"’Bout bloody time."

Buffy ignored Spike as she watched Lindsey head for the stage. Unlike the rest of the saps in the bar, he wasn’t picking out his favorite victim, er, song. There was an acoustic guitar slung over his back in a way that looked wickedly natural. Lindsey stepped on stage, his head hung low so he could see to adjust the mic stand.

As he looked up, taking the spotlight full in the face, Buffy made a strangled noise. She sat up straighter in the booth, her hand flexing automatically around her non-existent stake. She growled. The bouncer forced her to leave her weapons at the door. Lindsey’s left eye was blackened and swollen. The collar of his button-up shirt didn’t completely hide the fresh, vicious bite at his throat. Fingerprint bruises ringed his neck and dotted his jaw.

Spike chuckled and Buffy glared at him. It only served to amuse him more. "Get off it, Slayer," he slurred, nodding to a passing waitress for another round.

Buffy shook her head in disgust and turned her attention back to Lindsey who was tuning his guitar. Spike was drunk and surly as usual and for the hundredth time, she wondered what had possessed her to bring him along.

"What’d ya think would happen?"

Buffy jumped as Spike slurred in her ear. Embarrassed that a falling down drunk vampire managed to get that close without her knowledge, she roughly shoved him away. "Fuck off," she spat.

He laughed again. "Peaches beat up your little boy toy," he mused with a grin. "You didn’t honestly think that ol’ Linds was gonna get away with it, did you?"

Buffy tried to ignore him, her jaw clenched tightly.

A near guffaw tore out of Spike’s throat. "Jesus Christ, you’re shocked," he gaped. More uncontrollable laughter. "Damn good thing the evil lawyer is only human," he said. "If it’d been me, I wouldn’t be able to walk right now."

"Well it wasn’t you," Buffy said coldly. "And it never will be you, Spike. Never."

He bristled at the condescension in her tone, sobering. "You don’t get it, do you?" Spike asked, his vitriol matching hers. "Angel is Master. Lindsey belongs to him. If it’d been Angelus, Lindsey would be dead now. As it is, looks like Peaches did a pretty good number on him. Lindsey made the mistake of fucking the Master’s mate and that simply is not acceptable."

"I am nobody’s mate," Buffy growled.

Spike’s expression was blank for a moment and he smiled slowly. "Sure you’re not, Pet," he said sardonically.

Buffy turned her attention back to Lindsey who was now halfway through a surprisingly good rendition of an old Dobie Gray song.

Buffy stepped into the alley and found Lindsey waiting for her. At least she assumed he had been waiting. His absolute lack of shock at her appearance seemed to confirm that suspicion. They watched each other warily. Lindsey’s hands were shoved into the pockets of his worn blue jeans and he leaned back against a rough brick wall, waiting.

Mutely, Buffy walked over to him. In her ridiculously high heeled boots, they were pretty much face to face. At this distance, she could smell Angel on him, smell the blood her mate had so recently stolen. Lifting one deceptively delicate hand, she ran her fingertips along Lindsey’s jaw and over his bruised eye. She undid the top button on his shirt and spread the material wide, looking at his abused neck. As she gently probed the bite, Lindsey shifted uneasily. He wouldn’t meet her gaze, but his tongue came out to wet his lips.

Buffy looked at his body, the his shirt was some vaguely western atrocity made of a paper thin cotton. She could see the hard points of his nipples clearly through the fabric as he breathed. But he wouldn’t look at her. Carefully, she grasped his jaw, the pads of her fingers resting over the deep purple bruises Angel had inflicted. She tightened her grip and saw him wince. For some reason she liked that. She used her grasp to force him to meet her gaze.

His icy blue eyes bored into hers. He took a deep breath that seemed to shudder through his body. Without a word, his hands found her hips. He swallowed harshly and looked both ways down the alley. Spike stood inside the threshold of Caritas’ backdoor smoking, but Lindsey paid him no attention. With single-minded determination, he pressed her backwards across the alley until the mostly bare flesh of her back met the cold, hard concrete of Caritas’ exterior wall.

They were standing between two dumpsters and it stank. Buffy realized she didn’t care. The look in Lindsey’s eyes let her know exactly what he wanted to happen. Buffy glanced at over Spike. Though he remained silent, she knew all of his attention was focused on them. Her own nipples pebbled under her black halter top. She met Lindsey’s gaze and then looked back to Spike. Lindsey smiled. He leaned in so that his lips brushed against the shell of her ear. His breath was hot and moist as he said, "Billy Idol isn’t the only one watching."

A shiver ran down Buffy’s spine. Reaching out with her Slayer senses, she found him. Angel was watching them. She had some vague notion that that fact should have bothered her. But it didn’t. Heat curled in the pit of her stomach.

Lindsey kissed her neck while his hands inched her long, black leather skirt up her legs. She restlessly widened her stance and he stepped between her legs, rubbing against her. Buffy bit back a moan as her fingers threaded through his hair. She couldn’t bear to look at Spike, but she could still smell his cigarette. Standing between the dumpsters as they were, he couldn’t see anything from the neck down, but he undoubtedly knew exactly what was going on.

Her skirt hiked up out of the way, Lindsey’s hands found her hips and he tucked a finger under the waistband of her panties, pulling them down her legs. He crouched in front of her to finish skimming them down. He waited as she gingerly stepped out of damp scrap of fabric.

With Lindsey still crouched in front of her, Buffy impulsively met Spike’s gaze. He looked straight at her, unembarrassed. Her cheeks flamed, but she couldn’t look away. Pointedly, Spike broke eye contact to look at the roof of the building on the opposite side of the alley. Buffy didn’t follow. She knew what she would find.

Angel.

She grasped a handful of Lindsey’s hair and forced him to look at her. His eyes were dark with passion, his lips open in a pant. Using her firm grip, she pressed his face to her damp folds. Lindsey didn’t waste any time. He urged her legs farther apart before burying his tongue in her sex, licking and suckling. Buffy didn’t release him. She kept her hand fisted in his hair, roughly guiding his motions.

Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back against the wall. Lindsey made no move to free himself, he lapped at her enthusiastically, his tongue curling around her clit in a delicious rhythm. No big shock that Lindsey liked to be dommed. Of course, all the credit didn’t go to her estranged love. A little bit of violence and Buffy was able to find out loads of information about Lindsey. She knew that he was AWOL from his job at Wolfram and Hart. She knew that he was living at the Hyperion with Angel. But most interesting of all, she knew that when Lindsey fell into Angel’s possession, he was already trained. Lindsey was well acquainted with servicing his petite blonde Mistress.

With that thought, Buffy tightened her grip, widened her stance and forced his face harder against herself. He sucked her clit between his lips, nursing roughly as he plunged two fingers into her tight, wet heat. Buffy grunted, her free hand finding her own pebbled nipples and pinching them beneath the material of her shirt.

That fucking bitch Darla wasn’t going to win. She wasn’t going to break Lindsey, fuck Angel and then leave them both longing for more. In the past, Buffy had always denied her inner darkness, fought to be human. But she wasn’t human. She needed darkness, she needed monsters and she needed violence. Nothing else made her feel real. In the past, she had always been sexually timid, waiting on the man to make the move, looking for his cues. She was sick of it. She was the fucking Slayer and she wasn’t about to wait around for what she could easily take. She wasn’t going to lose again.

Angel left her, said he wanted her to have someone who could take her into the light, someone who could make love to her. Then he fucked Darla. He fucked Lindsey. So much for him being a eunuch.

She opened her eyes. It took her a moment to find him, shrouded in shadows on the rooftop. But there he was, watching. His face was expressionless, blank, but his eyes glittered with something dark.

"More," Buffy ordered hoarsely, lifting one leg to perch on Lindsey’s shoulder, the spike heel digging deeply into his corded muscle. He complied giving her three fingers as he licked. She gripped his hair tighter and he gave her four. With a strangled grunt, she came, shaking as she drenched his face in her moisture.

Lindsey stopped his frantic motions, taking long, languid licks as she came down. Buffy took a deep breath, her chest heaving as she watched Angel watch them. She swallowed harshly and looked down at Lindsey.

Releasing her grip on his hair, she used her foot on his shoulder to topple him backwards. He landed on the grimy, damp asphalt between the dumpsters, his chest heaving, the front of his Wranglers tented with the force of his arousal. He watched her warily as he licked his lips free of her juices, waiting for her to tell him what to do.

The power that washed over her was incredible. Lindsey would do anything and everything she wanted. He would take whatever abuse – within human endurance, of course – she deemed necessary. With a wicked grin, she straddled him. He kept his hands at his sides as she tore open his shirt, sending buttons flying. His chest was beautiful; muscled, tanned, but completely different from Riley. She traced the network of bruises over his ribs, listening to him hiss in pain.

She grabbed his worn leather belt and said, "Lose ‘em." Lindsey wasted no time unbuckling his belt and jeans and working them down to his knees. His expression was anticipatory and Buffy realized her earlier assessment was wrong. Lindsey wasn’t broken. He liked this, craved it in a way she was really beginning to understand.

Buffy planted one hand in the middle of his chest and used the other to guide him to her entrance. She sank down on him only far enough to engulf the head of his cock. He let out a strangled noise, scrunching his eyes shut, but he didn’t attempt to force the matter.

Buffy looked up again and her gaze locked with Angel’s. She could see his clenched fists, the hard line of his rigid jaw muscles. But she also noticed he wasn’t making a single move to stop her. And he wasn’t turning away. She smiled and sank down onto Lindsey.

She rode him hard, her thrusts driving him deep. She lost herself in the sensation, loving the feel of Lindsey’s body, loving Angel’s anger and arousal, loving the fact that none of this was about either of them. It was about her. About what she wanted. She found her clit with her own fingers, pinching and rubbing as she rode Lindsey. Her orgasm overtook her and she moaned aloud, not giving a shit if Spike and Angel both heard.

She was panting hard, her legs shaky. Lindsey was still inside, still hard. His jaw was clenched tight with frustration, but he didn’t speak. She pushed herself off him, standing on unsteady legs. She worked her skirt back down until she was decent. He fixed her with an incredulous expression. She looked at his cock, still hard, glistening with her moisture.

"Finish," she said.

Lindsey swallowed harshly and for a moment, she thought he might balk. But dutifully he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock and began a series of hard, fast strokes. In moments, he was arching off the concrete, cum spurting over his washboard abs.

With a whimsical sigh, Buffy stepped over him and out into the alley. She sauntered up to where Spike stood, waiting. Plucking the cigarette out of his hand, she took a long drag.

"Rather clichéd don’t ya think?" he asked, nodding to the cigarette.

Buffy frowned and with her free hand cupped the obvious bulge in his black jeans. Spike growled, his jaw muscles flexing, but he didn’t attempt to stop her. "But still not as sad as you," she said, giving him a firm squeeze.

Spike coughed, quickly stepping back out of her way.

Buffy grinned at him.

"You look like shit ya know," he said.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah," he said, "looks like ya just fucked some bloke in a dirty alley."

Buffy shrugged. "How convenient," she said, "as long as the bloke isn’t you."

Spike frowned but followed her back into Caritas, watching as she grabbed her black leather jacket from the coat check. "Where we goin’?" he asked as they headed for the parking lot.

"To get a burger," she said. "I’m hungry. And after that, to see Angel."

The End