Chapter 3
Nobody messed with the Slayer.
Especially not a Slayer who was frustrated by lack of boyfriend-type kissage and seemed to have a yen for vampires. Apparently.
Shaking her head in wonder she threw herself at Spike, hands reaching to grab him, but he laughed and sidestepped easily, swinging around to wrap a cold hand around one of her biceps. She stopped sharply, the shoulder wrenching with the force of the tug. Without pause, she bent at the waist and kicked backwards, catching him under the chin and sending him sprawling to the floor. She thought he'd be pissed and whirled around to fight him, but he simply sat where he'd landed, rubbing his chin and licking the blood from his split lip off his fingers.
"Oh, Slayer – I knew we could dance together. Come on, love, give us your best shot."
"You ...you..."
"Me… me...." Spike sniggered. "Cat got your tongue?" Suddenly on his feet with panther-like grace, Spike whipped off his red shirt to reveal a skin tight T-shirt that outlined his muscular chest and abs perfectly. Buffy's steps toward him faltered as he gripped the bottom of the shirt with one pale hand and swept it up and over his head. His skin shone in the half-light of the crypt, the shadows and candlelight defining his muscles sharply. She froze, staring, and felt her cheeks burn as her eyes refused to look away.
Spike's nostrils flared as he noted the subtle shift of scent emanating from the Slayer; there'd been a slight overlay of arousal even while she was asleep, and it had been growing steadily all the time they snarked and circled each other. He'd been puzzled at first, but as he sat and waited for her to wake he'd pondered on the fact that the other two slayers he'd met had also reacted to him unconsciously. Maybe it was a demon thing, dark side of the Slayer needing a bit of monster. That made sense. He bet he knew more about her dark side than she did. She was just a bit of a kid after all. Nicely rounded in lots of womanly places, but barely the right side of adolescence. Ripe. Juicy. Smelled gorgeous, she did.
He kept watching her as he cupped himself through the thick denim of his jeans and ran his hand along the outline of his erection. Her eyes widened, unblinking as she focused on his crotch, her chained hands falling to hang in front of her pelvis limply, her little pink tongue darting out of her parted lips to wet them. What had been in that drink? Essence of ho? Skanky chick juice? What on earth had her hot and horny for Spike? It couldn't be her own natural reaction because for one, she was in love with Angel and for two, she wasn't that kind of girl. Spike had been eerily accurate when he mentioned second base earlier. Kissing – yeah, she could do that in spades, practised for hours with a mirror and the fleshy part of her hand – but the touchy feely stuff? She was still a little hazy on the details.
But suddenly she was ready and willing to learn. And with a teacher who was so obviously ready to teach!
"Spike..." her voice was breathy, very low, barely stirring the air, but he heard it. Oh yes, he heard it. And he heard the unspoken plea she uttered, craved it, needed it. Maybe the demon in the man needed the Slayer as much as the Slayer needed it.
Oh hell, he’d had enough dancing.
In three strides he had her in his arms, his hands gripping her shoulders so hard he bruised her flesh, his mouth on hers and his teeth nicking her lips to let her Slayer blood tease him with the promise of delights to come. She was so warm, her blood pounding through her veins, her heat searing his skin where his bare chest touched hers. Hardened nipples, hers and his, scraped across sensitised flesh and his hands tangled in her hair, ran up and down her back as he kissed the breath out of her. Her manacled hands beat on his chest and through the haze of lust he realised that she needed to draw breath and raised his head, reluctantly, to gaze down into green eyes flecked with golden lights. Beautiful. The Slayer was beautiful.
Goddamn the sodding poet! Kept squashed down so deep for years, he suddenly wanted out. And Buffy the Vampire Slayer had him metaphorically dressed in frilly shirts and with ink-smudged fingers like William had never left him.
He couldn't help himself, he fell to his knees and buried his face against her soft belly, his arms wrapping her close. His nose brushed the curls at the apex of her thighs and Buffy's moans sounded soft in the cool air when his tongue parted her virgin folds and flicked over her clit. It was ice, it was fire, and had her limbs spasming. Her knees shook and failed to hold her up, her torso slipping through Spike's grasp so that the soft skin of her stomach then her aching breasts drew level with his hungry mouth. And then they were facing each other, both on their knees, both panting though one didn't need to, eyes wide and scared and hungry and naked.
What the fuck was this? Since when did William the Bloody get on his knees for a woman? Even Dru had to beat him to the floor and he got off on that. But Buffy Summers...
"What is this? Spike... I'm the vampire slayer, and you're..."
"I'm a vampire. I know. Buffy… I've no idea. Just need to touch you."
A shy giggle. "You called me Buffy."
"Yeah, well your mum gave you that name, don't blame me that it's daft."
Buffy struggled in his grasp but he held on and tackled her to the floor.
"Don't talk about my mom like that. She whupped your ass, and don't you forget it."
They were both aware of the fragile nature of this unexpected truce. Each of them was in equal parts aroused and anxious, Buffy not sure how to deal with the unfamiliar waves of lust that threatened to swamp her and drag her down. And she couldn't rely on Spike to turn into a perfect gentleman at the thought of her virginal modesty; hell, he was more likely to revel in it.
And worst of all she couldn't find it in herself to put up much of a fight. She’d never felt so alive before. Giles and his lectures in the library, her friends, Angel – so far away, so inconsequential compared to the sensations that were racing through her shivering body.
Spike reached behind him, still gazing at Buffy's flushed face as she lay beneath him, and snagged the key to her manacles from his back pocket. While Buffy's brain was still struggling with her predicament, he reached between them and released her from her bonds. The snap of the lock caught her attention and she looked down at her hands dazedly as he gently unhinged the cuffs and threw them to one side.
Here was her chance - she could use her newfound freedom to overpower the vampire and send him on his dusty way. So why had she stretched out her hands and gently moved them down from his shoulders, along his chest and hard stomach, and why was she even now tugging at the button on his waistband until it popped?
Spike drew in a useless breath as the zipper rolled down, Buffy pulling at his jeans. He had no use for underwear, so her deft fingers found wiry hair to tangle in when she delved beneath the thick cloth. She hesitated, her heart racing, before shoving her hand fully inside his jeans and gripping him in nervous fingers, wriggling as the consequences of her actions made themselves known by the hot wetness between her thighs. She had no conscious idea what she was doing, but judging by the way Spike's eyes were rolling back in his head and his grunts and groans, she was doing it right.
"Yeah, love, harder... yeah, oh god! Feels so good...mmm."
Buffy alternated between watching her hand move in and out of Spike's fly, and the engorged flesh her fist encircled, and watching his face as he moaned and writhed. His eyes were closed, his teeth catching his bottom lip and holding it there before releasing it on a moan and parting his lips to show his agile tongue flicking as if in search of something. She lowered her eyes and looked up again through dark lashes to find him gazing at her. The look almost stopped her heart. Intense and hot but a little unsure. Not quite what she'd expected from a vicious monster. But then again, none of this was what she'd expected.
She hesitated, her hand stilling as their eyes locked. She didn't know what to do next, the impetus that had her following her instincts disappearing. She'd never done this before, never so much as looked at a man in that way, never mind touched him. And this wasn't even a man staring down at her with something nameless in his eyes; it was a demon, a soulless thing.
What the hell was she thinking?
"I… I can't...” She tried to scoot away, but Spike's iron fist gripped her arm and held her fast, both of them ending up kneeling, facing each other.
"Where d'you think you're going, Slayer? We've unfinished business here. Not done with you yet."
His voice was hard and cold, and it belied the glimpse of passion she'd seen in his eyes just moments before. Truth was, Buffy Summers had gotten beneath his skin and it had all happened too fast. It was all he could do not to start spouting poetry when she'd slid her hands along his body and glanced at him with emerald green eyes, and when she'd inched her hand inside his jeans and cupped him...well, apart from the fact that he nearly shot his load there and then he had to bite his lip to stop himself becoming William again. It had him scared. And Spike wasn't scared of anyone or anything.
And now the tricky little bint was trying to leave him hanging. Not going to happen.
"Get your hands off me! You poisoned me some mind-bending drug or something, didn’t you? I’d never have done... that... if I was in my right mind."
Spike snorted. "Yeah - right. I can smell how excited you are, and..." he reached down with his free hand and rubbed a finger along her opening, forcing her thighs apart. “...I can feel it."
He was delicately tracing the outline of her pussy, and despite her words, Buffy was leaning into his touch, her hips rocking barely perceptibly but enough to encourage more. Spike gripped Buffy's upper arm with one hand, tugging her towards him and down so it was easy for him to roll her fully on to her back without breaking the moment. Buffy's eyes flittered closed, her mouth open slightly as she let her body's yearnings take control and banish any conscious objections she had.
Spike grinned as he felt Buffy relax, her legs parting more as he slid two cool fingers inside her tight quim. He'd had the odd virgin over the years, although it wasn't his particular kink. But somehow the thought that he'd be her first was intoxicating, and he wanted to make it memorable. Not for long, granted, given that he was going to drain her and add to his tally of slain slayers. But she would die happy; he was going to make sure of it.
"You like that, love? You want more?" His voice was like molten chocolate, hypnotic and low and Buffy heard herself answer without consciously doing so.
"Yes... more..."
Spike's head dipped as he fastened his lips on one pert nipple, licking and suckling at her while at the same time increasing the pace with which he was finger-fucking her, his thumb keeping up a steady rhythm along her clit. Buffy's breathing was coming in short little gasps, her back arching as she lost herself in the moment, and Spike couldn't help but be fascinated by her reaction to the slightest of his touches. He hadn't really begun the seduction yet, and she was already trembling and moaning and drenching his fingers with her juices. Who knew that the only thing better than killing a slayer would be fucking one?
Urgent pressure at his groin reminded him that he still wore his jeans, his rock-hard cock pressing painfully against the serrated edge of the open zipper as every whimper that came from Buffy's hot little mouth had him throbbing and hard. He wanted to bury himself inside her heat, tear at her throat with lethal fangs as he flooded her womb with his seed. He wanted it more than he could remember wanting anything else -- and he would have it.
Just the thought of her blood flowing down his throat brought forth his demon, his brow ridging as it rested against her breast, his fangs descending as he suckled. As he pierced her nipple she cried out in pain and pleasure, the one warring with the other as she bucked beneath him, her body convulsed by the fierce orgasm that ripped through her.
Amber eyes gazed down on her hungrily as she relaxed back, ripples of pleasure still shooting along her nerve endings, her skin flushed and damp with sweat. Spike swiftly dragged off his jeans and settled back between her open legs, ignoring her mewls of uncertainty as he poised at her opening just barely pressing the tip of his cock inside her. Buffy lifted her head, eyes now wide and fearful as she noted his demonic countenance, and she struggled to get away. But Spike wasn't letting her go, not now, not ever. The only way she was leaving his embrace was when she was no longer breathing.
He gripped her shoulders and held her down, thrusting inside her tightness, sheathing himself to the hilt and marvelling at the feel of his cock gloved in warm flesh. Buffy cried out as he broke through her maidenhead, tears slipping from her eyes at the pain like none other she'd felt; but as he began to withdraw, then thrust forward ever so slowly, again and again, the pain gave way to intense pleasure and she couldn't help but start to thrust back, her hands creeping up to stroke along his bare back. More than anything she wanted this feeling to go on, the fluttering that was building where they joined was elusive and she ground down on his cock as he pounded into her, her nails digging in as she begged him wordlessly not to stop, to never, ever stop, to take her over the edge and never let her fall back.
Spike fought against the urge to bury his face in her neck - not to bite her, but to whisper poetry in her ear. He was losing his grip, switching from his human visage to his demon without any effort or control. What the fuck was happening to him? This tiny human was messing with his heart and his head and he hated it.
He did. Loathed it.
So why on earth did he so desperately want to mark her and make her his when moments ago her death was the only thing on his mind?
It was the gasping that did it, breathy moans that culminated in "Spike!", counterpoint to the pulsating grip of her pussy when she came; it was the sound of his name on her lips that sent him over and released a stream of his semen and babbling words of love and lust and passion in equal measure. He slumped on top of her, still bound in the circle of her arms and her legs and warmed by her heat, breathing to match the rise and fall of her chest.
Until reality set in. He'd just fucked the slayer – no, he'd damn well made love to the slayer. And what's more, she was still breathing and possessed of most of her blood. It was wrong, and he knew it. Vampire. Slayer. The natural order of things made them mortal enemies whose sole aim should be to kill the other.
He jumped back, shoving her away roughly and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Buffy sat up quickly and clasped her knees to her chest, covering herself as best she could and looking up at him with confusion. She was barely a woman, had just lost her virginity to a creature she loathed and knew not at all. And she had the same thoughts and fears that any women would have at such a moment.
"Was I not...good? Did I do something wrong?"
And there, finally, she had him. There was nothing he could do about it and he was damned forever. The slayer held his unbeating heart in her hand and he knew without any doubt that he would be hers always. Bloody poet, wouldn't do the decent thing and leave him be.
In an instant he was on his knees in front of her, blue eyes searching for a connection, hands reaching for and cupping her face to tilt it upwards. Buffy blinked, eyes misty with tears and wary.
"No, love. Nothing wrong. It's just... this – you and me. It's not right. I know it; you know it. I was gonna shag you and drain you, notch up my third slayer. But something happened to me here and I don't know what I'm gonna do about it. Never imagined I'd be having this conversation with the Slayer. Dru never saw this coming." He chuckled, wryly.
Or did she? Maybe this was why she'd kicked up such a fuss when he'd failed to off the Slayer that first time.
Buffy froze in the vampire's arms. Every part of her told her to kill him, to do her duty. But there was a louder voice that came from within, drowning out her instincts. She'd heard his words that this was wrong, and she believed him. She knew it. But then it shouldn’t feel so right to be held by him, like she'd found a part of her that she’d never realised was missing. She felt whole, complete.
"So what are you saying, Spike?"
"Don't rightly know. All I do know is that I don't want to kill you any more. I think I'd like you to stay like this, warm and tight and... what? I'm still a vampire, love, a demon. I'm not some bloody poofter with pretty words, I say what's in my head.” Well, he did have pretty words, he just kept them hidden away with the poet. “You can't tell me that wasn't the best shag of your life because I know it was. And yeah, okay – so it was the first shag of your life. But believe me, it only gets better from now on in."
Buffy shivered, partly from cold but mostly from anticipation of regaining the feeling of him inside her. Spike was right. Something had happened; something huge. They had to find out what this was all about. Her teeth chattered.
"You cold, Slayer? Here – wrap this around you." Spike slipped his duster round her shoulders, smiling when he saw her bury her face in the soft leather and inhale his scent. He almost missed the words she uttered.
"What, say again?"
"I said – Buffy. Call me Buffy again." She looked up at him shyly, clutching the coat around her. "You can't keep on calling me Slayer if we're gonna... well, you know."
Spike's throaty laugh echoed round the crypt as he gathered her to him, nestling close. "I take it you've decided to give me another go, then Slay...I mean… Buffy?"
He found himself flat on his back and straddled by a very horny and curious, recently deflowered woman with Slayer strength. "I need to do something to keep me warm. And it's still early. Wanna show me whether all this is drug real or real real? I've read about vampire stamina, you know?"
Spike smiled widely, grabbing her and rolling her to her back. He'd no idea how this was going to end, no idea if he'd been hit by the roofie when he'd guzzled some slayer blood earlier. But he had a warm and eager lover in his arms, one he felt something for, although at the moment he wasn’t sure what. He wasn't one to overanalyse. Seize the day, grab it by the throat and throttle the life out of it. For tomorrow, you could die. Again.
"Oh, baby – you've no idea."
The End