"Something Wild"

Author: Amy
Contact: Slvrbttn@aol.com
Spoilers: Through Smashed.

She wanted something more from him, something that she couldn't describe, not even to herself. For those nights that she would see him, and would leave him, she was left with longing, hungering for something else, something different and painful and right and wild.

She only need ask it of him and he would fulfill her wishes, but she didn't know that. He wanted to please her, to give her everything he had until he was left empty of himself and filled with only her. He took her heartaches upon himself willingly, eagerly, filling up space with her thoughts and gestures and complaints and confessions slowly, wrenchingly slowly.

He escaped from himself when he was with her and when he was without her, she filled his mind. He felt simple when she was near, uncomplicated from a past life with past lovers and too many transgressions to count. He felt redeemed and had never realized how much he ached for redemption until she gave it to him.

Sometimes she asked him about Angel, and his former life and he would talk languidly about the old days, when they were together with Dru and Darla. He saw the test in her eyes, the question in them not knowing what he would reveal if he revealed anything at all. He didn't know if answering her questions would make him pass or fail, but if she wouldn't accept anything else from him, he could at least give her honesty.

Buffy would grow silent as he would talk and it would hurt thinking of him. It hurt, but not like it used to. The compassion, coupled with frankness in his voice eased the frustrations that came whenever she thought about her relationship with Angel. She never expected compassion from Spike but was relieved to find that he had it in him.

He seemed to have a lot of things in him that she would never have expected.

And then there were those kisses, kisses brought on by more need than caring. The hungry kind of need for touch and taste, for contact. There was something comforting about holding him close, as if being with Riley had been wrong all along, not for the initial reasons she'd suspected, but because of the simple fact of his humanity. Nothing drove everything else away like the feel of her skin heating up someone else's. His lips were cool against hers but they grew warm, grew hot, as did his hands as they slid along her skin and through her hair.

She didn't want to admit those kisses into her memory. They belonged outside, like everything else was outside, except for the distant, aching memory of where she had been when she was dead.

But Spike wouldn't stay outside. He clung to her, followed her, demanded things from her. So she pushed him away, as best she could, telling herself that it was true, she didn't have any feelings for him because how could she, really? He was evil. He had no soul.

She had no illusions about that, at least.

But there he was, always, seeing through her. Understanding her lies about the way she felt and even understanding her need for them, but refusing to accept them nonetheless. He pulled her to him, time after time, inside, showing her that he was more perspective than she ever gave him credit for being, more decent, even though he was a soulless demon, and more tender even though she didn't know how to allow herself to take his tenderness.

Then came the night where it all rushed together; the walls crumbling, the house shaking, the insults and punches flying. And suddenly she was in his arms, pushing herself at him, grasping herself to him, sliding down on his body out of anger and frustration and desire and something resembling love and also the wish to just make him shut up.

It was feral and violent, cleansing and shaming her all at once as she found ecstasy in his embrace. Wrapped around him, slamming into him with a ferocity she never knew she had, she finally found herself for the first time since coming back from her grave.

And she killed him also, with that flinty smile as she rode him. Their coupling was too angry, too vicious to be what he wanted and yet it was. Being with her, thrusting inside of her, touching every part of her... It was what he wanted.

He felt himself die a thousand times with her kisses, once for each time he was reborn. She was wrapped around him like a warm, wet sheath, like all of the thousands of dreams he had had about her. She slid down and filled herself with him and then pulled up, away, until he almost wasn't in her anymore before covering him fully again.

Spike felt unneeded breath escape him as she babbled senselessly in his ear as she came. "So good... Hate you... Don't stop..."

"I hate you too," he panted, lying easily, knowing instinctively it was what she wanted. Knowing that the truth would cause her to slam back into the reality where she could see what a wrong thing this was. Knowing that if he spoke of his love for her in that moment when they were joined that she would pull away and leave him frustrated and wanting yet again, leave him to be alone, without anyone, but most especially without her.

So he lied. "Stupid bint, not normal, scared, inhuman as I am..."< couldn't > he rambled as her soft center quivered around him. Her movement, and skin, and touch and kiss didn't bring him slowly towards orgasm but rather thrust him into the center of it and his release seemed to go on and on.

At that moment after he climaxed, he didn't care that she wasn't stupid, was as normal as a Slayer who'd died twice could be, or more human that most of the humans he came in contact with. All he cared about was her hair, smelling like shampoo and the dust that had been kicked up all around them, brushing his neck. All he cared about were the soft purring sounds coming from deep inside her throat. All he cared about was how soft she was, still lying on top of him.

It was a dream. ...But it wasn't, because it was really happening.

His cock twitched to life again, still embedded in her swollen center, and Buffy looked up at him, surprise reflecting in her eyes.

"No, really?" she finally muttered incredulously and Spike found that he was grinning.

"Thought you'd done this before," he said, starting to thrust his hips up again. He paused, considering, and then added, "With a vampire."

Her breath was ragged with renewed excitement. "I was a... virgin... with Angel and it... hurt. You must've known how big..."

"You don't need to finish that sentence," Spike said darkly and to his surprise, she didn't, instead jumping to the end of her explanation.

"He was... gentleman. It took a long time... anyway. I... fell asleep after." The words, half-sentences and jerky pauses brought another smile to his lips.

Expertly, without pushing her away from him, he removed her jacket and top, pleased that she wasn't wearing a bra so he could cover her breasts with his hands. Her nipples tightened under his calloused palms. He leaned up to lick one lightly, bite gently at the sensitive underside of her breast as he did so, she ripped his shirt down the middle, still rocking back and forth on top of him.

"Hey," he said with what he hoped sounded like outrage although it was really pleasure that she wanted him naked too, "I didn't ruin your clothes!"

"Yeah," she muttered, raking her fingernails harshly down his chest, "Sorry about that. You don't have many clothes, anyway, so I'll try to be careful."

He scowled. "Fuck you."

She smirked, her combative spirit rising at the insult, "Gee, I'm so surprised to what we've been doing."

Angrily, wishing she could say one nice word to him while they were having sex, knowing it wouldn't happen no matter how hard he wished it, he spun her over until she was underneath, pinning her arms down against the cold, concrete floor. "You have no idea what real fucking is," he taunted stabbing into her furiously. "Little Buffy, always gets the man to 'make love' to her, as if she really knows what love means. Even when he's faking that part. Didn't know it about Parker at the time that he was just fucking, did you? You thought he cared, you thought you would be together forever... Well, I'm gonna tell you now. If fucking's all you want, then that's all you get."

He tightened his hands and felt something crack in one of her wrists but didn't loosen his hold. But she didn't pull away, like he expected, instead gasping and lifting her hips in rhythm with his, wrapping her ankles around his waist.

As she shuddered around him for the second time that evening, her mouth opening in a cry of delight, something inside him fell painfully. She didn't deny wanting something less than everything he wanted to give her, embracing the harshness of what he was offering her now instead.

But then her eyes opened again, and they were blurred and wet. Tears slid down from the corners, falling in her hair, on the ground, and he was amazed. "I've never had that," she whimpered underneath him, still shaking from her climax, "Give that to me."

"I *am* giving that to you,"< tenderness? > he ground out, thrusting forward once more, twice more, emptying himself, feeling as if his heart had been rattled from his chest.

He was heavy on top of her, limp, but she didn't complain of the weight. She touched the side of his face, with a strange gentleness and he lifted it from where it was lying on her shoulder to look into her eyes. "You were making love to me," she said softly and it was somehow both an accusation and a statement of fact. "I'm not sure you *can* just fuck me. You've been making love to me the whole time, this whole dance, just in different ways." A smile touched her lips. "With Parker, I thought it was making love but it wasn't. With you, you wanted to let me believe that it wasn't, but I knew it was. It probably always will be, for you. I can't give you that."

He sighed, pulling away from her to get a little distance, even if it was only a few inches. "I don't care."

She felt a weird moment of loss as he left her body. "Yes, you do," she countered, and this time her voice was hard. "This hasn't been love for me, Spike. Something different. Something strange and wild and even something a little good. But not love."

He cocked his head to the side, wonder filling his features as he stared at her. She shifted restlessly under his gaze but didn't get up and leave like she wanted to. After a long moment, he smiled and the smile was blissful and almost childlike, full of joy and pleasure.

"You love me back," he said simply, and there was no smugness in his tone like he would have thought if he had ever really thought this moment would come to pass.

She exhaled her annoyance. "Can it get worse than this? You're evil *and* a moron."

"But really good in the sack,"< Oh, there's the smugness. > he grinned.

"I'm leaving."

He caught her by her injured wrist as she started to stand, and she stared at him. "No, you're not. You're not leaving because I'm not letting you go. If you don't want, don't say you love me. I don't care. Because I know you do, or a part of you does. You want this, you want me, even if you don't know it yet."

"Let go of me," she said between clenched teeth.

"No." He shot her a wink.

"Let go of me," she repeated, her eyes closing into angry slits.

"Make me."

Kicking her leg out, she caught him in the thigh and they sprawled on the floor together. She swung her fist and hit him in the jaw, hearing a satisfying crack, but he only grunted once and returned her punch, landing his fist against her mouth. She made another small noise of fury as her lip split, blood oozing sullenly from the wound.

Before she could react again, he pulled her close, kissing her, the smell of that blood tantalizing him. She returned the kiss, fire overwhelming her insides < i touch the fireand it freezes me... > as she clawed desperately at his bare back. He reached down and removed her skirt, slipping it off quickly, and then kicked off his shoes and shimmied out of his jeans so that he wouldn't have to stop kissing her for a second.

She knew what he was doing, as he sucked on her lips and made little sounds of pleasure, but she didn't push away from him like she would have thought she would. She let him kiss her, nibble at her, lick the blood seeping from her mouth because... Because he looked so happy.

At that thought, she pushed him away he dipped his head with wry understanding before pushing her back and sliding over her.

And they began again.

Buffy was in his arms, asleep.

Buffy.

Was in his arms, asleep.

Buffy.

Asleep.

In his arms.

As hard as he tried, Spike couldn't wrap his mind around that concept, though it was far more than a concept at that point. She was really there, smooth and nude and pressed so closely against him that he could feel her ribs expand with every steady breath she took.

He licked his lips and smiled slightly at the taste still there. He tried to figure out why he felt sad in that moment, when everything he could ever want was not only in the room with him, but cuddled close in his embrace.

He'd never touched her. Hadn't hunted after her; hadn't forced his love onto her when she was so unwilling. He'd simply been there, and she finally decided to take advantage of that fact, for which he would always be grateful.

But still, sadness.

He sighed heavily, wishing he had a cigarette. It was because she hadn't admitted to his suspicions about how she loved him; how she would never admit to them. He knew there was something, saw something there, but was pained to realize that it might not be as deep as he'd hoped. At least, not for her.

But she was still there, and so was he, and he wouldn't turn her way. Not ever. Even though he should, and they both knew it, he couldn't turn his back on her because he was hers now. He didn't like being claimed, but he understood that he was and that he belonged to her.

He thought back to every insult spoken, every angry word, every punch and kick that landed earlier that night that had led them to this place, and he wasn't sorry. He hadn't been lying. He'd wanted to hurt her, like she continued to hurt him, over and over, callously. So he did, he hurt her, but he felt every blow he'd thrown against her inside of him, and it hurt.

She didn't want his love; had already attested to that much. She didn't want his care, because she hadn't yet realized that she couldn't fully take care of herself. She didn't want his proclamations because they were just words and even he knew how badly words could sting.

But she wanted this. She wanted to go to a place where her fury was matched, a place where she could hit back and feel the satisfaction of the fight, the exhilaration of winning because he'd as much as told her that she always would. She wanted something desperate that she couldn't describe, something foreign and so wrong that it was right.

She wanted something wild.

He looked down at her; her eyelids twitched a little in her dream-state. Her hair was soft, caressing his arm, falling over his chest. She was warm, so warm, so perfect, so strong and still vulnerable, still feminine, still... Buffy. And in that moment, he loved her more than he ever had before.

Something wild.

If she wouldn't take anything else from him, he decided, he would at least give her that.

The End

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