel his lips on hers, the pressure of that body resting between her legs.   

Willow had been nudging her all through class when she zoned out, adrift in a fog of rippling pleasure as she replayed the passion in his touch, fire of their coupling – she’d never felt so powerful, so aroused… a different Buffy.  What the hell was wrong with her?  Was it from the thrall?  Xander had been his usual self and obviously didn’t remember knocking her unconscious, so he’d been affected as well.  She’d gone to the castle a couple of days after her … adventure … but it was empty, covered in dust and cobwebs as if it hadn’t been inhabited in years.  Another Dracula special, no doubt, to go with his special dirt.  She had no idea why he’d skipped town since the reason he’d showed in the first place was to face up to her, and that hadn’t happened due her detour… manacled – surprisingly thrilling - and watching his hands… his face when he came…   

“Hey, Buffy?  Can you hear me, Major Tom?  Hello-ooo?”   Willow waved her fingers in front of Buffy’s face, puzzled as to why her best friend seemed to be off visiting la-la land.   

“Oh, Willow – I’m sorry.  I’m not really all-there-Buffy today, am I?” 

“Well, you know - I think we had better conversations when the Gentlemen were in town,” she smiled.  “At least you weren’t snoring… but are you sure everything’s okay, Buffy?  It might help to talk about the thinking … you know… if you want to?” 

Buffy blushed at the last thought she’d had in her head.  Pale flesh, rock hard with muscles gliding beneath silken skin; erect nipples brushing against her, a thatch of dark curls surprisingly stark against the white of his groin and then his hard, thick… 

“Nothing!  Not thinking of anything, nope, not me!”  She flashed a dazzling smile at her red-haired friend.  “What do you say to a mocha? My treat to make up for the absence of Buffy attention?” 

Willow smiled back.  “Sure.  Lead me to sugar overload.” 

The two girls linked arms, laughing as they sauntered off towards the Espresso Pump. 

And still, Buffy couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to be elsewhere. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

Spike gingerly flexed the fingers of his left hand.  It was bloody painful, but considering it had been crushed, as had his forearm, it was on the mend.  He needed more blood and more time: nothing was truer for a vamp than time being a great healer.   At least he could move about now, the shattered kneecaps and ankle just about able to take his weight.  The limp would go, again, in time.  Carefully, to avoid jostling his healing ribs, he got to his feet and shuffled over to the fridge for some blood.  God, even his lips hurt, still bashed from the pummelling he’d received when Dracula caught up with him.   

With a rueful grin he remembered the house call.  God Drac was so pissed off!  The night following the delicious Buffy interlude, he’d turned up on Spike’s doorstep with a face like thunder and his prattling brides jostling for his attention behind him.   

At the loud rapping on the door, Spike had hidden a grin thinking it was the Slayer playing Will-I-Won’t-I on the doorstep. He was still zonked on SlayerSexHormone overload and it never even entered his head that it would be the Dark Prince on a mission.  So after unbuttoning his black shirt for a casual flash of the abs, he prowled over to the door, checking the shirt gaped appealingly and popped the buttoned jeans for easy access.  Satisfied with his completely irresistible charm, he grasped the door and roughly dragged it open, his eyes hooded, tongue curled up behind his teeth to complete the look.  The fist that crashed into his nose took him completely by surprise therefore, and he hit the floor with a thud. 

“Bloody hell, Slayer!” he snarled before realising that the fist that decked him was of the manly variety, definitely not the dainty knuckles of the Chosen One.  He glanced up; bugger. 

“Drac, me old mate!  Hello to you too…hey!  Watch the shirt – ‘s bloody designer that, I'll have you know!” 

Spike was hauled roughly to his feet, then higher so his toes were dangling inches above the floor.   “Villiam ze Bloody!!” Dracula sneered, one hand wrapped around his throat crushing his windpipe.  Wouldn’t kill him of course, unless the ponce took his head off, but it bloody hurt like hell!  He kicked out, connecting with his assailant’s shins, and he was back in a heap on the floor once more.   

Dracula was limping around the crypt, shrugging off the ooohing and aaahing pats and squeals emanating from the Twisted Sisters.  Their twittering was getting on Spike’s nerves. 

“Will you bints SHUT THE FUCK UP!  You’re giving me a buggering headache!  Drac…do something.” 

Spike almost whined as the squealing reached glass-shattering pitch. Dracula lowered himself into the armchair, settling gingerly in the tattered thing and swinging his injured leg up on the hassock.   

“Enough!” he bellowed and the noise stopped instantly.  “Leave us!  I vill return momentarily.  Go - feed.” 

After a couple of minutes of nauseating kissy sounds while the brides bid their lord and master an extended farewell – and Spike muttered to himself ‘take him with you if it’s that painful’ - the crypt was blessedly empty.  The door swung to with an ominous thud.  Spike played it normal and went over to the fridge where the beer and blood was stashed.  Gripping two bottles loosely in one hand and the carton of blood in the other, he strolled over to the couch opposite Drac’s chair and flung himself down.  He wordlessly motioned with one bottle towards Dracula who nodded and leaned forward to take it from his hand. 

The two vampires sipped their beers in silence then nervously fiddled with the labels on the bottle, eyes meeting then darting away.  When Spike’s stomach rumbled, he flipped the lid off the blood carton and took a long pull.  Remembering his manners, he offered some to his visitor. 

“No, zank you.  I had a little someone before we left.  Dare I say… a much more appetising meal than this…” he sniffed “pig’s blood zat you offer me.” 

“It fills a hole.  Not like I have much choice, mate, is it?  What with the hardware in my noggin.” 

Silence descended again punctuated only by the springs in the ancient furniture complaining when either demon shifted in their seats. 

Eventually Spike couldn’t stay silent.  He never did have a reputation for patience and if Drac was here to beat him up over the Slayer, he wanted to get it over with.   

“Look, I know why you’re here, yeah?  So – let’s just get to it.  Got things to do, you know?” 

“Oh, I don’t zink you vill be doing anything for a very long time, Villiam.  You know you have to be punished – zere is my reputation to consider.  I can’t be seen to be veak, deceived by a stripling such as you.  It’s … embarrassing.  You do understand…?” 

“Yeah, I hear you.  But we can keep this between ourselves, can’t we?  You want a smoke?” 

Drac shook his head.  Spike lit up and took a drag, lounging back on the couch.   

“Who’s to say you haven’t been here and pummelled me into a bloody pulp?  I won’t tell, I’ll stay indoors for a week or so then slink out later… spread a load of tales -Drac’s knee-trembling revenge.  What do you say?” 

Dracula seemed to consider this, eyes closed, the neck of the bottle resting against his lips.  After draining the bottle, he fixed Spike with his ‘sexy stare’. 

“It ees too late; I have already made arrangements.”  He clicked his fingers and suddenly five hulking demons emerged from the lower crypt.  Spike leapt to his feet with a roar. 

“Bloody hell!  Not heard of knocking?  It’s fucking rude to break and enter a person’s home!” 

“Villiam, just let it happen.  I cannot allow you to get avay with it, you must know zat.” 

“What I know…. mate...is that you couldn’t hope to take me on your own so you’re resorting to Rentamuscle.  Hardly the stuff of legend is it?” 

Dracula stood, inspecting his nails in time-honoured evil genius fashion.  “I am a modern vampire.  I move viz ze times.  Vhy should I pollute my hands viz you vhen I can pay underlings to do it for me?”  He nodded to the lead demon, a massive, stinking, walking bag of pus.  The hired muscles moved forward to surround the blond. 

“Alright then, do your worst!”  He delivered a kick to the abdomen of the biggest demon that sent it sailing backwards into the others clustered around it.  Spike called his demon forth, the fangs descending and forehead ridging.  With a cry of delight, he threw himself on top of the heap of oozing flesh, uncaring of the stench and the gunk stinging him.  He was hitting and kicking, rending at anything he could get his fangs into.  It was a glorious feeling to not hold back, feel no twinge of pain as he let loose the demon inside.  This was what being a vampire was all about!  Well, this and the blood drinking obviously. 

With a feral growl he renewed his attack on the quintet of unspeakable stench.  He was happy, despite the kicks and punches he was receiving in return.  He was holding his own against five much larger, much grosser demons and he was having a blast! 

Dracula’s imperious voice cut into his pleasure. 

“Zhol’gar, must I remind you zat I hired you to exact my revenge on Villiam ze Bloody?  From vhere I’m standing, all you are doing is providing him with a not particularly taxing workout.” 

Spike snorted, backing off from the huddle of demons to take stock.  He could go at it all night if he had to but he’d rather hoped to get a sniff of the Slayer later on and this was holding him back.  No, better to get it over and done with so he could engage in some pummelling of a more intimate nature.   

“Look, Drac…much as I’m enjoying this little diversion, I do have places to be.  What say we come to an agreement?” 

Dracula considered the options.  It was true that he had hoped Zhol’gar and his thugs would incapacitate his old acquaintance rather more quickly than appeared to be happening, and certainly the blond vampire’s fighting skills seemed to have improved in the decades since they’d last met.  But still… five to one; the odds must be in his favour.  Even so, William the Bloody had always been a trickster…perhaps something to salvage face would be appropriate…. 

“Very well, Villiam.  I have a proposal for you.  The demon world is rife viz gossip about how you snatched the Slayer from under my nose.  It is a humiliation.  If you will let Zhol’gar here beat you up a leetle, I vill accept zat as the measure of my revenge and depart.  But you must promise me you will stay away from ze Slayer.  I meant what I said…I yearn for her, I have searched for her… and I vill return for her.” 

“Bloody hell, Drac!  Are you completely out of your tree?  It’ll never happen, mate.  Deal with it… the Slayer is not yours, hell she’s not mine either – well not as we speak – but nobody keeps me away from anything or anyone.  You get it?  If that’s the deal…you can just sod off.” 

Dracula eyed the younger vampire.  Why was he so intent on keeping in touch with the Slayer?  What had happened last night?  Why was he resisting him? 

“I do not understand you, Villiam.  I offer you an honourable way to recompense me and you refuse?  Vhat is zo special about zis girl?” 

“That…friend… is why your whole ‘yearn for her…search for her’ shit is just that…shit.  You know naff all about her, what she likes, what she hates, what shampoo she uses…not that I’d know either…” Spike closed his eyes as he realised what a ponce he sounded “…but all you want is a conquest.  Well, you’re not bloody well getting it so just piss off.  Do what you have to do.  I’m ready.” 

“As you wish.  Zhol’gar… I suggest you finish this quickly… for your own good.” 

The demon drew himself up to his full impressive seven-feet.  Spike gulped as he noted the four other demons, not as tall but just as bulky, lining up behind.  Nothing for it but to do his best, no point being a pansy about it.   

In a frenzy of fists and fangs he didn’t give the demons time to make the first move.  He launched into them again throwing them off one by one as they tried to bring him down.  He felt ribs crack, bones crushed in his knee, his arms.  Both hands were a bloody pulp, the feeling long gone in them but still he continued to rain blows on the grey-green demons.  In a final rush of adrenalin he managed to get a grip of Zhol’gar’s head and twist enough to dislocate it from the body; the demon thankfully melting into a puddle of slime.  The four remaining demons took a step back, a glance of fear passing between them. 

Spike brushed himself off, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he panted.  He didn’t need the breath but the reflex was hard to shake after so much effort.  Quirking his scarred eyebrow, he ignored the pain in his ribs and shattered hands, holding out one arm so that he could beckon the remaining demons with the crook of his finger.  Dracula let out a rumbling laugh. 

“Ah!  Delightful!  You amuse me even now, Villiam!  You are almost crushed and yet you still swagger and bluster.” 

“Not blustering.  Bloody well come on!” 

“Villiam …you can hardly stand.   Come, sit down, let us talk.” 

With a snarl, Spike took a step forwards leaning heavily on his good leg to avoid the damaged knee. The demons took another step back, none of them willing to take him on. 

“Villiam, Villiam… your prowess is not in question…come, sit viz me.  I have a proposition zat I sink you vill find agreeable.” 

Spike considered the options.  It was a miracle he was still standing; he knew he was bleeding internally and although he did have vampire healing, he needed some replacement blood for it to kick in.  He was pretty sure he couldn’t take another punch…  he’d have a breather and listen to the ponce. 

Limping, he settled himself heavily on the previously vacated couch, Dracula again taking the chair.  “Go on then.  Spit it out.” 

“It is true zat I am fascinated with zis Slayer…she is different from all ze others, yes?  But, for ze sake of our friendship I am prepared to bow out.  If you give me ze wealth you have accumulated over ze years, I vill leave here.” 

“What ‘wealth’ would that be, you stupid git?  Do you think I’d be living in this shithole if I had any cash?  Do me a favour….” 

Dracula stayed silent, his eyes conveying eloquently that he didn’t believe Spike in the slightest. 

“Okay, okay – I may have a few grand stashed about but that’s all - ten grand… maybe twenty.  Ok, but look – all I can lay my hands on is thirty grand tops, the rest of it is tied up in family property.  It’s the truth!  Cross my heart and hope to spontaneously combust.” 

The Prince of Darkness considered the offer.  Thirty grand was not to be sniffed at and would certainly ease his current cash flow problem…and he was evil after all, his word meant less than nothing.  Once it was all spent he could head back to Sunnydale and resume his original plan.  Yes, it was an equitable solution. 

“Agreed, Villiam.  Have ze money couriered to me.  I leave at midnight tonight.  If ze money is zhere, I vill leave; if it is not, I vill visit ze Slayer.” 

“It’ll be there.  Now…if you don’t mind….” 

Dracula got to his feet, smoothing down his velvet jacket.  He headed to the door, satin cloak flowing behind him. 

“Erm… I think you’ve forgotten something.” 

Dracula turned back.  Spike pointed at the four demons huddled together and the mass of gelatinous goo on the floor. 

“Don’t try my patience, Villiam.  The money; don’t forget.” 

The demons scurried out after him leaving Spike with shattered bones, a banging headache and an icky carpet.   

So, he’d got his mate Clem to get the cash together and deliver it to Dracula as promised.  He could hardly walk and had been recuperating in the crypt all week, the only visitor being the loose-skinned demon with his daily pints of blood.  He’d hoped against hope that Buffy might pay him a visit but so far she’d kept away.  Stupid bint.  Made the fact he took a beating for her seem really, really stupid. 

He drained more of the blood from the container and limped back to the chair.  He zapped the remote at the television, surfing the channels but finding nothing even vaguely interesting, taking swigs of red fluid to punctuate his boredom.  Thing is, since he’d had the Slayer’s lithe body beneath him, the only thing that got his blood rushing was the memory of that night. He swung his legs up on the hassock, relaxing back and closing his eyes.   

Involuntarily, his hand made a slow sweep down his torso, feeling the healing ribs gingerly - still sore, but not so much as to make him wince with the light touch.  He imagined the hand was the Slayer’s, fingers lingering on every definition of muscle.  A soft smile played about his lips as he lost himself in the fantasy, settled deeper into the chair so that he was almost fully reclined.  He tossed the empty container aside and brought his other hand into play.   Shrugging the black shirt out of his jeans, he snaked one hand up to finger his hardened nipples, imagining the cool touch came from her moist tongue.  The other hand was busying itself with the button fly of his jeans, each pop when the stiff denim let go of the metal fastener hardening his already swollen cock.   

He gasped and arched his back when he reached inside the open fly and grasped the cool, hard length with his better hand.  Hmm, have to imagine a different hand… smaller, still firm but wrapped inside velvet skin…yeah, that was it.  He squirmed in the seat as he pumped his hand lazily, the restrictive denim rough against his balls.  Maybe if he just…yeah, eased the jeans a little lower…that’ll do…Eyes still closed he used both hands to skim the denim further down his thighs leaving his cock jutting from dark curls, the head moist with pre-cum and swollen with the need to be touched.  He groaned, a guttural sound deep in his throat followed by a husky “Buffy!” as he cupped his balls with one hand and resumed the stroking.  His tongue slipped out to moisten his lips, sweeping the sensitive nerve-endings to fuel his imagination that it was her kiss that ghosted along them.  He sucked his full bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing at the blood-rich flesh before letting go with a smack and a moan.  His wanking became more frenzied as he fancied he could smell the Slayer surrounding him; hear her increased heart rate, her breathless gasps.  He squeezed harder at his tight balls, feeling the pressure mount as he hurtled towards ejaculation.  Envisioning the Slayer, he was swamped… his every sense drenched in her and focusing with increasing intensity on the throbbing shaft he was fisting to orgasm.  He came with a strangled cry, spurts of milky semen spattering his jerking body with evidence of his waking wet dream.   

He smiled languidly as he continued to pump his hand ever more slowly, the best wank he’d ever had, thanks to a delectable vision of sun-kissed skin and honey tresses.  Sighing, he wiped his hand off on his shirt  - time for a cig - and opened his eyes. 

His eyes widened in horror as he saw the inspiration for his private party standing not three feet from him. 

“Buffy??  I…god… you been there long…?” 

With sickening realisation his addled brain deciphered the last few minutes; he’d felt surrounded by the Slayer’s scent, her heartbeat, because she’d only been standing right in front of him as he tossed off!  Again! 

“Look, it’s not…well, okay it was…oh sod it!  What can I do for you, Slayer?” 

He tried to regain some dignity by hoisting the jeans up from half-mast to hide the evidence – please god, she hadn’t heard him moaning her name like a big sissy? 

She had the grace to blush as she watched him fumbling at his fly with shaking hands, her hot pink tongue licking her lips as though she wanted to… 

“Hey!  No ogling the goods… perfectly natural thing to do, bloke on his own has certain needs, you know.”  Finally fastening the top button with a wince when he snagged his delicates, he reached to the packing crate table for his cigarettes. 

Buffy’s cheeks were scarlet, her eyes glazed as she struggled to speak.  She’d sneaked through the door as quietly as she could, figuring Spike would be asleep.  After ten days of no contact the urge to see him was undeniable; she’d justified it as being the Slayer’s duty to check out the opposition, a know your enemy thing.  Yeah, right.  It was really a Buffy the hungry harlot wants to check out Spike’s everything thing – more fuel for those increasingly frantic afternoon masturbations.   

Spike’s hand was shaking as he tried to calm himself, dragging smoke into his lungs. He’d just have to brazen it out as usual. 

“Cat got your tongue?”  He sighed.  He couldn’t summon any snark, not with her looking all gorgeous and flushed, and being able to smell his spendings and her arousal wafting on the air.  “Look, Buffy.  If you’ve come to beat me up…you’re a bit late.  As you can see, I’m already well pummelled.  But if it’s a staking you fancy…give it your best shot.  Just get on with it, yeah?” 

Wait…what was that…her arousal? 

He eyed her curiously.  Just what was she here for?  His head tilted in silent question, blue eyes naked with emotion. 

Without a word, Buffy narrowed the distance between them, her breath coming in erratic gasps as logic battled and lost to her desperate need to feel his body beneath her hands.  She paused; bare inches from him, close enough for her warmth to radiate to his cool skin and her breath moving the eyelashes on his hooded eyes.  Tentatively she raised both hands to cup his cheeks, eyelids fluttering as she struggled to deal with the maelstrom of emotions spiralling through her.  She was drawn to him, hadn’t stopped thinking of him since the night he’d chained her up and then awakened her body to such incredible pleasures, pleasures her solid and dependable boyfriend hadn’t a hope of bestowing on her.  She’d even tried to spice things up a bit with Riley in a desperate attempt to blot out Spike’s cool skin and cooler tongue, but the bewildered reluctance in his eyes had soon put a stop to that game.  So, the 35.4 seconds each breast and the three-minute horizontal jog had resumed and it was doing absolutely nothing for her.   

Slowly, Buffy closed her eyes and moved even closer so that her body was snug up against his, pulling his head down so their lips brushed.  Spike was stunned; Buffy was in his crypt and hadn’t punched him – yet!  Unwilling to move and break the spell, he kept still, arms hanging loosely at his sides.  Bolder now, she rotated her hips to brush against him, and was rewarded by his instant embrace as he pulled her tight against him.  His hands moved along her back, one coming to rest on her ass to pull her heated groin towards him, the other snaking up and into her hair, tangling with the silken strands.  He moaned against her, lips pressing against hers now urgently, tongue flicking across her mouth and dipping inside to tease her.  Breaking away from her, he whispered her name. 

“Buffy?” 

“No talking, Spike.  Kissing.” 

He complied, kissing her hard and long, nibbling her tender flesh to a blood-red pout before finally releasing her.  Buffy was dizzy with the lack of oxygen, heady with the thrumming pleasure zinging through her body.  She had to have more. 

Growling, she pushed him backwards to land back on the chair, launching herself at him to sit astride his lap.  His cry of pain halted her attempts to remove his shirt. 

“Spike?  Are you hurt…what did I do?” 

He gingerly repositioned his leg to straighten out his duff knee, puzzled and yet thrilled by the concern in her hazel eyes. 

“Oh, s’nothing, pet.  Just a parting gift from Drac for mucking his plans up.  I’m almost healed now.” 

Buffy saw the fading bruises marring his ivory skin, ashamed that she hadn’t even noticed in her eagerness to jump him.  She made to scoot backwards off his knees. 

“Ah, ah, ah!  Not so fast…” 

“But Spike…you’re injured, I’m sorry – I shouldn’t…” 

“Buffy.  Buffy!  Vampire yeah?  Enhanced healing powers?  I’m fine, just got knocked about a bit, is all.”  His eyes narrowed, a cheeky smirk stealing across his face, the tongue of the devil himself curling up behind his teeth to seal her fate.  “Now, where were we…” 

He slithered his hands up the Slayer’s muscled arms, caressing her shoulders and neck before cupping her jaw and bringing her mouth to his to kiss her breathless again. God, what Spike did to her with just a kiss… 

He grinned against her as eager hands crept up under his shirt to ghost across his abs, hesitate before her fingers brushed his nipples to erectness.  No doubt about it, as delicious as his little daydream had been, it didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.  Buffy tweaked both his nipples simultaneously, pinching them harder as Spike rocked against her.  The exquisite pain pleasure had him almost creaming in his pants.  He placed a hand across hers, staying her ministrations.  

Buffy stared into his azure blue eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she lost herself in their depths.  In a flash she felt the cool air in the crypt rush against her as her top was ripped apart, shredded, felt even cooler fingers reach up and under her bra to knead and tease her nipple whilst a strong arm kept her from falling backwards.  With wet kisses he sucked the rosy bud through the soon sopping lace, and when that contact wasn’t enough he ripped it away with his teeth, making her gasp in surprise. She was so wet the thick denim of her jeans was soaked through with her juices and Spike was having a hard time reining in his demon every time he caught a heady whiff of her arousal.  Ignoring the injured knee, he pushed himself upright with one hand, Buffy swinging her legs up to lock around his waist so as not to lose the contact with him.  The tatters of her bra soon joined her shirt on the floor and she swiftly removed Spike’s shirt and pressed her breasts against him, aching for contact.  She wriggled her hips, Spike’s moan delighting her.  Big Bad vampire, huh?  He was putty in her hands. 

She tangled her hands in his hair, almost devouring his lips as he limped over to the sarcophagus that had bore witness to their previous encounter.  Gently, he laid her down, unzipping the jeans that hindered his plans.  He threw her boots over his shoulder then tugged on the denim, Buffy raising her hips eager to be rid of them, chuckling as he untangled her sodden panties from the denim and sucked them into his mouth.   

“Ewww! That’s just gross, Spike!” 

“Nothing gross about it, kitten.  All kinds of healthy nourishment … and you are my banquet…” He shot her a wolfish grin that made her jaw go slack, before dipping his head to roughly lick her wet pussy, sucking in her clit as he finished the sweep of his tongue. 

She almost fainted with the pleasure, arching off the tomb and straining against his eager mouth.  And then, he was gone, the lack of his lips, his tongue… “NOOoooo…” she whimpered.  She leant up on her elbows, searching for him.  Nowhere… 

“Spike.  Spike!  You’d better not be doing what I think you’re doing!” 

“Oh, Slayer!” he singsonged, the sound echoing from the lower part of the crypt, somewhere she hadn’t been previously.  She didn’t know what game he was playing but he’d better put up or shut up… and soon! 

She padded across the cold stone floor on bare feet, shivering at the cool air on her naked form.  She bent over to peer down into the darkness of the lower chamber, squeaking in surprise when cool hands reached up and seized her by the waist to pull her down the ladder.  She slapped at him half-heartedly, stopping mid flap when she noticed her surroundings.  It was a candle-lit chamber filled with rich hangings and exotic rugs, dominated by a huge bed covered in pale satin sheets.   

“Wow, Spike…just…wow.  Where did all this come from?” 

“Here and there…just thought it’d be nice for you…you know…if you came back…” 

Buffy swallowed around the lump suddenly rising in her throat.  He did this for me? No one’s ever…

He was watching her guardedly, unsure of her reaction.  Chances are she’d go all huffy and stomp off at the thought he had the nerve to assume she’d be back for more.  He chewed his lip, hands thrust into his pockets. 

She sauntered towards him, reeling him in by the belt loops when she got close enough and covering his face in kisses.  “Wanna christen it,” she whispered throwing him to lie on his back on the padded coverlet.  In seconds he was naked, his cock springing to life again as she deliberately licked and sucked one, then two, fingers into her mouth.  He was mesmerised as she ran her hands down to cup her breasts, eyes never leaving his, the wet digits coating the rosy tips as she tweaked and rubbed her nipples.  He almost missed her husky voice as she spoke softly. 

“You see, Spike…you’re not the only one who’s been indulging in a little… no…make that a lot… of solo polo since our last meeting.  Turns out the only thing that…as you'd say… ’hits the spot’… is…well, you.” 

He watched, dumbstruck, as her hands moved lower, lower; fingertips brushed her moist curls, throwing off fresh waves of arousal that flared his nostrils.  She bent over slightly, her breasts squashed together as she dipped one finger into her opening, eyes closed.   

“I’ve spent every afternoon trying to get that feeling back again…I’ve almost had it…if I close my eyes and feel your tongue on my breasts…my pussy…” 

She punctuated every word with a graphic demonstration with her fingers on her nipples, in her curls.  Spike couldn’t believe his eyes – Salome the Seductress - without her seven veils, had seen off Miss Hoity-Toity. 

“It’s always stayed just… that tiny bit out of reach… tormenting me.  So I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s nothing like the real thing.” 

Spike was snapped out of his trance when her eyes opened to fix hungrily on him.  The prowl she affected as she stalked towards him was eerily familiar; he felt a little disturbed, a little…unsettled…by her suddenly aggressive stance.  And highly aroused. 

When she growled at him, he replied with a rumble deep in his throat, predator calling to predator.  She even did his bed prowl, crawling up his prone body to settle herself, her moist heat hovering above his throbbing cock, teasing him with phantom touches.   Enough was enough. 

“Buffy!” he snarled, warning her to be careful.  In a flash she had his cock buried deep inside her, grabbing his hands to bring them to her breasts as she ground against him, using the strength in her thighs to lift herself up and down along his length.   Beads of sweat appeared on her upper lip, her brow, as she kept up the relentless rhythm, her body becoming slickened as she moved.  Spike’s hands left her breasts to grip her hips: if it was the last thing he did he was going to reassert some measure of mastery over the Slayer, before cock conquered brain and he came before he’d even got going.  He slowed the pace; her mewls as she struggled to buck faster making him clench his jaw, fighting for control.  When he’d almost stopped thrusting, Buffy panting and begging for him to move faster, he switched – rolling so that she was on her back beneath him.   

“What was that, Slayer?  Faster?  Harder?”  Buffy nodded, licking her lips in anticipation. 

With a roar of animal lust Spike pounded her into the bed, Buffy writhing and clawing at his back and meeting every thrust with equal passion.  Spike vamped out, losing control of the demon when her nails dug into his back.  Her eyes widened as the ridges appeared, the fangs lengthened.  Some small part of her mind knew she should be disgusted, should be reaching for a stake.  Instead she grasped his head and brought his lethal fangs to the throbbing pulse in her neck.  His bite rocketed straight to her clit; her orgasm swamping her without warning, as he took great pulls at her blood whilst keeping up the punishing pace between her thighs.  She felt the urge to do something primal, something savage.  Without thinking she bit down on Spike’s neck, suckling at his flesh as he roared against her.  She didn’t mean to pierce his skin but somehow she tasted the tang of blood on her tongue.  It inflamed her further, and she wrapped her legs around him to keep him buried deep inside her as she sucked at the wound she’d made.  The feel of her teeth sent Spike spiralling out of control, a gush of semen flooding her as her muscles clamped around him in another orgasm… then another… endless. 

They lay locked together, tremors fading, until Buffy’s heart rate slowed and her breathing became more regular.  Neither wanted to move, knowing that once the moment was over, real life would rear its ugly head.  Buffy had to be the Slayer, the friend, the daughter, the girlfriend.  Spike had to be the vampire, the demon, the killer incapable of love.  Only… could they ever be those things again? 

“Spike… that was… ” Buffy’s drowsy voice whispered against his ear, “don’t wanna leave.  Can’t I stay here?  With you?” 

Regret tinged Spike’s words as he faced the inevitable, lazily stroking his hand along her flank.  “There’s nothing I want more, pet. But what about your Watcher, your friends… soldier boy?  You know you can’t - doesn’t mean you can’t come back though.  I’ll be here waiting.  I’ll always be waiting for you, Buffy.”  The last words were barely a whisper. 

Buffy’s eyes fluttered closed in exhaustion, her lips barely moving as she spoke the last words on her conscious mind; “But I want you, Spike.  Only you.” 

The vampire was torn between tears and elation; maybe if she felt that same way when she woke there’d be a chance…

Maybe.

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