The Yellow Rose of Sunnydale
Parts 4-7
 


Written by: VicNoir

Summary: The Bronze hosts a Western Weekend, which brings out the outlaw in Spike. Much smuttiness ensues. Spoilers: season five, around the time of "Checkpoint".
Distribution: Dancing with Death, http://fansites.gamezilla.com/dwd
Disclaimer: The show Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all of it's characters belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, & Fox Prod.
Feedback: love it, live for it, gimmegimmegimme VVKS326@aol.com




Chapter 4


"Hmm...where was I? Ah, yes, the outlaw Will Blood, ridin' into town to find Miss Buffy an' test the legend, so to speak."

"It was a hot day, like a lot of other hot days, when word came that Blood was closin' in. Folks deserted the streets an' shops in droves, leavin' the place wide open for the battle they knew was comin'..."

Buffy took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. The louder voice in her head told her that she was still completely in control of the situation. The quieter voice, from somewhere else inside her, just laughed.

"Miss Buffy stood behind the bar at the Yellow Rose. She poured herself a shot of bourbon an' tossed it back. She watched the clock, feelin' his approach. As it struck five, he pushed through the swingin' doors and stood there, lookin' like a column of thick, black smoke."

"Mmm...poetic."

He gave a small snort. "Sorry, luv...got lost in the moment." He cleared his throat. "Blood approached the bar, removin' his gun belt as he moved. He laid it down across the bar an' leaned forward. He spoke just one word: 'Whiskey'."

"Miss Buffy's hand tightened on the pistol she'd tucked into her skirt and said 'Mister, we don't serve your kind here. You'd best head out the way you came'."

"The bandit didn't answer her, just kept starin' into her eyes. Miss Buffy found that she wanted to obey him-wanted to do anythin' he asked..."

"OH, PLEASE! This was a pretty decent story until you turned it into...I mean, come on, I would SO not do that--"

He moved with sudden speed to lean over her, drawing her gaze into his. His eyes were nearly black in the darkness, the pupils dilated, leaving only a very slender circle of iris. She found herself captivated by the tiny, almost microscopic gold specks that appeared and disappeared within that rim of blue. Her breath caught.

"Give me your hand." She wasn't sure if he was speaking in his own voice or that of Will Blood, but she offered her hand up automatically, clenched in a fist. He used both his own hands to pry her fingers open, and then placed a soft kiss in the center of her palm, holding his lips there as his tongue made small circles against her skin.

A shiver raced up her arm and spread over her flesh. She felt her nipples harden against the scratchy laces at the front of her bustier, and a delicate throb start up between her legs. He lifted his head and began to speak.

"Miss Buffy had never met a bloke like this Will Blood. When he kissed her hand, all thoughts of killin' him or runnin' him out of town vanished from her pretty head. She wanted nothin' more than to throw herself over the bar at him, an' beg him to take her upstairs to her soft bed, an' do filthy, unspeakable things to her until she begged him..."

Buffy's other hand made sharp contact with Spike's face and he released her to rub at his cheek. "OW! What the hell was that for?!?"

"That was for turning the story into your wet dream." She grabbed the deck of cards that lay on the grass, shuffled and cut them. "Here. Deal."

He took them from her, but his mind was still filled with images of satin sheets at the top of the stairs at the Yellow Rose, and he stared at the hand he had dealt himself without comprehending.

She asked for two more cards and was amazed to receive two kings from him-two kings that matched the two she already held. "OK. Whatcha got, Spike?" He dropped his cards in front of her and she crowed. "Ha! Three of a kind? Loser."

He flinched. The lingering taste of her salty Slayer-ness on the tip of his tongue had made him forget to cheat.

She was gathering the cards as she began to speak. "Miss Buffy slowly raised the pistol in her hand 'til it was even with the face of the bandit. He looked at her from under his silly black hat and froze. 'You have until the count of three to turn around and walk out of here, Will Blood. If you don't, I'm going to stake...er...shoot you through the heart'."

Spike looked up and saw that she had Mr. Pointy poised and at the ready. He felt a tremor of fear, but held his ground. "Heard tell of your bravery, Miss Buffy. Too bad it's all for show."

"WHAT? What did you say?" Her eyes narrowed as she felt her temper rise hot in her chest.

"You heard me. Easy enough to follow your callin' an' do what comes naturally. Harder to admit your feelin's when they're not in line with your way of thinkin', inn'it? That takes real courage, an' I'm the fool that knows it."

She closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to ignore the voices in her head that were having a shouting match. One declared very loudly that she should stake him into the ground, and the other, which had suddenly grown much more insistent, and was urging her to drop the damn stake and leap into his arms.

He leaned in a final time and hissed at her. "Coward."

Her eyes flew open and her mouth moved of its own accord. "Miss Buffy leveled the pistol at the bandit's chest an fired a single shot." At the same moment, she lunged at him with a rather amateurish stabbing motion, and struck just below his collarbone with the stake, mere inches from his heart.

He flew backward and she landed on him, straddling him. She withdrew the stake and watched in horror as blood welled in the wound. His head had fallen back in the grass and his eyes were closed.

"Spike? Spike, I'm sorry...but you shouldn't--I mean, why'd you have to...?"

He raised his head and looked at her, saying nothing. She dropped the stake and reached out toward the place where she had injured him, noting that the bleeding was slowing as quickly as it had begun.

Her voice trembled. "Miss Buffy jumped over the bar to where Blood was lying in the sawdust. She ripped open his shirt to check the damage." He heard his tee-shirt tear from collar to waist. "It was just a flesh wound, and way off from where she'd been aiming. Blood had been lucky, because at that range she could easily have dusted...um... killed him. I wonder why it went crooked like that--I was sure...SHE was sure she'd been aiming at this heart."

She tore away a strip of fabric from his shirt and pressed it to the small hole in his chest. He tensed with pain. "Serves you right for trying to take advantage of me, Cadaver Boy." Then she leaned over and kissed him before the stupid voices in her head could begin debating the rightness of it.

The sensation of pain that had been radiating from his chest fell away, and he could feel nothing but her lips as they nibbled at his, seeking something...what? Forgiveness? He gave it without reserve and deepened the kiss.

She pulled away and grinned at him. "Blood is unconscious at this point, Spike, so HOLD STILL." She returned to kissing him. He let his lips fall open and felt her tongue slip beneath his. He concentrated hard on not returning the caress.

Her hands began to wander over his chest, avoiding the wound. She trailed them up and down his sides and across his thighs, stopping to squeeze and knead the muscles there. She was amused by his struggle to remain limp and unresponsive.

Then she stuck out the tip of her tongue and began tracing the crevices of his ear. He groaned and tensed.

"Stay still, cowboy, or this story's over."

"For pity's sake, Slayer, I'm not made of stone, you know."

She reached down and pressed her hand against the large bulge at the crotch of his jeans. "Coulda fooled me." She giggled into his neck as he stifled a moan.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. His plan had been to win every hand, by cheating if necessary, and seduce her before she realized what was happening. That she had beaten him at poker had been a surprise. That she had tried to dust him had been a shock. That she was lying on top of him, groping him eagerly, with no apparent intention of stopping--**well, that's just a bleedin' wonder, inn'it it, mate?**

She pulled her face out of his neck and began whispering in his ear.

"Miss Buffy could tell that Will was waking up. He began to take shorter, quicker breaths, and his face got all flushed. Of course, he was human, so I'll give you a break if you can't pull that off." Her hands returned to his chest. "Miss Buffy ripped away the rest of his shirt and undid his trousers."

Her hands mimicked the sense of her words, tearing Spike's tee-shirt away completely and fumbling with his belt and buttons. Once his flesh was exposed, she slowed her hands, bringing them back to his face and neck with feather-like touches.

"Hold still! You're not completely awake yet!"

"Like hell I'm not!" But he forced himself to remain motionless, save for the involuntary twitching and jerking that occurred below his waist.

"Miss Buffy began to kiss Will's face to make him wake up and get with the program." She accompanied her words with small, sweet kisses across Spike's brow and down his cheeks. With each touch of her lips, he felt his heart swell 'til he wondered which would burst first--his chest or his cock.

She had begun to lose her train of thought. The extremity of her arousal was distracting enough--but now the affection for him that she had buried beneath many shovel-fuls of denial was clawing its way to the surface. It was a warm feeling that, for some reason, made her want to cry.

Her hand wandered down his chest, tracing the outline of his musculature, pausing to pinch and roll his nipples between her fingers. She heard his teeth grit together when she did this, so she did it again, harder.

"Buffy..." His eyes were screwed shut and his voice was a rasp that revealed his struggle to remain still.

"That's MISS Buffy, to you, you filthy outlaw." Her hand paused in its journey downward to play with the line of downy hair that began just beneath his navel. "Then...finally..." She paused for five long seconds. "...Will woke up."

With the violence of an unbroken bronco busting loose from the gate, Spike clutched and flipped her onto her back in one convulsive movement. His hands were in her hair, forcing her mouth to his. She locked her arms around his neck and let him take everything she had to give.

When, after nearly a minute, he gave her respite to breathe, she gazed up into his face and laughed. "Hey, you're supposed to be wounded, remember?"

"Sod that." He kissed her again, slowly this time, exploring the warm recesses of her mouth in minute detail with the tip of his tongue, his hands unsnarling from her hair to slip down her shoulders and pull the chiffon and marabou feathers away from her flesh.

He kissed his way down her neck, stopping ever so often to suck and nibble at a particularly sensitive area. Through a haze of sensation she wondered how he knew where to find those places where the nerve endings were extra-close to the surface of her skin. Then he reached the top of breasts, still covered in red satin, and the areas of higher function in her brain began to shut down, like lights switching off in a skyscraper from top to bottom.

He pulled away from her to throw off his coat and what remained of his tee-shirt, and when he returned his hands went immediately to the laces that held her bustier closed. Working quickly, he loosened the confining garment and slid it down, exposing her breasts to the cool air and his equally cool hands.

Her nipples hardened to rose-colored knots at this touch. She felt his body shift downward and braced herself, knowing that when his lips touched her skin she might do something embarrassing. When his mouth closed over one nipple she fought the urge to cry out and lost. He was smiling against her skin and then she didn't care anymore because he was sucking and biting and his hand was at her other breast, making her blood thrum and throb in her veins.

He brought himself up to his knees and began searching for the hem of her skirt, fumbling through the folds and layers of lace. "Bloody hell, Slayer, it's a bleedin' maze down here..." Finally finding his way through, he dragged one hand up her thigh, savoring the feel of her skin beneath fishnet. He noted with approval that she had chosen a garter belt and stockings over pantyhose, and paused there to snap the elastic against her flesh. He grinned at her when she jumped and then dipped his fingers to very lightly trace the outline of her silken panties.

Her breath caught in her throat and her hips rocked upward of their own volition. His fingertips teased softly at the surface of the fabric and when she whimpered he pressed just slightly downward, allowing the moisture that was quickly pooling there to be absorbed by the silk. Her shudder in response begged for more, but he became occupied in detaching the stockings from the garter-belt. Seconds slipped by as he struggled and snarled the fishnet, until finally she popped up into a sitting position and slapped his hands away.

"Sorry, pet...bit out of practice." His expression was sheepish.

Having released the stockings from the snaps and rolled them down her legs, she pondered the wisdom of removing her boots, inwardly groaning at the thought of all those little buttons. Her senses told her that sunrise was still a couple of hours away, but she was wary of being less than prepared should the vamps they were waiting for make an early appearance.

Seeming to read her mind, he ended her inner discussion by grabbing a handful of her thigh and knocking her backward with a playful push. "Leave the boots, luv...but mind where you dig the heels at the critical moment..." She giggled up at him and stuck her tongue out, and then nearly bit it in two when his hand returned to remove her panties, carefully easing them down her legs and over the boots.

Her body was rigid with anticipation as he dragged his fingers slowly up one leg to her knee and back down again. Then up it went again, this time farther, closer...then back down. Again, and this time his thumb brushed her curls softly and she lifted her hips in supplication. Finally, he brought his fingers to her center, sliding them upward into hot, swollen flesh, and she turned her face into her shoulder to keep from screaming.

He was lying next to her then, nibbling at her ear while his fingers made soft explorations below. Each time she sighed or shuddered, he paused in his movements, as if to memorize what had caused the reaction.

She felt his fingers at her opening and pressed forward slightly in a mute attempt to urge him inward. Gently and with extreme precision, he entered her, probing deeply and at the same time folding the heel of his hand upward to make contact with her clit. She lost control momentarily, thrusting against his hand and nipping wildly at his face.

"Shhh..." He encouraged her to lift her head, and he slipped his other arm beneath her neck and pulled her close. He began thrusting his fingers into her with a steady rhythm, and her hips rose up to meet each movement. He stopped, his hand still buried in her, and flexed his fingers firmly into the small cluster of nerve endings that lay deep inside her. A ball of light exploded behind her eyes when he did that, and a ball of heat threatened to incinerate his hand. Every muscle in her body tensed and felt herself approaching the point of no return. He quickly disengaged his hand--the loss of which caused her literal pain--and reached up to caress her abdomen with slick fingers.

"Nooo..." She pushed at his hand, her body aching for its return. Instead, he slid his arm out from beneath her and repositioned himself between her legs. His fingers spread wide her outer lips and he devoured her. She had time to wonder whether it was possible to have a seizure from an excess of pleasure before the first spasms of her orgasm overtook her and she no longer cared if she lived or died.

He propelled her through it, ruthless in his determination to wrench every last shudder and throb from her body, not letting it up until she sobbed for mercy and pulled weakly at his hair. Only then did he soften his assault, sliding his tongue deftly around her raw clit, teasing it until she began to feel the tension build again.

With a supreme act of self-discipline, she yanked his hair hard enough to make him look up at her. "Come here." Her voice was low and edgy with promise and he obeyed her. Returning to his place next to her, he again buried his face in her neck and fought the demon that threatened to emerge.

Her hands trembling, she reached around behind him and tugged at his jeans. He lifted slightly, allowing her to slip them down his hips. The scratchy lace of her skirt scraped against his cock and he groaned in discomfort. Then her soft, strong hands found the shaft and he felt a growl building in his chest. **Down, pillock, or you'll ruin this for the both of us.** He occasionally found that addressing his demon as a separate entity allowed him more control over it, but it was not to be the case this time around. He felt her squeeze his balls and roll them sensuously between her fingers, and a snarl escaped before he could master it.

She froze at the sound, staring into eyes that glowed yellow. He fought to keep his human features front and center, and succeeded for the moment.

"Sorry, luv...strong emotion...strong sensation...provokes the beast in me. You...you can stop if you like." He closed his eyes when he said this. She couldn't help but be impressed with his offer, but couldn't bring herself to stop. Instead, she leaned forward and sucked his lower lip between her teeth.

His eyes popped open at that, and his fingers found either side of her jaw. He held her there, trapping her face as she trapped his lip. Her hands began to move again and he wondered if he would last.

Then she was sliding down his body and when her warm breath caressed the head of his cock, he knew he was in trouble. "No...Buffy...oh, god...don't..." She slid her tongue beneath the foreskin as one hand pumped the shaft and the other tickled the tightening flesh at his balls. "Bloody FUCK...I can't..." And he couldn't, his hips thrusting upward as he exploded into her mouth, his hands wresting huge hunks of sod from the grave they were lying across. She gulped several times as he shot into her mouth, and then continued to lick and nibble at his foreskin as he returned to the earth plane. When she realized that her caresses were on the verge of causing pain to his now acutely sensitized nerve endings, she pulled away with a final kiss and crawled up to snuggle in the crook of his arm.

He stared into her face and wracked his brain for some remark that wasn't 'I love you.' She delighted in this very obvious struggle: the smart-mouthed vampire at a loss for words.

Finally, he composed him self enough ask: "Right there in the sawdust, Slayer?"

Grinning at him, she replied: "What can I say? Miss Buffy's a big ho'."

They lay there like that, talking nonsense for several minutes. Buffy was as relaxed and happy as she had been in weeks. Experience should have taught her that it couldn't last.

Voices approaching.

Vampires?

Worse.

Scoobies!




*~*~*~*~*~*



Chapter 5


They lay there like that, talking nonsense for several minutes. Buffy was as relaxed and happy as she had been in weeks. Experience should have taught her that it couldn't last.

Voices approaching.

Vampires?

Worse.

Scoobies!

She was up like a shot, rearranging her clothes and grabbing for poor, discarded Mr. Pointy. It took her a few seconds to realize that Spike wasn't moving.

"What're you DOING? Get UP, get DRESSED, they're COMING!"

"Aww, let 'em come...why should you an' I have all the fun?" He smiled at her, curling his tongue behind his teeth and cocking one eyebrow. She was amazed to see that he was hard again.

"GET UP!"

"I AM up!"

"AAARRRGHHH!" She very unceremoniously grabbed him by the most convenient handle available and yanked him to his feet.

"HEY! Easy with the delicates!" Their voices were little above stage whispers, but they sounded loud to her ears.

"Shut up--and go home. Just stay there until I come for you...I mean, until I get you."

"Right, pet." Still grinning like a moron, he gathered up his coat and cigarettes and made a none-too-hasty retreat in the direction of his crypt.

Buffy slipped behind the nearest large tree just as Xander, Anya, Willow and Tara came upon the grave that she and Spike had so recently defiled.

"Oh, now that's just...can everyone just say it with me? EWWWW!" Xander stared down at the expanse of grass that spread away from the tombstone. Two large clumps of sod had been torn from the ground. There was a deck of cards--several of which were sticky and slippery with blood and some other whitish, fast -drying substance--splayed out across the grave, and a pair of red silk panties hung from one arm of the cross at the top of the stone.

"Oh, that's so disrespectful." Willow's face was a study in disapproval.

"Oh, I don't know...wouldn't bother me if people got busy on MY grave--I mean, just because I was a decayed corpse with no orgasms in my future, doesn't mean I would begrudge them to anyone else." Anya shrugged and slid an arm around Xander's waist, making a mental note to get in as many orgasms as possible before death came for her.

Tara giggled. It was such an unexpected reaction from her to the scene before them that they all turned to stare at her, which caused her to immediately bite her lip and look remorseful. "Sorry. I w-was just thinking that it looks like s-somebody lost a game of s-strip p-poker."

"Yeah, well, whatever...let's just find Buffy and get out of here before..."

Buffy took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the tree. "Here I am, Xander."

"Whoa. Speak of the Slayer." Xander looked at Buffy and noticed that she seemed a bit...disheveled. Not that his brain actually came up with that word. "Where've you been?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Big slayage all around." Her voice was unnaturally bright.

Willow also noticed Buffy's general state of disarray. "Are you OK? I mean, when you disappeared from the Bronze, we were worried...not that we think you can't take care of yourself, or anything."

"Nope, I'm fine. Just hanging out, waiting for some vamps to show so I can get with the whole sacred duty thing..." Great, Buff, babble much?

"Ooooookay...well, if you're sure..."

"Yup, I'm sure. So if you guys want to head home-"

The three vamps in question chose that moment to burst from the bushes about ten yards from the group. They barreled towards the Slayer and Scoobies, looking hungry.

Tara, Anya and Willow fell back a few feet, fumbling for the stakes they had tucked into various parts of their attire. Buffy and Xander stepped up, taking the brunt of the assault.

Buffy took the smaller one first, landing several good punches and a kick to the balls before dusting him with a particularly graceful arc of her arm. It was then that she realized that her stockings were still rolled down around her ankles, and she was wearing no underwear. She looked around in a panic, hoping she hadn't flashed her friends.

Xander was having more of a struggle with the largest vamp, and the middle-sized guy was busy trying to decide which of the three female Scoobies would make the best appetizer.

Tara chose that moment to be heroic and went for the vamp, stake drawn. He clobbered her easily, and went in for the kill before Willow could scream for Buffy's help. That's when Spike, still wearing his tattered tee-shirt, lunged onto the scene out of nowhere and took out the demon with round-house high-kick to the head. Wrenching the stake from Tara's terrified grip, he dusted the creature.

Between them, Buffy and Xander had made short work of the largest vampire and were in time to see Spike finish the third. Then they stood about for a moment and looked at one-another.

"Um...thanks, Spike." Willow was genuinely grateful--that was the second time he'd come to the rescue in one night.

"Don't mention it, Red." He offered his hand to Tara and pulled her to her feet.

"Wh-what h-happened to your sh-shirt, Spike?" Tara stared at the vampire's chest. It glowed like white-gold in the dim light, and the healing wound just below his collarbone stood out like neon.

"Oh...er...nothin' pet. Just a bit of a tussle with--"

"A demon! He had a fight with a demon, right, Spike?" Buffy looked at him pleadingly.

"Er...right. A demon. Big, nasty bloke. Took a piece right out of me...would have made me his supper if it hadn't been for the Slayer here. Right, Slayer?" His face was serious, but his eyes twinkled at her. She turned away from him pointedly.

"OK, well, I'm beat. What d'you say we all head home?" She tucked her stake back into the waistband of her skirt and started walking toward the gates, hoping that the others would follow.

They didn't. They were too busy watching Spike gather up the playing cards from the nearby grave. Not realizing he had an interested audience, he paused to scrape off the now-hardened ejaculate from the surface of several cards, and to lick the blood from one or two others. The sound of Xander's gagging stopped him.

"Spike, you are SO beyond disgusting..."

"What? It's my own blood, inn'it?"

Willow looked horrified. "Spike, were you playing cards...and...and...other stuff on some poor dead person's final resting place?"

"Wasn't MY idea to do it here, Red, it was--"

"Despicable! Gross...and...and despicable and you should be ashamed of yourself, you disgusting, filthy demon." Buffy took a deep breath and looked everywhere but at Spike. "Let's go, guys." She took Xander and Willow by the arms and began dragging them along with her. Anya and Tara followed obediently behind.

"But who was he playing with?" Anya stopped and looked back over her shoulder to watch Spike disengage the panties from the tombstone and stuff them into the pocket of his duster.

"He was probably playing solitaire, if you know what I mean." Xander was highly amused by his own joke.

"But the panties..."

"NeverMIND! Let's just GO!" Buffy's tone brooked no argument.

At the gates, Buffy let go of Willow and Xander. "I...uh...I should probably do a final patrol just to be safe. I'll see you guys tomorrow, OK?" She couldn't quite meet anyone's eyes.

"Uh, yeah, OK. Are you planning on going back to the Bronze tomorrow night? You know, for the rest of Western Weekend?" Willow looked hopeful. She had found that she rather enjoyed the countryfied atmosphere, once she had gotten used to it.

"Um...maybe. I'll see. I'll let you know tomorrow...OK?"

"OK. 'Night."

Buffy watched as the Scoobies moved down the street and around the corner. Then she took off, back into the depths of the cemetery, absolute fury firing her feet.

She slammed into his crypt to find him seated on the tomb that served as his bed, dabbing at the last of the bloodstains on his chest with the wadded up remains of his shirt. He glanced up at her casually and cast the rag aside, reaching for his cigarettes.

"Thought you were headed home, pet. Come to hear the rest of the story?" He leered at her and lit the cigarette, taking a deep drag and exhaling through his nostrils. It always got to her, somehow, when he did that.

She shook off the little electric spark of attraction and glared at him. "No, I did NOT come to hear the rest of your LAME story-"

"It was your story, too, luv...or have you conveniently forgotten that bit?"

She took a breath to steady herself. "I came to tell you that you'd better keep your mouth shut about...about what happened tonight if you know what's good for you. And you can forget about it ever happening again, too." She took a step toward him in what she hoped was a menacing fashion. "Got that?"

"Oh, I see how it is. Feelin' a bit ashamed, are we? A trifle dirty? No need, Slayer. What happened tonight was perfectly natural--"

"Natural? There's nothing natural about you and me...doing what we did. It was awful and disgusting and I can't believe I let you--"

"You LET me? Hate to contradict an' all, pet, but you were right there with me...just as aggressive...just as passionate..." He had slid off the tomb and was approaching her, his voice dipping into a seductive growl. "I quite fancied that little noise you made just before you came...like to see if I could hear it again..."

She felt her face flush and told herself it was shame and revulsion and anything but arousal. She had no explanation for the sudden dampness she felt between her thighs--shame and revulsion so rarely made her wet herself. She was deeply, monumentally confused, and the voices that had been bickering in her head all night had chosen this time to shut up completely, leaving her with no internal guidance whatsoever.

He was inches away and closing. She chose to go with the simplest response and punched him soundly in the jaw. He fell back and snarled.

"Not fair, Slayer--you can play rough an' I can't--or maybe I can, if you like it well enough..."

He made a move toward her and she countered with a kick to his gut. When he straightened, she held her stake in her hand.

"Back off, Spike. I almost dusted you once tonight--I won't miss twice."

His eyes widened in surprise--she meant it. He automatically covered his hurt with bravado.

"You're a moody bitch tonight, Slayer--one moment you're crawlin' around in my trousers, the next you're threatenin' to stake me--what's a poor vampire to think?"

"I don't care what you think, except for this: it ends here. Don't come near me again." She felt something in her chest contract painfully when she said those words, and ignored it. "Are we good? Do you get it now?"

She watched as the playful smile on his face turned to stone. "I get it, Slayer." He turned his back on her and clenched his fists. She weakened for a moment.

"Spike..."

He didn't turn. "Get out. Don't come back." His voice was gravelly, barely within his control.

She turned and stalked out of the crypt. Only when he was sure she was gone did he allow his shoulders to slump. Mindlessly, he reached for the bottle of bourbon he kept behind the tomb. He stood in the open doorway and stared out at the sky, chugging the brown liquid in large, coma-inducing gulps.

"Have you ever heard a robin weep
As leaves begin to die
That means he's lost his will to live
I'm so lonesome I could cry."



*~*~*~*~*~*



Chapter 6


It was after ten the following evening when Buffy pushed through the swinging doors and into the crowd at the Bronze. She had traded in her Miss Kitty get-up for a pair of jeans and boots, and blue and white checked shirt. Willow hailed her from a table near the bar.

"You're late."

"Yeah, well, I got into it with Dawn about hanging out with her friends on street corners after dark--I keep telling her that this is a Hellmouth, not the set of Dawson's Creek, but..." She let her voice trail off as she gazed about the bar, looking for...**NO! NOT looking for Spike. Looking for her friends, of which Spike was not one.**

"Where is everybody, anyway?"

"Oh, Tara didn't come. I think she kind of got her fill of all things Western last night. Xander and Anya are over there." Willow gestured in the direction of large, noisy knot of people clustered around a mechanical bull. Buffy turned just in time to witness some poor cowpoke get thrown from the bull into one of the surrounding bales of straw. "I haven't seen Spike."

"Spike? Who said anything about Spike? I certainly don't care if Spike shows up tonight...in fact, I hope he doesn't. I hope I never see him again. Ever."

Willow looked at her quizzically. "Oooookay. Um...wanna drink?"

"Yeah, a drink would be good."

"Be right back." As Willow rose and moved toward the bar, Buffy settled back into her seat and tried to not stare at the door. She heard the crowd over by the mechanical bull give another shout-it seemed to be the main attraction of the evening. Glancing toward the bar, she saw that Willow was deep in conversation with a classmate she had happened upon, so she got up and wandered over to where Anya and Xander stood.

Just as she reached the group, another brave soul was tossed into the air and hit the floor hard.

"Hi, guys. What's up?"

"Hey! It's the Buffster! And looking all Annie Oakley, too."

"Oh, Buffy, look! See? All the young men are taking turns riding the bucking machine, and they keep getting thrown off and suffering mild but very amusing injuries! Isn't it great?!"

"Yeah, Anya, it's great...so are you gonna take a turn, Xander?" She poked him playfully in the ribs.

"Um...I'm thinking 'no' on that one, Buff, but thanks for asking."

"No, Buffy, I won't let Xander ride the bucking machine. He'd only get thrown off, and maybe he'd rupture something important, and then it could be DAYS before we could have sex again...and I'm on a very tight schedule, you know. I've calculated the exact number of orgasms that it is humanly possible to achieve before my estimated time of death, and we can't afford to lose a day--"

"OK, Anya, we said we weren't going to talk about that here, remember?"

Anya shrugged and went back to watching the riders fly off the bull.

Buffy's back was to the door, but she knew the moment he entered. She struggled not to turn.

He was wearing the same jeans and boots--a bit more scuffed and lived-in-looking--but his duster was thrown over his bare back and chest; he'd never bothered to don another shirt. His hair was wild and uncombed and he had a nearly empty bottle of bourbon in his hand, his third of the evening.

The crowd did the sensible thing and parted instantly as he stalked to the bar. The aura he gave off was well beyond his usual 'don't fuck with me, mate' vibe and deep into 'looking for trouble and if I can't find it, I'll be happy to make some' country. As he reached the bar, he threw back his head and chugged the last the bourbon.

"Barkeep. More a' this. Now." His tone was guttural, but his words weren't slurred.

Willow watched him for a few moments, then joined her friends.

"Um...I think we might have a problem, guys." She gave a worried glance back toward the bar. "It's Spike...he's drunk."

Xander spun around in delight. "Oh, but I LIKE it when Spike's drunk. He's a riot--reminds me of a Benny Hill sketch."

"Um...I don't think he's that kind of drunk, Xander. He doesn't look very cuddly and slurry and pathetic tonight-more, um...dangerous, actually."

"Hey, bonus. If he makes a move, Buffy's finally got a good excuse to stake his demon ass, right Buff?"

She didn't respond. She was watching Spike closely and fighting off major guilt at the sight of him--the result of her rejection was considerably beyond what she'd expected.

The crowd surrounding the mechanized bull gave another roar, and he looked over in their direction through narrowed eyes. Retrieving the fresh bottle that the bartender had handed him--against the rules and probably the law, but no one was arguing with Spike this night--he approached them, his stride steady and sure and full of bravado. Buffy wondered how he could drink so much and stay standing, much less in such apparently perfect control.

"Evenin' all." He looked at Xander and Anya and Willow...and right through the Slayer.

"Uh, hi, Spike. Whatcha up to tonight?"

"Oh, you know, Red. The usual--lookin' for cheap thrills."

It was a direct shot at Buffy, but she pretended not to hear it.

"Spike, why don't you take a ride on the mechanical bull? Bet you could beat the champ."

"Uh, Xander. I don't think that's a very good--"

"Oh, come on Willow, it'd be fun for old Spike." Xander's eyes were filled with an evil twinkle.

"What are you natterin' on about, Harris?"

"The bull, Spike. The champ over there was able to stay on for almost fifteen seconds-bet you could beat that without even trying." Xander gestured toward a lanky youth in the corner who looked as if he'd wandered on off the range just moments before.

Buffy spoke up. "Spike can't ride the bull, Xander--" Wrong thing to have said. Way wrong. Spike's glare stopped whatever further words she might have uttered.

He stripped his coat off and thrust it at Willow. "Hold this for me, Red." Setting his bottle down on a nearby table and pushing his way toward the front of the crowd, he reached the bull just as the current rider flew off backwards, narrowly missing several spectators.

Buffy watched in bemusement as his climbed astride the machine. As it began to rock and roll, she couldn't help fixating on the way the muscles of his arms, back, chest and abdomen shifted and stretched as he held on, and the way his nipples looked almost purple against his white flesh. Her mouth went dry and she found herself clutching her own arms hard enough to leave marks on her skin.

"Wow...he's good. He's very, very good." Anya said this without looking away from Spike's undulating form.

"Yeah, well, it's not fair. He's got all that stupid vampiric strength--that's cheating."

"Then why did you suggest it in the first place, Xander?" Willow smirked at him.

"Well, I didn't think he'd actually...and YOU said he was drunk, so I thought..." Xander looked uncomfortably uncomfortable.

Buffy tried time and again to look away. The seconds seemed to drag by, and still he held on, riding gracefully, not even tiring. The crowd began to chant. Ten seconds, then twelve. Fifteen-he'd beaten the champ, and still he rode. Twenty seconds, twenty-five. At thirty seconds, the bull began to wind down. When it stopped, he swung off to the cheers of the crowd.

He pushed his way back to them, grabbing his bottle off the table and drinking deeply from it.

"Thanks, Red." He took his coat from her and turned to Xander. "Your turn, Harris."

Xander's face paled visibly. "Uhhhh..."

"Xander, you don't have to ride that thing-not everybody here has something to prove." Buffy looked pointedly at Spike.

"No? Thought a challenge had been laid down...but if the whelp's too weak..."

"You want to challenge somebody, Spike? I'll ride the stupid thing." Buffy set her soda down, untucked her shirt from her jeans and rolled up her sleeves.

"All right, Slayer, if you feel you must...but how 'bout we make it interesting?"

"What did you have in mind, Spike?" Her tone of voice held a warning.

"How 'bout this--if you're thrown, we continue...what was begun last night."
She glared at him and glanced around at her friends. They looked at her flushed face and then looked away.

"Fine. But if I'm not thrown--I get to keep your coat."

He looked as if he was about to protest, then shrugged and handed the coat back to Willow.

"Fair enough, Slayer--it's a wager." He stepped aside and bowed with exaggerated courtesy as she passed by him and into the crowd.

She was the only female to try to tame the beast that night. The spectators grew quiet as she climbed aboard and the bucking began.

Taking a deep breath, she locked her hand around the grip at the front of the saddle and tried to stay relaxed and focused. Her training held up well, and she found herself riding easily, anticipating the movements of the machine.

Spike never looked away. Glancing up at him, Willow could see admiration in his eyes for the tiny form on the bull.

The thirty seconds were over quickly. The bull ran down and she dismounted to the sounds of cheering. She sauntered over to where Spike and the others stood.

"Game, set and match, William." He flinched, hating to be called that wanker name.

He grabbed the duster form Willow and thrust it into Buffy's hands. A tight, unreadable smile touched his lips. "Well done, Slayer." With those words, he spun on his heel and stalked back through the crowd and out the door of the Bronze.

They were silent for several seconds.

"Well, that was...interesting." Xander stared at Buffy, wondering what the hell had just happened.

"Um...who needs a fresh drink?" Willow tried to do the spritely thing, and failed miserably.

"Uh, guys? I...think I'd better...go after him. I mean, he's had a lot to drink..."

"Buffy..."

"No, Xander, let her go." Willow gripped his arm to quiet him. Buffy was already moving toward the door, slipping the duster on as she walked.

The streets were as deserted as the Bronze had been crowded. She walked slowly, in no hurry to face the showdown that was coming. She felt like a gunslinger at high noon-except in this case, it was high midnight. She wondered if this was how Miss Buffy felt when Will Blood rode into town. **Get a grip, Buffy, that was just a story--just a lame story Spike made up to get you to...**

**To what? To let down my guard? Worked real well, didn't it?**

The walk to the cemetery had never seemed so long and yet, when she finally arrived there, she felt as if she needed more time. For what, she wasn't sure. She had no idea what was about to happen--no plan, no intention beyond facing him.

The door to the crypt stood open, and candlelight streamed from within. He lay on his back atop the tomb, one arm drawn over his eyes, the bottle of bourbon clutched in his hand. He didn't appear to be aware of her approach.

"Spike?"

Without moving, he answered. "Why're you here, Slayer? Come to gloat?"

She took a step toward him. "No, I...I'm not sure why I'm here...except to give you back your coat. I...I never meant to keep it--"

"It's yours now. Took it off a Slayer--only fittin' it should go back to one. Always knew you'd end up with it eventually--figured you'd take it when you finally staked me."

"I'm not going to stake you, Spike. You should know that by now."

"Yeah, I know. Make's me feel all warm inside, too. Does my self-esteem no end of good to know that I'm not even important enough to you to dirty your Mr. Pointy with." He dragged his arm away from his face and sat up, looking at her blearily. "Keep the coat, Slayer. I won't have it back from you--not out of pity." His face hardened. "And get the hell out of my lair."

"Are we all done feeling sorry for ourselves yet? 'Cause it's mighty unattractive, Spike."

"Sod off, Slayer."

"Nope. Won't. Guess you'll have to make me."

He stood up suddenly, smashing the bottle against the tomb in his haste and shattering it. He stared down at the broken glass in his hand and then looked at her. He took an unsteady step forward.

"What's the matter with you, Spike?" She watched as he wobbled a bit, and then fell to his knees. "Hey--when was the last time you ate?"

"Mmmm--don't rightly recall...maybe yesterday morning before sun-up..."

"You're such an IDIOT. Not even you can drink that much on an empty stomach--you've poisoned yourself. Any second now, you're gonna puke and pass out."

"No one's askin' you to stay an' witness the festivities, Slayer. Toddle on home now--show's over. Let me suffer in peace."

"Yeah, well, I don't think so. Come on, up you go." She slipped one strong, slender arm around him and heaved him back onto the tomb. "Do you have any blood in the fridge?"

"Nope. Fresh out." His eyes had rolled back in his head and his speech had slowed and begun to slur. And Xander was missing it.

"OK, well, I think I know where to get some--I hope. I want you to stay here--don't do anything else stupid, OK? I'll be back as soon as I can..." She covered him with the coat and looked at him for a moment.

Why am I doing this? He's just drunk--like he's been a lot of times before. He'll recover. It's not like he can die of alcohol poisoning, like that singer--what was his name?

"Hank Williams." Spike mumbled the words, now nearly unconscious.

She jumped a bit, startled. **Great, now he's reading my mind.**

She sighed and pulled the coat up a bit closer around his chest, letting her hand linger. A sweet smile touched his face. She grinned back at him and placed a soft kiss on his brow before leaving the crypt and then the cemetery, a Slayer in search of blood for a drunken vampire.



*~*~*~*~*~*



Chapter 7


As she jogged across town toward Willy's Place, she mentally smacked herself silly for what she was about to do. She knew it wouldn't be long before word got around the demon community that the Slayer had been seen buying blood. It was bad form--and it was also dangerous. It could leave her open to ridicule, and part of her power was based on her rep as an unyielding persecutor of the undead. Being seen purchasing blood would be a giveaway that someone or something unholy had invaded her life.

She needn't have worried about it, because Willy's was dark and locked up tight when she finally made it to the front door.

**Damn. Now what?**

She briefly considered calling Xander to see if he had any leftover blood from Spike's time as his houseguest/prisoner, but realized that since he and Anya had moved into their new apartment, chances were good that they'd not stocked up on the O-neg recently.

Then she thought of calling Giles, but decided that the necessary explanations were not worth it--especially since she doubted that he would have any blood on hand either.

Which left her with two possibilities: rob the hospital's supply of plasma, which she just didn't feel up to at the moment, or give Spike some of her own blood. She stopped still in her tracks at the thought of that. Letting him drink from her...**OK, that 's just too...too what? Exciting. NO! NOT exciting-gross. Too gross. Much, much too gross.**

**Repetitive much?**

But she didn't have to let him actually drink from her to give him blood, did she?

She made an about--face turn and headed back the way she had come.

********************


The door of the crypt was still open when she approached, but she could see no candlelight. She entered quietly, allowing her eyes to get used to the blackness.

Spike was no longer resting on the tomb where she had left him. His duster remained there, wadded up into a ball, so she assumed that he hadn't gone far.

Then she saw the trap-door that led to the lower level of the crypt lying open on the floor, and a soft shaft of light beaming upwards from the opening. Carefully, not wanting to awaken him if he were sleeping, she made her way down the stairs.

She found him slumped in a corner of the cave-like room, his head clutched in his hands.

"Spike?" No answer. It appeared that he had passed out in that position.

She walked over to him and set down the covered travel mug she'd been carrying since leaving her mother's kitchen. Self-consciously, she adjusted the sleeve of her shirt over the bandage on her wrist.

He began to stir. Knowing that she'd never make it back up to the first floor without his seeing her--and suddenly desperate to escape his notice--she fled backwards into the shadows.

The scent of the blood in the mug assaulted him, rousing him from the sweet dreams he'd been having into a world of supersonic hangover and raging hunger.

He reached convulsively for the mug, draining two-thirds of it in a single long swallow. Then he dropped his head backward against the wall and let the blood begin its restoration.

He was still for a total of four seconds before his eyes popped open. He stared down into the mug in his hand and then licked the corner of his mouth, where a single crimson drop nestled. "Slayer?"

It was a whisper, but so full of wonder and pleasure that it shot right through her.

She hadn't realized that he would know it was her blood--she'd planned on lying to him, telling him that she'd bought it for him at Willy's. She was amazed that he could sense it--amazed and strangely pleased.

She watched as he slowly raised the mug to his lips again and just as slowly drank from it, savoring it in small, luscious sips. From her vantage point, directly across from him, he looked as if he had discovered a new flavor of heaven.

He finished the blood and set the mug down, but not without licking clean the outer rim. It was then that she noticed the huge bulge that had appeared in the front of his jeans. Dropping his head back against the wall again, his hand wandered down to his crotch and he took hold and squeezed savagely. He whispered again: "Buffy..."

Suddenly, the air within the lower level seemed a bit too thick for her to breathe properly, and her head began to swim. She willed herself to look away from him as he unbuttoned his jeans and took the length of his cock in his left hand. There was just enough light to make out the single crystalline drop that formed at the tip when he squeezed it again.

She watched, fascinated, as he picked up the mug and ran his hand around the inside, collecting the remaining droplets of her blood. He then smeared the residue over his shaft and head, moaning low as he did so.

His hand began to pump and she discovered that her hips were moving in rhythm with his own. He paused for a moment and pushed his jeans down to his ankles, bending and spreading his knees a bit and giving her an excellent view of his balls, which had deepened in color and were pulled tightly against his body.

He was pumping again and his movements gained momentum. She heard a deep, chanting growl begin in his chest and realized that he was repeating her name in rhythm with his strokes.

She squeezed her thighs tightly against the throbbing that had begun in her center. She saw his body go stiff and taut and he gave a deep groan as he came, shooting splashes of white all over his own abdomen and chest. She licked her lips as she watched it pool there.

His posture relaxed, he reached down and began to massage his balls, his eyes still half-closed.

Her legs had begun to cramp, both from the crouched position she was holding herself in and the pressure she attempting to exert on herself in order to hold her arousal in check. She tried to shift her position silently, but his eyes snapped open and he inhaled deeply, catching her scent.

He hurriedly stuffed himself away into his jeans and found his feet. "Slayer? Buffy! Come out now, I know you're there..." Then he caught sight of her and moved reflexively toward her. She shrunk away from him instinctively.

"Enjoy the show, luv?" He reached for the pack of cigarettes and lighter that rested near where he'd been seated on the floor.

She stood slowly, wanting to bolt but knowing that her legs would never carry her as far as the stairs.

"Never had you pegged for a voyeur, Slayer. An' I'll ask again, did you enjoy it?"

She opened her mouth to say...what? She knew he could smell her arousal, so what was the point of lying?

"I...didn't mean to...I was going to leave and then..." She suddenly felt very ashamed.

"An' then what? You became mesmerized by my tossin' off? Shoulda spoke up, pet--I'd have given you a front row seat any time you liked." She realized by the way he was dragging hard on the cigarette and avoiding her eyes that he was at least as embarrassed as she was.

She took a step forward and nearly fell when her knees wouldn't support her. Instead of draining away, as it might be expected to do under the circumstances, her excitement had only increased in the last few moments.

"By the way, luv, thanks for the blood. 'Preciate the gesture, even if I don't completely understand it."

"What's to understand? You needed the blood--I had some to spare...besides, it was the least I could do."

"Mmmm...again with the pity, Slayer? Can't blame you, I guess--I HAVE been actin' the pillock, haven't I?" He stubbed out the cigarette with excessive force. "Well, I do believe I've gotten it all out of my system now. No more moonin' after the Slayer for me--it's a new day for old Spike...in a manner of speakin'."

She watched him carefully and ventured a dangerous question. "Who are you trying to convince, William, me? Or yourself?"

His eyes glittered at her. "I've asked you not to call me by that poncy name, Slayer."

"Yeah, I forgot. You prefer...Will Blood?" She took a step toward him and it was his turn to drop back defensively.

"What're you playin' at, Slayer?"

"Hmmm...think I liked it better when you were calling me Miss Buffy."

She watched a series of emotions flash across his face: disbelief, suspicion, hope, and finally lust contorted his features, before he molded his expression into the customized sardonic leer that suited all occasions.

"That an invitation?"

"Sounded like one to me."

"You'll forgive me if I don't entirely trust it...last night you said you'd stake me good an' proper if I as much as smiled in your direction again..."

'Yeah, well, that was last night." She stood looking at him expectantly.

"Where's your Mr. Pointy, then? Got him tucked away, I'll bet, just ready to do me in the moment I..."

"The moment you what? Come on, Spike, make your move...I won't wait all night."

He dropped his head to stare at the floor, then shrugged resignedly before reaching out for her. His hand locked over her sore wrist and she squeaked in pain.

"What's this?" He pulled away her sleeve and stared at the bandage.

"It's nothing. It'll be fine in a few hours."

His eyes were on her face. "Why, Slayer? Why're you doin' this?"

"I wish I knew. Does it matter?"

"It matters. Don't want you-won't have you--out of pity, or some misplaced noble urge to be kind to the poor maimed beastie..."

She grabbed his other hand and placed it firmly on her breast. He could feel that her nipple was stiff beneath the fabric. "Miss Buffy doesn't do noble, Will. Thought you knew that."

His hand tightened over her breast and they fell against one another. Buffy could feel that he had hardened again and dropped her hand to caress the bulge. "How is that possible? It's barely been two minutes."

"I signed up for the standard-plus package when I was turned...includes extra-sharp olfactory and auditory, as well as zero refractory period. Comes in quite handy..." He grinned at her as she dissolved into giggles. The sound of her laughter--especially laughter he had provoked--was almost his favorite music. Almost.

Their lips came together still smiling and he snaked his tongue out to lick at her. Her hands found their way around his neck and they moved against one another convulsively.

The heat that had been building in her since she'd watched him stroke himself while chanting her name threatened to overtake her completely, and she began tearing wildly at the buttons of his jeans. He grabbed her hands to still them and she looked into his face with desperation.

"Now. Gotta do it NOW."

"Why the rush, luv? It'll be that much sweeter if we take our time."

"YOU take your time...I can't wait..."

He swung her up into his arms and carried her over to the mattress that lay in another corner. It was old and stained, a relic from his dump-scavenging days. "Sorry about the dirt, luv. Wish I had finer digs..."

"Shut up and fuck me."

"Slayer! Such language...an' just for that little outburst..." He dropped her unceremoniously onto the mattress and backed away, folding his arms over his chest.

"SPIIIIKE..." It came out in a breathy whine.

"Hmmm...I think perhaps it's time for more of the tale of Miss Buffy and Will Blood. What do YOU think, Slayer?"

She lay there and glared out him.

"Right then. Let's see...oh, yes...when last we left our lovers, Miss Buffy had just given Blood the blowjob of the century right there in the sawdust of the Yellow Rose..."

"Of the century? Really?"

"Indeed, pet. Nearly blew the bleedin' top of my--of his--head off."

She smiled, very pleased with herself.

"An' now, as he came back to his senses, Blood realized that they were in a fairly precarious position--all sorts of vulnerable to any passin' townsfolk." Spike came to sit on the edge of the mattress. He took one of Buffy's hands in his and caressed with a soft, teasing touch.

"An' so he suggested to Miss Buffy that they retire upstairs. She agreed an' helped him to his feet. As he was human, the bullet wound continued to be a bother." Buffy's eyes were drawn to the pale pink mark below his collarbone that marred his otherwise perfect expanse of skin. She reached up and touched it, and he hissed at the heat of her fingertips.

Then he leaned over and unbuckled his boots, and rose to strip his jeans from his body. Kicking them off, along with his boots, he stood before her entirely nude.

She allowed her eyes to travel up, down and around him at their leisure, pausing at his pelvic region for a well-deserved rest. Her own hands were busy unbuttoning her shirt. He returned to sit near her on the mattress.

"When they finally reached Miss Buffy's room, she took a few moments to pour Blood a drink before proceedin' to dig the bullet from his flesh. Hurt like a bugger, but he took like a man." Spike helped her remove her boots and began to ease her jeans down over her hips.

"Once the wound was cleaned an' bandaged, they got down to business..."

"Business? Did money change hands? How much?"

"You're spendin' far too much time in the company of that Anya bint, luv..."

He brought his mouth to hers and thus intercepted her answer. His lips were everywhere on her face and neck as his hands sought the flesh at her waist and hips, grinding her against him.

"Ah, Slayer...now I've got you, I'll not let you go...gonna make you mine...gonna make you come sooo hard..." His words made her turn her face away and blush.

He pulled back a bit and looked at her in amusement. "Oh, now you're bashful? Whatever happened to 'shut up and fuck me'?"

"Must have been Miss Buffy talking."

"Well, then, let's see if we can have her back again..." He kissed and licked a trail from her jaw to the spot between her breasts, then cradled one in his hand and lifted his face to look into her eyes. Holding her gaze, he gently pinched and rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She arched herself against him and muttered "Oh, fuck..."

"There she is..." With a chuckle he took the nub between his lips and tormented it, nibbling at it and then flicking his tongue against it with ever-increasing speed. When he felt her shudder beneath him, he sucked the entire nipple into this mouth and pressed it hard between the flat of his tongue and his palate. The fingers of his hand teased at her other breast.

Her body began to twist against him in a mute plea. He released her breasts and began moving downward, his nibbles transforming into bites as he reached the place where her thighs connected to her body. Realizing belatedly that he had morphed, he looked up at her with golden eyes, his fangs poised above her flesh. Her own eyes were still shut tight.

Shaking off the game face, he turned his attention to the tiny puncture wounds he had left, sucking at them gently. She whimpered with frustration and thrust her hips upward.

"Tryin' to send a message, pet? 'Fraid you'll have to be a bit more clear in your directions...pretend I'm stupid." She lifted her head and looked at his face framed by her thighs. He stuck out his tongue and wriggled the tip of it just a centimeter above her dark curls, cocking one eyebrow and grinning unashamedly.

"Shut up and suck me."

He paused long enough to let out one shout of laughter and dropped his mouth to her flesh. His hands spanned her abdomen and hips, holding her down and thwarting her attempts to thrust against his face.

He was mercifully direct in his ministrations, finding her clit immediately and setting a rhythm with the strokes of his tongue that drove her nearly instantly to the brink of orgasm. Pausing only to slide two fingers deeply inside of her, he deftly drove her over the edge.

Her hands crashed down on either side of her as her thighs locked around his head. The contractions built upon one another, coming faster and sharper. Her fingernails bit into her palms and her toes curled reflexively.

Then the spasms began to ease a bit and he redoubled his efforts. She could feel his fingers swirling and massaging inside of her and his tongue pressed directly against the tiny bundle of nerve endings, and it was enough to send her into a second orgasm before the first had completely ended.

There was nothing but red behind her eyes and she could hear a far-away thumping in her ears. Consciousness was slipping away and she found she didn't care, so long as his mouth and hands remained where they were.

When she was still, he lifted his head slightly, not breaking contact, and searched for her eyes. They were closed and her face was slack. Her lips were parted and a tiny drop of drool had begun to form in the corner of her mouth. Smiling tenderly, he disengaged himself and moved to lay beside her, using his thumb to wipe her mouth.

Her echoing cries had filled the basement of the crypt and they rang in his head like the voices of a choir. He stroked her hair and listened to her breathing, patiently waiting for her to awaken so that he could fuck her into unconsciousness again.

Finally, her eyes opened to slits, and he waited to hear what her first words would be.

"Meanwhile, back at the ranch..."

He laughed until he thought his heart would break from it, holding her tight all the while. She watched with a languorous smile of satisfaction on her lips as he wiped the tears of mirth from his face.

"Slayer, if I tell you...if I tell you that I...what would you say if I told you..." He suddenly couldn't meet her eyes.

"Shhh..." She pressed a finger to his lips and then replaced it with her mouth.

Her own body completely relaxed and at peace, she became aware of the urgency of his need. As she kissed him, he began to rub himself against her and to rumble deeply in his chest. Something about the controlled menace in his growl excited her again, and her hands searched for and found the rounded musculature of his ass, pulling him more tightly against her.

"Buffy, I..."

One of her hands made its way from behind him to slip down between them. The first touch of her fingers on his cock made him flinch with pleasure that was almost painful in its intensity. When she began to stroke him, his demon fought to burst forward.

"Wait, luv, I won't be able to hold out if tease me like that."

"Mmm... well, we can't have that, 'cause Miss Buffy REALLY wants to fuck you bad."

At her words, he nearly came in her hand. Pushing her fingers away, he mounted her, leaning on one forearm and staring raptly into her face. With his other hand, he guided the head of his cock to her slick opening and then sunk into her, falling forward from his knees so that their pelvises met and married.

It was as if some cosmic electrical circuit had been completed. Everything stopped around them--even Buffy's heart skipped a beat or three.

In that moment, somewhere in the woods nearby, a coyote caught scent of their coupling and lifted its head to howl.

Across town, Giles grimaced in his sleep and turned over, fitfully.

Xander, who was engaged in screwing Anya for the fifth time in twenty-four hours, lost his erection.

Together in their bed, Tara and Willow snuggled closer with sudden smiles of satisfaction on their sleeping faces.

In L.A., Angel froze in his tracks, which happened to be on the way down a dark alley, and Gunn and Wesley crashed into him. When asked why he'd stopped, he had no answer.

Somewhere in the South American jungle, Riley Finn was overcome by a wave of nausea, causing him to vomit directly into the face of his Commanding Officer.

In another--less pleasant--dimension, a large and formidable demon was gripped by a fit of rage and despair. It lifted its clawed fist and shook it at a red and swirling sky before plunging its talons into its own gut and disemboweling itself.

And in a place that is no place, the Powers that Be paused for a moment to reflect on the beautiful balance created by nature, as light was fused with dark.

Deep within the crypt, Spike and Buffy's faces held identical expressions of awed amazement. Neither had moved since Spike had entered her-there was no need. Where their bodies were connected there was such a sensation of sweet, radiant pleasure that neither of them could bear to break the spell.

They remained frozen in place for one long minute. Finally, Buffy let her hands, which had been locked around Spike's neck, travel lightly down his back to grip the cheeks of his ass and press him forward, even deeper into her.

The sensation of sliding inside of her broke the nearly catatonic state he had achieved, and his eyes glinted with gold. He pulled out and thrust again, making sure to grind his pelvis tightly against her vulva. Her hands clutched at him spasmodically, and on his third thrust her body shattered into her third orgasm of the evening.

When her muscles bore down on him, enclosing him completely, his demon emerged. He fought it back, wanting this first time with her to be just the two of them. He had a strong feeling that there would be plenty of opportunities later to introduce her to his other side.

He rocked back and forth with shorter strokes, easing her down from the heights of pleasure.

"What's...wrong? Why...don't...you..." She ran out of air before she could finish her question.

"Afraid, luv. Scared outta my bleedin' wits, as a matter of fact." He looked away from her face, but never ceased his short, tantalizing thrusts.

She understood instantly. "It's all right, lover...I've...I've got you. Be...just be. It'll be OK, I promise."

He returned his gaze to her face and saw acceptance there. Then she tilted her head, baring her neck to him.

The gesture was enough to send him sailing over the edge. He began to thrust wildly as shudders of pure bliss assaulted his body. His beast came forth and he was able to control it enough to very gently pierce the flesh of her throat and drink shallowly there as he shot spurt upon spurt of his seed into her.

Each time he crashed into her, she let out a breathy groan of low, animal delight. When his fangs touched her skin, she joined him in his climax, sending her blood surging into his mouth and down his throat.

They were still all at once, as if a switch had been flicked off. He lay heavily on her, still buried in her, and her legs were entwined with his. Her hands were knotted in his hair, holding his mouth to the fresh wounds at her neck.

The morning found them like that.

She shifted beneath him carefully. He slid off of her with a mumble and a groan, and she lay there for a moment, contemplating the universe. Then she rose and began to dress, stopping to cover his naked form with one of the less ratty blankets she found piled in the corner.

The candles had burned to near-nothingness and gloom ruled the space around her as she finished dressing. Her watch told her it was after seven.

She left him with a kiss on his cold brow.

*****************
The walk home through sunlit streets was magical. She felt as if she were floating, and wondered if he would feel the same upon awakening. She wondered what he would think about in his first moment out of sleep...and then she remembered something: the look on his face when he told her that he was afraid to lose control in her presence.

**He'll think I left him...**

She was about to turn back when she spied an early-bird street-vendor opening up his wares on the corner. She sprinted over and perused his offerings.

Candy? Fruit? Lame. A card? Lamer. **What would I write? 'Thanks for the life-altering spiritual experience, I'll be back to fuck you again tonight'?**

Then she saw it. Perfect.

She paid for the gift and began to jog back toward the cemetery.


*****************

It was late afternoon when Spike swam the last few feet upward to consciousness. His first thought was of Buffy and his second was the realization that she was gone.

The joy that infused him when he remembered the early morning hours was made bitter by his certainty that he would never see her again.

He sighed deeply and wondered if the sun was still up. Then something on the mattress caught his eye. He reached for it and stung his fingers on the thorny stem. Then he brought the perfect yellow rose to his face and inhaled deeply of her promise to return.


THE END




Back to Fiction: By Alpha ~ Back to Fiction: By Season