*Giles, Faith has taken my body, and for all I know, she's taken it to Mexico by now. I don't have time for bondage fun.*

Buffy snickered, staring at the metal bracelets around her wrists.

"Guess I got time now," she joked to herself.

"What's that, love?" Spike paused in rummaging to take in the work of beauty before his eyes. Buffy was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, completely naked, her handcuffed hands resting gently on her legs. But the thing that threw him, made him instantly hard, was the smile on her face. He didn't expect the smile. Damn, she was beautiful.

"Oh, I was just thinking of something I said to Giles," Buffy replied. She was unnaturally calm, given her current position. He would have to change that.

"You know, Slayer, some of the things you say really make a guy wonder..." Spike muttered, returning to his search. Now just where in the hell did I put that chain? Ah! There it is.

Spike pulled a long, black chain from under the bed, grinning slightly when he noticed Buffy's eyes widen. Oh ho! Scare you, love?

Noticing his grin, Buffy nonchalantly flipped her short hair away from her face, trying her best to look uninterested. Is that all you got? 'Cause, big deal...

Grabbing a couple padlocks he had retrieved earlier, Spike climbed up on top of the bed, standing over Buffy. She scooted slightly away, leery of him, but he was too busy squinting at the ceiling to notice.

What's he doing, changing a light bulb? There aren't any lights up there.

Attaching a padlock to one end of the chain, Spike threw the lock upwards, catching it neatly as it came down on the other side of..?

"There's a pipe up there," Spike explained, noticing Buffy's confused expression. She squinted too and he grinned. She was in the perfect position to...

Buffy noticed his throbbing cock near her head and rolled her eyes at him. He laughed.

"Come here, love. Let me see that pretty jewelry." Buffy complied, raising her handcuffed hands to him. Spike unlocked the padlock on the chain and re locked it around the connecting chain of the steel cuffs.

Buffy sized up the chain and the padlock. It wasn't *that* thick of a chain, she thought. She could probably break it if she had to. That is, if she wanted to.

Buffy looked up at Spike and found him studying her carefully, his forehead wrinkled in concentration.

"You don't have to do this, love," Spike said, without a trace of recrimination.

Buffy looked into his eyes, then turned away.

Despite her earlier confession of liking him--sometimes--she didn't want to like him. Not now. Not ever. She desperately wanted to *not* like him, or the things he did. The way he made her body hum with desire. The way his arms enveloped her, right before she made up some excuse and scampered away.

The problem, she surmised, was finding new ways of not wanting him. The old ones had obviously stopped working.

"Are you afraid of hurting me, Spike?" Buffy said flatly. She knew what strings to pull. Hell, she'd made half the strings herself, at least in his mind.

She glanced up and saw his expression harden. That's better, she thought. Big Bad is easy not to love. Love? Like! I meant like! she retracted, mentally chastising herself.

She didn't have long to regret that thought though, as Spike yanked hard on the other end of the chain, causing Buffy to yelp in surprise as her arms stretched painfully upwards. She struggled to shift her weight, but found her ass inches off the bed.

"Too much for you, Slayer?" Spike asked, a humorless smile on his lips.

Much better, Buffy thought, even as she gritted out, "No."

Spike nodded sharply, then lowered her a bit, letting some slack back in the chain before wrapping and locking it around the sturdy metal bedframe.

Buffy stifled a sigh. At least the bed was supporting her weight again, even though she couldn't lower her arms, leaving her feeling exposed. Which was probably the whole point, she thought.

She tried to gauge what Spike had up his sleeve next by the look on his face. Not much help there, she cursed silently. He had the petulant look of a child told he was too young to play, determined to prove everyone wrong- determined to prove *her* wrong.

But she already was wrong, wasn't she? He knew that. Why else would she let him chain her up like this? Normal people don't do these things. This was wrong; she was wrong. The proof was in her hardening nipples and engorged clit. Everything that came after this would be meaningless. In point of fact, she had already failed the test by coming to a vampire night after night, enjoying his perversely creative mind.

Buffy stopped at that thought, breathing heavy, panic rising. The icky-sick feeling was back, seeping into her gut. Nothing was fun when she felt like this. Nothing was good or clean or...

Buffy turned to see Spike sliding across the bed toward her. Now was the time, she thought. Call it off. Get your clothes. Get dressed. Leave. Leave before he starts doing things...nasty, bad, wrong things you shouldn't want...

She opened her mouth to order her release, and he grinned. What the hell? Why is the bastard grinning at her? Is this humiliating? Should I feel humiliated? Prick. Fucking asshole prick sonofabitch...

No, she wouldn't leave. Not now. He would think she was afraid--afraid of him. She couldn't give him that kind of power. He'd lord it over her like...well, like lord-y people do.

"Get on with it!" she snapped, annoyed. There, better. Anger was better than that twisting sinkhole in her middle. And Spike lived to piss her off, she knew. It was the only explanation of why he was so good at it.

"Easy, pet," Spike cooed, as he slid into place behind her, his legs surrounding hers. He pulled her back slightly so that she leaned against him for support.

"Better, love?" he asked huskily. She could feel his erection hard against her backside, and her anger gave way to lust. Buffy squirmed, eliciting a low groan from him and a small chuckle from her.

"You're gonna pay for that," Spike murmured in her ear. He lightly ran his cold fingers up her side, expertly skipping his fingers over her ribs like a concert pianist. She shivered slightly at his touch. His fingers followed the swell of her breast, and soon his whole hand cupped her. He ran his thumb in circles around her areola without touching the hardened tip. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp tug on her nipple and gasped. She turned and glared at the smirking vampire over her shoulder.

"Don't want you falling asleep, pet," he said innocently.

"Then don't bore me, Spikey."

She regretted the words the minute they left her mouth. She had been enjoying his ministrations. Which is probably why the bitch emerged, she thought wryly. Trying to find reasons not to like him, remember? If only he wasn't so damn good at this...

She glanced at him again and found his eyes small and calculating. She didn't like that look.

Spike took her nipple in his forefinger and thumb and plucked it, harder this time. Buffy bit her lip to keep from crying out.

"Bored now?" he challenged.

"Only if you keep yapping."

This was what she wanted. This was him being him, and her...well, she certainly was feeling something now. Bright, shocking somethings. And she wondered briefly if the chip in his head was like this: sharp, quick, painful.

Pluck.

Pluck.

Pluck.

Pinch. Yelp!

Chuckle. His, not hers.

That wasn't...she wasn't ready for that. But at least he was back in a good mood again. Nevertheless, she shot stakes at him with her eyes.

"Say the word, love," Spike said to her. She looked away, and he continued tormenting her poor nipple until it ached and throbbed. After a while, he switched to her other breast, repeating the process until both were aflame.

When he was finished, he admired his handiwork, as if mentally capturing the image of her flushed skin for later viewing. Then he snaked his body around hers, lowering his mouth to one sore, hot breast. She winced as he latched his cold lips onto her, then moaned in sheer ecstasy as his icy tongue gently licked the fire away. After a minute, he pulled back, leaving her nipple coated with saliva, and started blowing air lightly across it, cooling her fiery nerve endings further. Once dry, he performed the same soothing actions to her other breast.

Finished, Spike risked a glance, and saw her looking at him strangely.

"What, love?"

"Don't stop there." Her cheeks were flushed, and her breathing came in fast, gulping breaths. He smiled and resumed his position behind her. She rubbed her legs against him, spreading wide to match the "V" of his.

"Did you like that, pet?" Spike purred in her ear. She responded by arching against him, trying to twist around to find his lips. He helped by meeting her halfway. Their kiss was fire and honey and passion. Her tongue fought desperately with his until the need for air forced her to break away first.

There are advantages to being dead, she thought. She attempted to continue the kiss, but he leaned far enough back that her chained wrists prevented it. She knew that this was his subtle reminder the game wasn't finished. But she wanted, no *needed*, something else first.

"Make me come, Spike," Buffy demanded.

He frowned. Not the reaction she was expecting.

"Who's in control here, pet?"

Buffy arched an eyebrow at him over her shoulder.

Right, Spike thought. Ask a stupid question...

"Grab the chain," Spike said gruffly. Bossy chit.

Buffy had only a moment to do as he said before he threw her legs over his shoulders, and with his hands under her ass, lifted her off the bed and into his furious tongue. He attacked her clit with a passion: sucking, licking, nipping...

"Ugh!" Buffy said happily, and often.

She's just like that, Spike thought angrily, even as he arched two fingers into her well-oiled entrance. Damn Do-Me Queen...

At the first hint of orgasm, as her inner walls contracted and her thighs fluttered around his head, he sucked long and hard on her clit. She came bucking wildly, her screams nearly reaching the pitch of the jangling chains. He lowered her to the bed even before the final spasms had left her body.

"Happy now?" he grumbled, wiping her juice from his face and climbing off the bed. She didn't hear him. Her eyes were glazed and distant, and she was desperately sucking air like a fish out of water.

He sighed. "Love?"

She turned her head and looked at him, open-mouthed. The awe on her face mollified him some.

"Liked that, did you, pet?" he smirked.

She answered with a bright smile and he laughed. He never could stay angry with her for long.

"Well, in that case, ready for round two?"

"Okay," she said breathlessly.

Spike walked over the dresser. "Red or white, love?"

Huh? "I don't know. What wine goes with bondage?" she asked, curious.

Spike convulsed in silent laughter. Grinning, he gestured toward the dresser.

Oh, candles, Buffy thought. Then her eyes widened. Candles? "Um, r..red?"

"Good choice." Spike picked up a thick candle and his lighter off the dresser, setting them on the bed. He frowned slightly, looking at her.

"What?" she asked, nervous. He was staring at the chain holding her arms up.

"This will probably work better if you're lying down." He grabbed the key from the nightstand and unlocked the padlock connecting the chain to her cuffs.

Buffy winced as she lowered her arms, rolling her shoulders in relief. She watched as he slid the chain down off the pipe and unlocked it from the bedframe. Once done, he threw the chain into a corner of the room, and looked at her, his eyes dark with lust.

"Ready, love?"

She was torn, afraid and excited to find out what came next. But there was another fear surfacing again too.

The handcuffs felt almost natural now. What had he called them? Pretty jewelry. His shiny, pretty bound Buffy.

"Spike?"

And he was there, holding her, stroking her hair. "It's okay, love. We can stop. You don't have to do anything you don't want."

Want. Yes, she didn't want this, shouldn't want this. She wondered if what came next could be it--the thing that makes her never want him again. The revolting thing that banishes the lust, makes this whole sordid affair a sad footnote at the end of a book now closed.

She hoped it would be, because she wanted...no, needed to know--like waiting for test results on some incurable disease. She needed to know how bad it was.

She needed to know just how wrong she was.

"I..I didn't say the word," she said to him, avoiding his questioning eyes.

He pressed his cool lips to her forehead.

"Alright, love. Lie back." She did as he told her, lying supine, stretching her sore arms up toward the head of the bed. He undid one side of the cuffs and re-locked her wrists around the center metal post.

He picked up the bright red candle and lighter. Catching her eye, he winked as he flicked the wheel of lighter and lit the candlewick. Buffy's hands instinctively curled around the post, her eyes never leaving the orange flame. She started as he snapped the lighter closed, and she realized just how nervous she was.

Did he do this with Dru? Was this something he learned from her? I bet that vamp-ho-bag just loved...

Buffy was so lost in thought, she didn't notice the first drop of hot wax until it landed just above the areola of her right breast, forcing a shocked cry from her lips.

Damn vampire. "I hate you," she said with venom. He grinned.

"How much do you hate me?"

Drip. Gasp!

The candle hovering over her torso now had her undivided attention. She watched as a drab of red escaped from the candle.

It reminded her of those slow motion films of rain hitting blades of grass. It had amazed her, seeing the raindrops impact like atomic bombs.

Only now she felt it for herself--the blast, the fission of wax as it detonated on her skin. Hot. Searing.

Drip.

Another wax droplet ignited and she moaned.

She tore her gaze from the candle and sought his eyes. He was concentrating, brow furrowed, but his eyes revealed the true battle waged within--a battle between lust, concern, and humor.

"You didn't answer my question, love."

Drip.

"Do you hate me this much?"

Drip.

The gob of red splashed across her nipple and she hissed. She needed time to catch her breath, but he wasn't giving her the time.

Drip.

"M..more," she rasped. He looked amused.

"More, as in more of this..." Drip. Wince.

"Hate you," she muttered.

"You're repeating yourself, pet."

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Her skin was on fire. His meticulous method sought out the most tender flesh of her breasts and stomach for his aerial assault.

"You know what I think?" Spike asked her.

Drip.

"I think this gets you..." Drip. "Wet."

Sure enough, Buffy could feel the dampness between her legs. And she was only dimly aware of her thighs rubbing together in a vain attempt for stimulation.

"Spike? Spike...please?"

"Not yet, love. We're not finished yet." His low tones made her shudder.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" The candle stopped its waxy-hot assault over her body, and she sucked at the air, breathing hard.

She looked at his face and saw his eyes soft and curious.

"I..I don't know..."

Drip. Gasp!

"Find a better answer, love," he said, a hint of steel creeping into his voice. "Here you are, chained to my bed. I, the Big Bad vampire that I am, could drain you in a heartbeat."

She didn't answer.

"I could bite you here..." The wax splashed on the top of her breast. Buffy bit her lip to keep silent.

"Or here..." Another drop exploded near her pelvic bone.

Still no answer.

"Or maybe even..." He moved the candle over her wet folds and her eyes widened comically. He turned his wrist slightly and the drop hit her inner thigh instead.

She almost, *almost*, sighed in relief.

"So, pet. Why aren't you afraid of me?" He was paused, the candle hovering over her.

"Because..." Buffy began.

Why? She didn't exactly know. He just...it was Spike. He wouldn't hurt her. Well, not much. Not really hurt her. It was sort of a given between them. She could come to him--come under him, come over him, come fifty ways to Sunday--but he wouldn't...

"Just because," she said quietly, looking into his eyes.

Whatever was revealed in her gaze seemed to satisfy him, and he set the candle down on the nightstand, still burning. He reached for her cuffs.

"Spike? I didn't..." She started, confused.

He undid her left hand then snapped the empty cuff to the bed.

She looked at him confused, lips parted.

He couldn't resist. He plunged his lips down to hers, kissing her furiously. She responded with equal ferocity, her free hand grasping the back of his head, her fingers swimming through his blonde hair.

She moaned in protest as he pulled away.

"I want you to get yourself off this time," he said huskily.

He didn't have to tell her twice. Even before the kiss, her face was flushed with desire. Her body trembled and ached with the need for release. Her free hand immediately slipped down to her slick folds.

Spike picked up the candle again, watching her moist fingers dip inside her with heavy eyes. He let a drop of wax drip on her leg. She bucked in response, looking at him in surprise even as she continued to work her fingers in and out.

"Don't stop, love," he whispered.

No worries there. She didn't think she could even if she wanted to. The bed groaned as she pulled hard with her handcuffed hand. She wasn't used to using her left hand. She wondered briefly if that was intentional on his part.

Another couple of drops landed on her thigh and she whimpered.

"Better hurry," Spike told her, as he positioned the candle over the hand between her legs.

She opened her mouth in surprise as wax splashed on the back of her hand. Her first reaction was to pull away from the burning wax, but she stopped herself as another drop fell, landing on her hand. She continued working her fingers, mindful of the falling wax. A thick gob spattered smaller drops along the crease of her legs and she shook with pleasure.

"Faster, love," he said.

And she complied, even as the wax continued to rain on her hand. Her orgasm was close. She could feel it building deep and powerful inside. She closed her eyes. Her whole body quivered in anticipation.

She pulled at her clit, forgetting to guard against the wax, and a drop struck her outer folds like lightning. She screamed as her orgasm ripped through her, arching madly off the bed, her heels digging into the corners of the mattress. Wave after wave of orgasms shot through her as she convulsed helplessly. Everything around her disappeared in a colorless haze.

An eternity passed before she was aware again of where she was. Panting heavily, she found tears rolling unbidden down her cheeks. The snuffed candle on the nightstand still looped smoke into the air. Spike sat on the bed beside her, stroking her hair once more.

"Spike? That was...that was..." She found she couldn't form words.

He gently wiped the tears from her face and smiled. It wasn't an arrogant or smug smile; it was a happy, glad-I-could-give-you-this, smile.

She smiled back, warmly, and then quite firmly stated, "Mr. Gordo."

Spike chuckled even as he reached for the key to undo her cuffed hand.

"Mr. Gordo, huh?" he teased, releasing her wrist. She massaged her wrist with her wax covered hand.

"What? I like Mr. Gordo."

Spike got up and retrieved a wooden bowl. Gently, he began to remove the wax on her body, placing it in the bowl.

Sitting up, Buffy gazed down at herself with a small frown. "I look like one of those cheeses. With the wax. Gouda."

"I think you look good-ah too, pet."

Buffy groaned. "Save the puns, Spike. Even I have my limits."

"None that I've found," Spike grinned. She rolled her eyes. He continued removing the wax.

"Spike?"

"Yes?"

"I..." She struggled to speak, her mouth moving soundlessly.

"I don't...hate you."

"I know, love."

Buffy laid back on her elbows, allowing Spike to run a warm, damp cloth over her, removing the waxy residue from her skin. He was as meticulous in cleaning her body as he was in awakening it with naughty pleasures. And she was surprised to find an easy, unforced smile spread across her face.

Spike noticed. "Happy, love?"

"No," she pouted, her lower lip jutting out. She couldn't help herself. She felt playful and giddy. And Spike, the big bad evil vampire, was the reason for it. He had made her forget about crappy jobs, social workers, and the pity stares her friends gave her when they thought she wasn't looking.

Spike raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "What more could you want, pet?"

Mountains more, she thought. Heaps and heaps of mind-numbing, jaw-slacking sensations, each more incredible than the last. You make me feel, Spike. I wanted to feel again, and you did it. You're the one I should...

Buffy stopped at that thought. It was heading down roads she didn't want to think too hard about.

Dully, she realized that Spike was staring at her in confusion. Oh, probably need to say something...

"Um, Spike?"

"Yes, love?"

She moved--Slayer moved. In a blink she had flip-rolled him into her previous position on the bed, straddling him.

She smiled down at him. "What's your word going to be?"

Spike gazed up at her with sheer adoration. A word floated to the surface of his mind, the only word he could think of to describe the blinding perfection that was she.

"Effulgent."

Her lips quirked a bit, then she laughed.

God, no...effulgent wasn't enough, Spike thought desperately, bathing in her laughter.

But before he could think of another word, she leaned down and kissed him tenderly.

When she pulled away, she was still smiling.

"Thanks for making me laugh."

"Sure, pet," he said, bemused.

She noticed his confused look and bounced off the bed, chuckling. Buffy picked up the discarded handcuffs on the dresser. Turning, she held them up with her pinky finger, a mischievous look on her face.

"So Spike? How bad have you've been lately?"

A slow grin spread across his face. "Well, I did shag the Slayer. That's gotta be bad in someone's book."

Buffy walked over to him and snapped a cuff onto his wrist.

"It is, Spike. It's very, very bad. You might have to be punished."

*****

Spike moaned as the wax hit his chest, straining uselessly against the handcuffs binding him to the bed.

She was having her fun, there was no doubt about that. An outline of a heart was being carefully drawn in bright red wax on his chest. She intended to do alternating red and white hearts, until his entire chest was covered.

"God! Slayer..." Spike gasped.

"Shut up, Spike. You're ruining my pretty picture. And stop with the breathing. You don't need to breathe."

He groaned as another gob of wax struck his torso. He had tried to explain that the differences between their skin temperatures made this far more intense for him, but she just smiled evilly. Bloody hell... What had he gotten himself into?

He jerked slightly when two large drops impacted near his nipple.

"Arghh! Look what you made me do!" Buffy flounced off the bed and retrieved something from her coat. Climbing on top of the bed once more, she straddled him. A sharp stake suddenly pressed against his skin.

"Move again, Spike, and I'll put an arrow through this heart," Buffy said, smiling wickedly.

Spike's eyes widened in fear. Buffy bent down and caught his lower lip with her teeth, biting sharply until she could taste blood, kissing him ferociously. When her face came away, both of their lips were smeared with his blood, and her eyes were dark with lust.

Spike shivered gazing at her countenance. Gone was the playful Buffy. This Buffy reminded him of his Dark Princess: strong, feral, dangerous. This was the side of her no one else saw--no one save those at the end of her stake.

He knew he had to try to give her whatever she needed, even as he attempted to quell the fear rising in his dead chest.

"Now, hold still," Buffy intoned, and the hot wax assault continued.

*****

"Now, hold still, sweet William... Oh look, Daddy's home!"

"Dru? Where's Darla?"

"Mommy said she wanted seafood, but I don't like the nasty words those sailors make when you bite them. I decided to play with William instead."

"Looks like you've been play'n for a while, darlin'."

"Yes, he's been very bad lately. He even tried to touch me! Naughty, naughty, bad William."

"Did he now? Well, maybe it's time for me to play, darlin'."

"Oooh, Daddy's cross with you!"

"Now boy, try not to move. I'd hate to drive this through your filthy heart. Really, I would."

*****

Spike tried, he really did, but another large, searing drop of wax landed on his chest and he flinched. His eyes immediately went to the stake in Buffy's hand. She pressed the point hard against his skin and he lost it.

Letting out a yell, Spike bucked madly, trying to get the wooden point away from his fragile, still heart.

Buffy found herself unceremoniously dumped onto the floor with a painful thud.

"Ow!" she protested. When she looked up she saw Spike huddled against the head of the bed, his legs pulled up tightly to his chest.

"What the hell...Spike?"

His eyes were on her stake, transfixed. The clacking of the handcuffs against the metal bedframe alerted her to his trembling.

"Shit..." Buffy threw the stake away and reached for the handcuff key.

Unlocking his wrists, she stroked his face trying to get him to calm down. His eyes were wild and distant.

"Spike? It's okay, Spike."

Slowly, the light in his eyes came back, and the trembling ceased. Spike focused his gaze on her.

"Sorry...sorry, love," he gasped.

"Don't apologize, Spike. I didn't realize you would react like that..."

"I just...with the stake. I thought you were going to..."

Buffy looked aghast. "You thought I was really going to stake you?"

"No..." Spike started then stopped. How could he explain? Tell her about the Great Poof? About Dru? What they did--what he allowed to be done? How much power they had over him? How easily he surrendered in those first months of undeath for the promise of blood and sex?

A promise he'd found again drying on Buffy's lips and sealed in wax on his chest. How could he explain he hadn't read the contract--the fine print on the tip of her stake?

"Y..you don't trust me?" Buffy said, incredulous.

"Pet, no, that isn't... It's a vampire thing. Honest," Spike pleaded.

"You don't trust me."

Spike's undead heart clenched at the lost, forlorn note creeping into her voice. He cursed himself. Far better if she had staked him than to see the pain in her eyes--pain he'd inflicted.

He went to pull her to him and she shied away.

"Don't touch me," she muttered. She got up and started searching for her clothes.

"Pet. Love..."

She wouldn't look at him. She pulled on her jeans, not bothering to find her panties.

"Buffy..."

She turned toward him as she buttoned her shirt, her face cold and hard.

"Spike, drop it. It's not important." Her words cut him like a knife, the true meaning in the subtext--'You're not important. You're nothing to me. Just an evil undead thing I like to fuck.'

Spike growled. "No. I'm not important is what you mean, pet," he said, his eyes flashing yellow.

"Spike--drop it."

"Bloody hell, woman! What does it take? I'd die for you; you know that. Better than anyone."

She turned her back to him and he slid behind her, his hands running lightly over her shoulders and arms.

"I'm sorry, love."

She wouldn't face him, wouldn't look him in the eyes.

"You used to trust me," she said in a small voice.

"Buffy..."

"I know you did. Before I came back..." Before she came back wrong. She had her answer now. She knew how wrong she was. Wrong enough even a lovesick vampire couldn't trust her.

Bloody hell! Spike thought, feeling her stiffen under his touch. This was the last thing he wanted. He could feel the fire ignited within her fading. Their moment of happiness replaced by something bitter and hollow.

He swung her around to face him.

"I trust you, Buffy. Just like you trust me," he said firmly, searching her face, trying to find a spark, an ember still burning.

"I..." she stopped. "I have to go. Dawn needs me." She broke away and finished getting dressed.

"Pet, don't go. Not like this."

"I have to...go."

"Then come back tomorrow."

"Dawn needs me."

Spike watched her leave, knowing his words were useless. Words weren't important to Buffy--only actions.

His cowardly actions.

"Fuck!" Spike slammed his fist into the wall, disintegrating a good portion of stone.

Next time he wouldn't back down; Spike vowed to himself. He'd face her--take whatever she threw at him. He wouldn't shrink away from her like every other man in her life. He'd fight for her.

Even if it meant letting her kill him.

*****

"Come on, that's it, put it on me. Put it all on me... That's my girl."

"I am not your girl!"

"You don't have a soul! There is nothing good or clean in you. You are dead inside! You can't feel anything real! I could *never* be your girl!

The End

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* * * WARNING ON THE USE OF WAX * * *

In the process of researching this fic, I discovered some useful information that I'd thought I'd pass along.

First off, not all wax is the same! NEVER grab any old candle and start dropping hot waxy bits on your significant other's tender, vulnerable flesh. Different candle wax burns at different temperatures.

NEVER use beeswax candles. They burn too hot for human skin. Unless you like trips to the Emergency Room to explain why you have burns where you do, and even then--DON'T.

NEVER use scented candles or other candles which you don't know what is in them. Many chemical additives (some used for color) also raise the temperature of the wax, and the point is not to burn. Stimulate, yes. Burn--NO.

You want simple, plain paraffin candles. They may be hard to find, but don't take the risk in NOT KNOWING what is in a candle.

When using a candle, note that if you let the wax pool at the wick it will be much hotter, so be careful!

Drop wax from a higher distance to aid in cooling.

Final bit of advice--always test the candle wax on yourself first.

Do your homework and have fun! ;-)

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