He remembered how the first one tasted. Vital. All blood was vital but hers was like the font of life. He washed in it and was reborn. Her blood coursed through him. It separated his veins into branches and tributaries streaming from the lake of fire in his gut. It made him warm. It made him hard. It made him something other than dead.

He remembered how the second one felt beneath him. Vigorous. She bridged up, gasping, to fight him off. All of his victims fought for their lives but only her struggles mattered in the end. She was stronger, wittier and better dressed than any of the cattle that served his appetite. She was not to be wasted on some bottomless hunger or spilled out to soak into the ground. She straddled him and then he straddled her and held her face. He looked into the center of her being as he took her. He sensed that his own ashes were stirred by her final gasp.

And then there was the third. The one no other work could rival. Vibrant. Vivacious. Vile and violent. The masterpiece in his oeuvre.

They fell through the floor and dropped the full story to the basement level without uncoupling. Buffy landed on top. Spike's head cracked against the concrete and he fought to stay conscious. He couldn't bear to lose sight of her now. She'd been so close to release when they'd fallen. He wanted to look in her eyes when the moment came. To be there when the Slayer's body forced her soul to surface.

Then he would know who and what she was.

Then he would be defined as well...in blood, or ashes or something else entirely.

As if she understood Spike's thoughts, or craved her own definition, Buffy never broke eye contact. The trailing strands of her hair tickled his face. She leaned her forehead against him as she slithered and squirmed along his length. Moving her hips in a loose figure eight, she mapped out the symbol for eternity between them. Distantly, Buffy thought it odd that she could not judge how hard Spike was, how long or how well endowed. She only knew he was all that she could ever need or want to have inside her. He completed her as death completes life.

She was bruising him. She didn't care. And then she did, in all the wrong ways. The idea of hurting Spike excited her almost as much as his newly recovered self-assurance. The thought of causing him pain started the trembling in her joints and the liquid swirl in her belly. Buffy was wetter, hotter, and more turned on than she had ever been. She convulsed against Spike's chest. Pushing toward orgasm, she clenched around him, spasming so hard that she cried out in pain.

For the first time Spike worried about actual emasculation. He screamed and bucked and gripped Buffy's waist to hold her still. He soon learned, however, that the Slayer didn't have to do him the old fashioned way. The shift of her hips had been a tiny conceit, a bit of lip service to convention. Buffy proceeded to debone him just as proficiently while remaining externally motionless. Her interior muscles gyrated and shimmied around him like a harem of exotic dancers. Spike came. He didn't plan to but he did.

"That's right you arrogant Bastard," She hissed, as he drained what felt like his entire being into her, "You're mine, now."

Spike growled out his response. Sitting up, Buffy took hold of his belt buckle and yanked. Leather friction-burned against denim as the belt slid free. It sang through the air and cracked like a whip inspiring another cold spurt from the vampire's already taxed system.

"You think you know what I am," Buffy cooed as she caressed the length of his belt, "You have no idea, what I'm capable of."

A delicious frisson of fear crawled over Spike's skin as the Slayer looped the warm leather around his throat and pulled it taut. She couldn't strangle him, of course, but that didn't mean that she couldn't kill him with passion. Slayer strength could exert enough force on the belt to decapitate him.

Buffy slid her knees further apart and dropped back. Tugging on Spike's improvised leash, she forced him to sit up as she leaned away from him. Her feet were as flat against her thighs as her boots would allow. Slowly, she bent backward until she was lying supine against Spike's legs. He was folded over her with both hands braced against her rib cage. Unable to go further against his resistance, she released some of the pressure on his throat.

Spike sucked in a gasp of unnecessary air. Sitting up straight, he let his coat drop off his shoulders. He tugged at his garrote with both hands as Buffy busied herself unfastening her skirt. She let the torn leather garment fall open. It pooled under her hips, exposing tawny flesh and glistening auburn curls. The scent of her arousal hit home and Spike abruptly stopped worrying at his makeshift restraint.

She was laid out before him, like a work of art, framed in the delicate lace of her thong. Fragrant rivulets from her inner spring had mixed with his seed. The hot, heady concoction warmed his cold flesh. Spike trailed his right hand down his abdomen, to trace through the slippery fluid. Growing bolder, he touched one slick fingertip to Buffy's rose-petal softness. He was rewarded with the swift reprise of his choke collar.

"Grahgh," Spike gagged and Buffy laughed in the back of her throat.

It was a deep chuckle of unabashed pleasure at his expense. She had intended to cause him discomfort and she would be glad to cause him more if he defied her.

"Put your palms on my inner thighs, vampire," She commanded, "And ease open your legs."

Carefully, Spike complied. He applied just enough pressure with his hands to splay her completely and flatten the angle of his penetration. Then he slid his feet out to either side so that Buffy could complete her inversion. The Slayer's shoulders touched the floor between his knees. Her body formed a perfect elliptical curve. Their position allowed very little scope for thrust, but it afforded Spike an excellent view of the incremental details of their union.

It was excruciating for him and unbelievably exhilarating. As he watched Buffy slowly enveloped his cock and then let his cum-coated length reappear one millimeter at a time. Again and again she took him entirely in, matching her strokes to the rhythm of her breathing. She seemed to have entered a meditative state. It was as if they were suspended together outside normal dimensional space.

And then, quite suddenly, Buffy sat up, slamming into Spike's chest almost knocking him over. Within the space of a heartbeat, the Slayer went from lamb to lion. Rotating her hips, she ground against Spike in a heated frenzy. She raked her finger through his hair. She clawed at his skin. She thrust her tongue into the startled "O" of his mouth. It was more than he could take.

For the second time in Spike's long memory he came without any self-prompting or even prior notice.

The astonishing loss of control made him uncomfortably aware of Buffy Summers' innate power over him. She made him feel human and fragile. And that made him burn with the need to reciprocate. A rumbling growl followed close on the heels of his helpless gasp of ecstasy. He buried his hands in her hair, tearing it free of restraining pins so it spilled around them. He used the blond mane to bow her neck back just as if he intended to bite her.

"You are GOING to come for me," He snarled against her exposed throat.

"I already came," Buffy said genuinely puzzled by his anger.

Spike released her and glared, not comprehending, "When?"

"Just now!" She reminded as if he were slow, "And upstairs? Against the wall?"

"THAT?" Spike snorted, "That is your idea of an orgasm. I mean for you to COME, hard, foam up and scream the sodden roof down."

"I don't scream," Buffy stated matter-of-factly, "Like I don't BEG."

She shrugged her shoulders negligently, "It's a Slayer thing."

"Bollocks!" Spike scoffed, "I bet you break the bloody windows."

He ran a teasing fingertip along her cheek and added, "Right person!"

She shoved him violently away from her and started to rise. Spike couldn't bear for her to walk out on him now. He caught at her shoulders and slammed her down, stabbing his erection back into her. Buffy groaned aloud at the exquisite combination of pain and pleasure. She rocked her pelvis against him. They wrestled, in a sort of half-hearted, bitch-slapping, hair-pulling, kind of way.

Buffy wriggled about enticingly in her effort to escape. Spike held onto her by constantly shifting his grip, like a man bathing a cat. She clawed the nails of her right hand into his chest but the scent of his own blood only served to whet the vampire's ardor.

He took the Slayer by the scruff of her neck and captured her mouth in a kiss. It was a hard, impatient embrace and Buffy wrenched away as if she planned to spit out the taste of him. But then she came back for more, her appetite insatiable. She melted into Spike, locking her arms behind his head to keep him close.

He rolled his tongue against the roof of her mouth. Buffy's whole body jerked and Spike felt a warm rush of fluid around his cock. He laughed deep in his throat. Drawing back, the vampire tilted his chin down to look into the Slayer's eyes. The corners of his mouth tipped up in a knowing grin.

"Kitty wants me in her mouth?"

"MMmmhhmmm," She purred.

"She has to be a good kitty for that," He teased, "Bad kitties don't get their saucer of cream."

He eased his full length out of her, gratified by the glint in her eyes as she took his measure for the first time.

"God! He's amazing," Buffy thought but all she said was, "I can be good."

She smiled lazily up at him and reiterated, "I can be very, very good."

Buffy ran her tongue over the edge of her teeth as she watched Spike slide his hand along his exposed shaft. He filled his palm with their intermingled fluids. The tip of his penis brushed against her hardened clit in a feather-light caress.

Smiling at the small catch in her breath, Spike repeated the move sans hands. The Slayer was instantly reminded that she wasn't the only one with superior muscle control. Her wicked thoughts made her purr again and Spike raised the saucer of cream to her lips.

"That's my sweet pussy," Spike murmured as Buffy lapped his palm clean.

She held tight to his wrist, turning his hand so that she could suck their juices from each finger. They tasted wonderful together, like lemons and honey and something too primal to define. It was sweet and tart and deliciously untamed. Buffy couldn't get enough of the delicate flavors. She dipped her own fingers into their saturated curls and brought a second serving to her lips. Spike licked the back of her hand as she suckled, catching stray droplets of the treat for himself.

Fiery sparks started dancing in Buffy's tummy. At first, she thought it was only the glow of sexual gratification building inside her again. Then the warmth spread along her limbs making her muscles slow to respond. A series of hallucinogenic images played across her mind's eye and she abruptly remembered when she'd felt this way before. Dracula! He had made her drink from him and...

"Blood thrall," Spike whispered seeing that she'd noticed already.

"What?!? I can't..." She struggled to stand up and Spike unexpectedly assisted her.

"Just tasting my mettle, baby. Don't let it scare you."

Her jaw set at his implication, just as Spike knew that it would.

"You don't SCARE me."

"No?" He asked his voice laced with equal measures of hope and disappointment.

"Not at all," Buffy assured him with the precise diction of the drunkard.

She tossed her hair for emphasis and nearly toppled over. Spike pulled her unresisting body against his own. He reveled in her melting heat for a moment, in her daring exploration of him. And then he stepped away.

"Good," He said tucking himself into his pants, "Then you won't fight me when I tell you to undress."

Buffy blinked at him.

"Huh?"

"Strip," He ordered, "Jacket first."

To the Slayer's shock, her hands moved of their own volition to obey. Numbly, she slipped the warm denim from her shoulders. Buffy shivered slightly at the sudden chill of the night, but she obediently tossed her jacket aside.

"Now the blouse."

"Shirt."

"Whatever...take it off."

But the Slayer's fingers only fluttered distractedly at the lace along her cleavage. She made no move to continue undressing. Spike knew she was finding herself, wrenching free of his thrall. He tried to hold her gaze but she took herself in check and staked him with a nasty glare.

"Now...the...shirt." She ground out between tightly clenched teeth.

Spike followed her glance and took her meaning. He shrugged quickly out of his purple shirt and threw it to the opposite side of the room. Buffy gasped in relief and ripped her very expensive, newly purchased blouse to shreds.

"You," She said breathing heavily.

With a small, sexy smile, Spike submitted. He slipped his black tee over his head caressing himself as he went. With languid ease, he let the shirt drop to the floor at his feet. Buffy knew what was next. She was wearing nothing but her camisole, lace thong and boots. She started to remove the first item.

"No," Spike whispered, stopping her, "Let me look at you."

He circled the Slayer, examining the details of her outfit. He thought about the implications of it. The leather and the lace. The skirt and the thong. And the fact that she wasn't even wearing a bra. When had that started? Weeks ago, he realized. She had come to his crypt in a soft frilly dress, one night, weeks ago. She had asked him if he wanted to prowl the night with her.

"That's an interesting uniform for Slaying, Pet," The vampire observed after careful study.

Sidling up next to her, he caressed one hand along her back and firm bottom and purred in her ear, "Looks like you were hoping to be staked yourself."

Buffy felt herself go red at this perceptive remark. She had unfortunately, had a number of very wet dreams that featured Spike and the outfit she was currently wearing. Or to be perfectly honest...dreams that STARTED with her wearing the outfit.

Spike watched as his Slayer searched for the icy dignity that was her mantle and scepter. She didn't disappoint.

"Can we move this along?" She said in a bored tone, "Or were you planning to stand around giving me fashion tips all night?"

"Ooh-hoo! Someone needs another cocktail."

"And someone needs to get his ass in gear."

"Well...Hello, to the Mistress of Minor Abrasions," Spike said cocking his head to one side, "One day she'll make it all the way to...pain."

"Just as long as I'm the one wearing the boots."

"We are both wearing boots, Mistress," Spike reminded sinking to his knees before her.

With deft fingers he worked Buffy's thong to her ankles. She stepped out of the hobble and Spike absently stuffed the delicate scrap of lingerie into his back pocket. The Slayer hooked one shapely leg over his shoulder and maneuvered him into a position to service her.

Cupping the swell of her hips in both hands, Spike drank in the scent of Buffy's readiness. He rubbed his cheek along the line where her silken skin gave way to course curls. She tilted her pelvis forward in encouragement. Spike lapped up the Slayer's succulence. He probed the softness and tickled the hardness of her with his talented tongue. He thrilled to the taste of his own emissions mingled with his lover's milk.

Buffy ruffled Spike's hair, swirling the strands of it in random patterns as he licked and sucked and masterfully tricked her out. He thrust two fingers into her slippery core...and then three. She offered him a strangled groan. He reached up his other hand to fondle her belly and breasts. She gave him a mewling cry of delight.

Spike rocked back on his haunches and watched the emotions play over Buffy's face while his fingers did their work. Her eyes were closed, her mouth was slightly open and her hair bounced and swung along her back. She was radiant and he felt a sudden burning need to be inside her.

"I have to have you," Spike said simply, "Right now."

Instantly, the Slayer unhooked her leg from his shoulder. Reaching down, she tugged at him as he surged back into her arms. In one continuous motion, Spike yanked Buffy's camisole up over her head and simultaneously buried himself to the hilt in her pulsating cleft. He gripped her tight as she wrapped her legs around him.

They fell again, with him on top this time and he ravaged her. Fisting one hand in her hair, he clawed at his clothing with the other. Somehow, Spike managed to kick free of his boots and his jeans without ever breaking cadence. They rolled together onto the blanket of his coat. And they got off, got laid, got some, got there, and got very, very lucky as they accommodated and occupied each other. Buffy didn't scream but she did beg a little the sixth time he took her to the brink.

Floating on a cloud of gently descending sensations, Buffy lay quiet as Spike bit through the lace restraint on her right ankle. Similar fluttering strips, torn from her ruined blouse, decorated both of his wrists. She wondered, idly, what had happened to her socks.

Sighing, Buffy turned her head and something caught her eye. The site brought her instantly back to earth. A brightly colored foil packet peeked out of Spike's coat pocket. She fished one hand around inside his crumpled duster and came out with three more tiny packages and a small bottle of clear fluid. With some effort, she raised her head to look at him.

"Okay, lubricant, I understand." She commented with a quizzical lift of one brow, "But why would a vampire need condoms?"

Spike didn't respond. His mouth was occupied with more important things. But the Slayer would not be denied. She pushed at his shoulder with one bare foot until he looked her in the eye.

"Those aren't for me, Luv," He explained with more patience than he felt, "They're for you."

He returned his attention to her left instep. Buffy watched as he ran his tongue along the sole of her foot and then sucked on each of her toes in turn. He played his hands over her ankle and calf. He wanted her again. She knew he did. She knew Spike needed her, right now, more than he needed blood. It was a pleasant feeling but she wasn't going to let it sway her from this mystery.

"Why would I...?"

"So you won't get squeamish when we..."

Spike let his voice trail off as he ran his fingers down between her legs, all the way down and around to trace the outline of her second opening. Buffy jerked away from him. He grabbed at her but she made it to her knees and scurried away. Standing up, she kicked out backward. Her heel connected with his chest just above the right nipple. Spike yelped in pain and rolled to his feet. They circled one another warily.

"That's sick!" Buffy exclaimed.

"Not sick...stimulating."

"I am NOT letting you do that!"

"Even if I do it slow and easy?"

"Never, EVER."

"One finger?"

"NO!"

"The tip of my tongue?"

"Ewww! NO! A world of NO!"

"Alright then," He agreed mildly and sprang, pinning her against a post, "You can just do it to me!"

"Oh, my God," Buffy gasped trying to escape by turning under his arm, "I am SO not getting my tongue anywhere near your..."

"I meant by hand, Pet," Spike clarified capturing both of her wrists.

He swept one leg around to knock her from her feet and they crashed to the floor. He locked his legs in a figure four hold to detain the struggling Slayer as he continued conversationally, "Not that I can see why you'd come over all queasy. Nothing unclean about the undead."

"Except for the demon parts."

"Yeah, 'cept for THAT," He admitted with a chuckle, "Fact is, my ass is ten times more hygienic than your mouth."

"But that isn't standing in the way of this," He added before Frenching her deeply.

Buffy relaxed into the kiss, languidly stroking his tongue with her own. Her knees dropped apart and Spike blindly patted around with one hand until he located his duster. He dragged the coat close and fumbled about for his stash. Surreptitiously, he tore open one of the tiny foil packets. The tightly rolled eel-skin slithered into his palm and he carefully gloved one of his fingers.

Buffy sat up suddenly.

"Are you sure this isn't because you are kind of...you know..."

"British?" Spike inquired lacing the word with innocent innuendo.

"Swishy!" She returned, raking him head-to-toe with keen appraisal.

Spike took absolutely no offense. With a courtly flourish, he handed Buffy a festive foil package of her very own. She flicked it back in his face. He laughed and lunged at her, taking her down before she even thought to scamper away from him again.

"Jeez, Slayer!" He panted as she squirmed ineffectually beneath him, "Did you and the Iowa Missionary keep your eyes closed the entire time?"

"Look, Just cause Riley wasn't kinky...or British or whatev...ARRhhCK!"

Spike had stroked his latex-covered finger over her extra tight entryway.

"You really need a copy of the Kama Sutra," He said.

Coaxing up a helping of the Slayers' natural lubricant he grinned and added, "Note to self."

Rolling sideways to sit up, he lifted Buffy and positioned her so she was seated, half in his lap. Her bare bottom rested on the floor between his thighs. As Spike fondled her, Buffy arched back, leaning the side of her head against his shoulder. He caught her close in a one-armed hug and rained tiny kisses on her face and neck.

"Or maybe," He suggested as the kisses slacked off, "You could take one of those Sexuality courses that are so popular with today's co-eds. Find out what's normal and what's not."

"Or maybe...you'd give me private lessons," Buffy encouraged saucily.

"Now your gettin' it," Spike grinned, "First bit of wisdom, then, Luv...is that...this..."

He eased his well-lubricated index finger into her as he spoke eliciting a breathy moan.

"...isn't...'swishy'..."

"...unless...I want to do it...WITH...the beefy Iowa Farm Boy."

"And," He continued while licking and sucking at her neck and gently stroking in and out of her previously forbidden passage, "It isn't...'kinky'..."

"...unless...the Captain and I...want YOU...to watch us...do it."

Buffy's gut clenched. Digging her nails into her lover's arm, she quivered through an orgasm that was completely unique in her experience. Spike plundered her mouth with his tongue as he cast their used condom away.

Then he turned the unresisting Slayer to her hands and knees and entered her from the back. He rode her cunt like a range stallion on a mare, rearing up and plunging into her. He reined her in by her wild mane as he spent and eased himself. And still, the Slayer didn't scream.

"What does it TAKE?" Spike moaned a few minutes later. He was more frustrated by her at that moment than he had ever been.

The Slayer was sprawled across him in all her smug, self-satisfied glory. Catching his eye, she traced one fingertip over the scar on her neck. The sensation that sang through Spike was all encompassing. His man and his monster both leaped to attention. Deep in what passed for his soul, two eternal hungers flared up, in direct opposition to each other. With a cry of alarm, Spike rolled away from his beloved and surged to his feet.

"Not that," He said firmly.

"Angel did it," Buffy informed him as she, too, stood up, "Angel made me scream."

"I'm not your prancing lap-dog," Spike growled, "WE can't go there."

"Cunt-teaser!"

"Dry Fuck!"

"Do it!"

"No!"

"Yes...Bite!"

"I SAID NO!" Spike bellowed and grabbing her by both shoulders, he shook her hard.

Buffy's eyes flashed. She wrenched free of Spike's grip and knocked him down with a single backhanded blow. Before he could rise, she straddled him, taking him in against his will. Hissing, she struck at his cheek like a cobra, twisting her teeth to bruise him. Spike roared in pain and rage and set his demon free.

"You want to die, Bitch?" He snarled fanging up, "That's fine by me."

The Slayer answered him with a low feral cry. She was lost in quaking ecstasy, as Spike's engorged member transformed inside her.

"OHHH...bumpy...bent..." She panted, "Oh...so good!"

"Yeah," The demon confirmed, softly. He was taken aback as he gazed on the enraptured beauty of his fallen angel, "Just the way you like it, Luv. A little monster in your man."

Taking hold of the Slayer's supple, willing ass, he flipped her onto her back, switching their places. Then kneeling between Buffy's legs, Spike hooked his elbows under her thighs and folded her knees up to her chest. She crossed her ankles behind his neck.

It was the perfect position for banging the waffling little biter's brains out but Spike was hampered by the fact that she had clamped down on his banger like a vise. He clawed one hand along her hip and surged into her anyway.

"Yeh-ss," Buffy hissed letting him go deep.

"This is what you want isn't it? What you always needed, at any rate! A bit of rough riding? A taste of my true nature?"

"Oh...yea...Goahg-ahh," She responded incoherently.

Buffy reached for him but he held her to the floor. Yellow eyes blazing, Spike fucked the Slayer with demonic abandon. He phallasized her for half an hour. Until her sweet cunny foamed over. Until she began to gasp and shimmy. Until she pleaded with him to end it.

"Come for me then," He ordered, "And mean it! I want to hear you scream."

"No-uhhh," She managed between great gulps of air.

"Scream!" He commanded again punctuating his words with violent thrusting, "Or I promise you will get what you've been asking for all night..."

"...I will put you on ALL FOURS, bury my teeth in your THROAT and screw my twisted self STRAIGHT UP INTO your hot, tight, oh...so...shaftable...SLAYER ASS!"

A small prudish voice yelped indignantly in Buffy's mind. She was outraged. She was appalled.

The very idea that she would want...

That is...that she would EVER allow...

...Spike...to have his sick way with...

She found it...disgusting, degrading...unthinkable...

Him and his filthy...perverted...

It was...bent...and...and...

...twisted...and...

Buffy brought the house down!

She shrieked. She wailed. She howled like a hurricane and breached up like a ship cresting 15-foot seas. Spike let her feet drop to the floor as the waves of her climax smashed over them. He slid his arms around her waist and along her shoulder blades to cradle her close. Again and again Buffy came. She bucked and rolled with the surging tide of multiple-release, clawing Spike's back to shreds.

The third or fourth time that she surfaced she dragged Spike down with her. He spumed, spraying into her. Content to consign his demon to the deep, he took human form. Spike held fast to Buffy and rode out their storm. He took shelter in the lee of her kiss but still he was ruined by her. Lost in her.

Spike was blind to everything but his masterpiece. His Slayer. His third. And yet his one and only! Her glorious radiance cast all others in the shade. Spike understood that his Century-long study of Predatory Power was brought to completion in Buffy Summers. She was, like the Sistine Chapel, the work that would define the limits of his artistry.

When he could focus again, Spike searched her eyes for a sense of deeper meaning. Her gaze was glassy, almost drugged. She was gasping for air and the vampire was surprised to note that he seemed to be gasping too. His faux breathing was synchronized with the Slayer's. It seemed natural. He felt alive. He was warm all over. His Love's pulse pounded and the steady rhythm echoed inside him as if his own heart were beating.

Gently, Spike shifted their center of gravity, rolling them onto their side and taking Buffy into a full body embrace. Reaching up one hand, he pushed the dampened strands of hair from her face. He traced over her eyelids, her nose, and her lips. He let his touch fall to her breast. His caress was closer to a holy supplication than a lewd suggestion. Spike laid his head against the Slayer's shoulder and was baptized in her essence.

"God, help me," He prayed into the soft curve of her throat, "Buffy...I love you so...oh...God...so very much."

Her breath caught slightly and her heart skipped and for the briefest second something skittered to the edge of the Slayer's awareness.

Spike raised his head and saw it in her eyes...that elusive something...a fragile, half-formed thought...a glimmer of possibility.

It was too shy a feeling for the bold name that he gave it.

And yet...

As they lay together in the small hours of the morning, moving and moaning as one, there was a subtle blurring of the line between them. Spike spoke at length of his devotion, tender and sincere. And in the end...

...when they were both past caring...

...just at the edge of sated slumber...

...he thought he heard an echo of his own emotions...

...a whisper of reverberation from Buffy's dream enchanted lips.




THE END