Grunting. The unmistakeable sound of flesh against flesh.

Not the sounds of sex, but of violence, although to Spike the two were pretty much interchangeable. And permanently linked, in his own mind, to one tiny, blonde, pain-in-the-ass Slayer.

He'd been laying low since the whole Riley incident, figuring that she wouldn't hesitate to shoot the messenger once the crying was over. The fact that Soldier Boy had up and left only compounded the problem, and Spike wasn't anxious to take the blame for the collapse of the entire relationship. But now, despite his feeble attempts to distance himself, the sound of her fists and the musk of her scent were reeling him in like the catch of the day.

He was easier than a two-dollar whore. It had always been his worst quality.

Following her siren song through the cemetary, he told himself that he would only take a peek and then slink away. Cowardly, maybe, but self-preservation had always ranked high on his list of priorities. Just one look, that was all he needed. One look to get him through a few more nights of wanting what he couldn't have.

Distracted by thoughts of a half-naked Slayer, he rounded the corner of a mausoleum...and stopped dead, staring at the sight in front of him.

The Slayer was surrounded by three vampires, poised in ready stance. As Spike watched, she raised up on the balls of her feet and wiggled her fingers in a come on, a deadly smirk on her face. For one brief moment, no one moved, and then the silence was broken by a roar as all three rushed her at once. Spike immediately tensed, ready to enter the fray, but when the Slayer dropped and rolled, sweeping the legs of one vamp, he held himself back, content to observe the action until needed.

Buffy spun herself upright, hair flying in a wild tangle around her head as she whirled to face her attackers. Like an avenging angel, a woman possessed, she fought like some wild thing, throwing punches and kicks faster than Spike had ever seen her. The fight thrilled him, and though he itched to join her, he still couldn't bring himself to stop watching. And before long, one thing became startlingly clear.

The Slayer wasn't fighting.

She was destroying.

Heads were bashed against gravestones repeatedly, limbs broken with loud, satisfying pops and cracks, bodies impaled on stakes, but not dusted. She had never been this cruel, had never been this vicious, and Spike was enthralled.

She was magnificent.

His jeans were suddenly too tight, and every fantasy he'd ever had played out in his head until he groaned aloud. No one noticed, though, not even as he unconsciously moved closer to the fight, drawn by the heat of battle as it radiated off the Slayer's skin. He stopped just behind her, staying out of her peripheral vision, wanting her so badly that he ached with it. Just when he thought he couldn't stand being a spectator any longer, she tired of playing and let her stake find its true mark three times in quick succession. The dust swirled around her and sparkled in her hair as she suddenly spun around to face him, panting, her eyes wild, stake poised for another slay.

"Oh, it's you," she said flatly, dropping her arm in disappointment. The fight still vibrated under her skin, the need for violence unabated by three kills. Her stake slapped against her thigh in an agitated rhythm as she faced him. "What are you doing here, spying again?" You seem to be good at that."

His eyes narrowed. "I live here, remember? How do I know you're not the one checking up on me?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Please, like I give a damn what you do."

"Careful, or I'll begin to think you protest too much."

She shrugged irritably and started to move past him, and he reached out to stop her. "What was all that about?" he asked, nodding at the now empty space behind her.

"It's called slaying, maybe you've heard of it?" she drawled sarcastically.

"I've never seen you fight like that before. So fast, so...vicious." His voice grew deeper with yearning and admiration. "You were bloody marvelous."

She raised an eyebrow, about to dismiss the compliment out of hand when she found herself caught by the heat in his eyes, an almost desperate hunger. It unnerved her, and at the same time, she was intrigued by it. Spike wanted her, of that she had no doubt. But what did he want *from* her? Blood? Sex? Her undying devotion?

A dark impulse - the same one that led her to annihilate her victims only moments ago - smelled fresh meat and raised its evil head. Someone new to toy with, and his being a demon only made him fair game in a Slayer's world. She cocked her head and stared up at him appraisingly.

Spike felt the sudden shift in the atmosphere, an almost imperceptible increase in the tension that usually flared between them. The Slayer's eyes gleamed with an unholy light as she regarded him - a look very similar to the one she'd given him in the Bronze the night that she'd teased him unmercifully. But he knew that hadn't been her, so who or what was he dealing with now?

"Buffy..."

Her smile sent shivers down his spine. "What's the matter, Spike? Feeling left out?"

She stepped closer, invading his personal space until he could feel her heat against his skin, smell the scent of her arousal. He knew that it was probably caused by the slaying, but his cock didn't care and it predictably jumped to attention. One slender finger drew circles on his chest, and then slowly traveled downward, tracing a path to his belt buckle. As it drifted over his stomach, a deep shudder ran through him, and the evil in her smile cranked itself up a notch. A dark, feminine, *knowing* evil.

"Still wanna dance with me?" she whispered huskily, ignoring the little voice in her head, the one that screamed "What are you doing!?" in a high-pitched panicky tone. She didn't want to listen to that voice anymore. It always stopped her from doing what she really wanted to, and where had that gotten her? Sleeping alone in an empty bed? Moping over every man who'd ever left her?

Fuck that.

So what if he wasn't Angel, or even Riley? He was male, he was hard, and he wanted her so badly that she could taste it. The scent of him was so very familiar - hunter and prey - with the indelible imprint of her first love all over him. How could she resist? Why would she even want to?

Wild because the chips are down
Wild because there isn't anybody else around
Wild when the waves start to break
And God knows they're breaking in me now

"Think you can take me, Spike? Think you can have yourself a 'real good day'?"

He snarled in answer and roughly grabbed her upper arms. "Is that what you really want, Slayer?" he gritted out. "Is that the kind of dance you're looking for?"

"Is there any other kind for us?" she laughed, and the mocking tone of her voice nearly made him insane. Lust for her blood and body was raging through his veins, causing the chip to send a warning tingle to his nervous system. He ignored it, tightening his grip on her arms, pulling her up against his hardness.

"You know there is, Slayer. Don't even try to deny it." He lowered his head and breathed in her scent. "I can smell it on you," he whispered in her ear. "You're so aroused you're dripping with it." He felt her tremble and let his tongue dart out for a taste. A tiny sound came from her throat and he did it again, sliding his hands from her arms to her waist. "Admit it...you don't want to fight me...you want to fuck me."

Buffy reached up and twined her fingers into his hair as he kissed her throat. His lips moved up over her chin, searching for her mouth as she rubbed her groin against his, driving him into a frenzy. Her mouth opened under his, welcoming his tongue, nipping at it before attacking with her own...and Spike was lost.

Wild 'cause it doesn't make sense
For me to cry out in my own defense
Wild 'cause I would do anything
To tear you off your precious fence

The kisses they'd shared during Willow's spell had been nothing compared to this, this fierce, all-consuming explosion of teeth and tongue. He reveled in this new, aggresive side of the Slayer, no longer caring where it had come from. All he cared about was finishing what he'd started, of diving deep into previously forbidden territory. Pulling away from her hungry mouth, he sought her neck again, licking and kissing the vein he couldn't bite. His low-throated growls blended with her soft cries of passion as his hands roved over her body, seeking bare skin. He needed to feel her flesh against his, needed to feel her surrounding him...

Intent on trying to lower her to the ground, he never noticed the Slayer's body tensing beneath his hands, never noticed her fingers tightening in his hair until she yanked his head back and stared up at him with burning eyes.

"I changed my mind," she purred silkily. "I wanna fight."

Spike barely registered her words before the powerful right hook caught him in the jaw and sent him to his knees. He shook his head to clear it, pushing himself to his feet. A tiny foot slammed up into his ribs and he dropped back down, groaning as he curled into a ball. "Bitch!" he gasped out, quickly rolling before she could stomp him again. He sprang up and faced her, vibrating with fury and unreleased sexual tension.

"What the fuck is your problem!?" he shouted, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, itching to wring her skinny little neck for taunting him like this.

"It's my dance," she shrugged. "I should get to pick the song. And I didn't like the one you were playing."

"Bloody hell, what's gotten into you, Summers?"

Buffy stared at him coldly for a moment before answering, "Maybe nothing's gotten in at all. Maybe something's finally gotten out."

He blinked, then dodged as she spun without warning, trying to level him with a kick. And then he couldn't think anymore as the blonde hellcat hurled herself at him. He threw her off, experiencing momentary pain, but it only bought him a second. She recovered quickly, coming at him again and again, and he parried as best he could without setting off the chip. It was a losing battle. Eventually, a red haze began to color everything around him as he was driven over the edge of madness by her teasing, and by his very helplessness. With a snarl, he morphed into game face and lunged at her, intending to rip into her throat like a ravening wolf.

It was only one more mistake in an evening chock full of them.

"AHHHHH, FUCK!" he screamed, as a pain more intense than any he'd ever felt slammed through his brain and down his spine. Clutching his head, he dropped to the ground and whimpered, all of his circuits completely blown. He couldn't even look at her as she stood over him, hands on her hips.

"God, look at you," she sneered. "You're useless, Spike. Totally useless."

Spike groaned helplessly, muttering a litany of "bitch, cunt, and whore" under his breath. The pain hadn't receded, his hatred feeding the chip more ammunition as visions of her grisly death filled his head. He struggled to remain conscious and dimly felt her nudge him with her toe.

"I guess our dance will have to wait, huh? You ever get that chip out, come and look me up. Maybe you'll get lucky next time." She turned and started walking away, seemingly unconcerned about leaving him lying there like so much roadkill.

Spike watched her go through slitted eyes, and called up a hidden reserve of strength, filling his lungs with the cold night air. "I BLOODY FUCKING HATE YOU, SLAYER!" he yelled at her retreating back.

There was a beat, then a shout of "Ditto!" came floating back at him, followed by carefree laughter. Spike gave another groan of agony, and then he surrendered to the pain and let the blackness claim him.

To be continued...

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