CRASH.

He's staring at me. I can't help staring back, and I can't stop moving. His hips rock and push and undulate, yeah, right there... rising up to complete the circle of movement. So slippery, I'm coating him, soaking him, yet still I'm being stretched, I can feel every hard inch of him... I can't look at him, I won't look him in the eye anymore.

Buffy slams her eyelids shut, concentrating... Speeding up. Fucking asshole... I'm going to grind him into dust, I'm going to force an orgasm out of him, so hard, so fast, he won't even know what hit him, I'll tire him out right away and then take off. Even if he wants more, he can't have it 'cause he won't have any strength left, and that'll drive him mad. That'll*kill* him... Just a bit longer... Oh God, oh God... this rhythm, this beat, this tempo, without even trying, it's perfect, how did he know how to match me?

"Bloody fuck, Slayer..." he growls quietly, roughly, right into my ear, the words rip forth from somewhere deep inside him, below, the same place I can feel mine building up, the throbbing ache gaining momentum. She sneaks a quick glance. His eyes are shut now, his face contorting, he looks like he's in severe pain... Good, good, he deserves it... he's trying not to come... Asshole...I'll go faster and finish him off, finish the whole thing off, I'm close anyway, I'll make him explode whether he wants to or not, then I'll hit the ground running while he tries to calm down... my clothes just need a bit of adjusting and I'm outta here, like this never even happened at all... he'll have no proof that it did, which will torture him... just a bit more... c'mon... she bounces now, violently, painfully deep, milking him, gliding up his body, rubbing herself on his stomach and emptying herself of him, them slamming back down and making him fill her again, her insides retightening each time he leaves, so she's always a tense, taut fit, clutching and squeezing the life out of him... All that moaning and whimpering and panting... is that me, is that coming from me?

"Wait..." he commands harshly, grasping her frantic hips, trying to slow her down. Like hell... "Buff--" His face grimaces... Spike's fingers dig into her hips, clamping tight. Here he goes, yeah, C'mon Spike, just do it, shoot your load, you know you want to -- wha--?

He spins them over in one fluid motion. She's pissed. I'm supposed to be on top! She glares at him, viciously, her eyes filled with lust and passion and endless rage. This serves only to fuel his pleasure. His lips slowly spread into a malicious grin as he pins her wrists above her head, his thumbs digging into the delicate pulse points.

Pounding her into the floor boards, he dips down to kiss her, tugging and pulling at her mouth, flicking at her lips with his tongue, then delving deeper and deeper inside her, mimicking the movements below, plumbing the depths, trying hard not to think about how luscious and full and moist her lips are, how he's finally got her right where he wants her, 'cause that might be enough to push him over the edge... Trying not to think about how their clothing binds them, constricts their movement, makes everything tense and tangled and deliciously difficult to move, cutting off circulation in parts of his legs, beautiful numbing, throbbing, pain... Oh, who gives a bloody damn, let yourself think about it, don't deny yourself any more...

It's that sick tempo again, she can really feel it working on her, the push and pull of his dick, she can feel the tension in her stomach now, a ball, coiled, poised, contracted, so tight, so ready to spring... she sucks on his bottom lip, drinking it in, holding it between her lips, bruising it, as they fight for dominance. He relents and releases her wrists, regretting it immediately when she enacts her revenge by flipping him and finishing what she started, rolling on him, rubbing against him. Her movements suddenly become slack, rigid, the familiar rhythm pausing briefly, then jerking frenetically.

"Oh!" she yelps, her eyes widening. She's looking through him, far, far through him, somewhere between this world and the next, not able to close her eyes, a tiny noise, yet so, so, so sexy that Spike can't take it anymore, can't take knowing that she's coming on top of him. As she rides the wave that seems to have incapacitated her entire body, her teeth and jaw clench and he allows himself to let go as well, all the agony and hatred and pain rushing forth from the center of his being and exploding into her, filling her with all that he feels, all that he has to offer. I'm going to fill her 'til it oozes out of her every pore, he thinks, grunting a few times, involuntarily, in sync with the surges pulsing out of him.

God, how much does he have? she wonders, coming down from her own orgasm and focusing her eyes again, the pleasant coolness of his body and his come making her shiver slightly. She's suddenly aware that Spike is burying his face in her neck, nuzzling her, clutching her, holding her, like... well, like that was the best fuck of his life. Can't really argue with him there, she admits to herself. He's shaking a little bit. Soon his body will relax and I can get out of here. But his body doesn't relax. His dick doesn't shrink down and get tucked back into his pants. It remains thick and hard, covered in their mutual, slick desire, buried inside her.

"You're not tired?" she asks, annoyed. Impatient. Anxious.

He seems surprised by the question. Snorts. "Not bloody likely." A pause. "You?"

"No," she huffs back, insulted. She's about to follow that up with a longer, cutting remark, but he stops her by trailing his tongue along her neck, then placing tiny feather light kisses up her cheekbone toward her ear. She shivers again.

His voice takes on that low, rumbling timber that alternately drives her crazy and... drives her crazy, the other, really good way: "So let's have another go."

"What does it take to tire you out?" she asks, trying to be casual, trying to gauge his stamina. If we fuck two more times, maybe, or three, he'll be spent, then I can go...

"More than that," he murmurs in her ear, reading her thoughts. "But it helps if you're naked." His hands begin tugging playfully but insistently on her clothes.

She slaps his hands away. He persists. "You really expect me to keep humping you with your clothes on?" he spits out.

Fine. You asked for it, Spike. Round two. This time, I will drain you dry. I will use your body up thoroughly and completely. You won't be able to move for a week you'll be so exhausted --

"Whatever little internal monologue's playin' in your head, can you rehearse it with less clothing?"

Furious, she stands off him, breaking their intimate contact, and moves away. Spike leans back against a post, pops a cigarette into his mouth and raises his lighter to it. Buffy yanks off her top and tosses it to the ground.

"Slow down, I want to enjoy this," he drawls. Lights the cigarette and inhales.

"I'm not kissing you if you smoke that."

"Take a drag, then. We'll taste the same." He offers it to her.

She ignores it. "I'm serious."

He shrugs. "Suit yourself." He blows a long, thin, steady stream of smoke toward the ceiling.

She continues her angry strip tease. Divests herself of her skirt, discarding the panties that were bunched up inside. Spike watches with interest. Stupid skirt, she thinks. Stupid goddamn skirt, why did I wear you tonight? Because you *knew*, another voice answers. It sounds suspiciously similar to Spike's voice. But he's not talking. He's... appraising her. Looking her up and down, impressed, intrigued. She's absolutely stunning. Her hair's a mess, her skin is flushed -- no, glowing. A surge of possessiveness envelops him. My Phoenix, risen from the ashes.

She rolls her eyes at his scrutiny. "What?"

"You're beautiful." Gorgeous. Magnificent. "Now do a little dance --"

She yanks off one of her boots and hurls it at him. He dodges quickly, barely avoiding it. Chuckles.

She approaches him, all business. "Put out your cigarette."

He raises an eyebrow. "Or what?"

"Or I put it out on you."

His eyes widen. Hey now, this just got interesting... "You don't have the guts." He blows a stream of smoke in her face.

She snatches the cigarette from his mouth. Places it barely between her lips to free up both her hands. Tears his shirt open, exposing his chest. So pale, so white. So clean. Too clean. No bruises or scrapes have surfaced yet from their fight upstairs. Have to change that, she thinks. His eyes glimmer with anticipation. The smoke gets to her and she coughs, pulls the cigarette out of her mouth. He smirks. She looks at him for a moment, remembering all the times he taunted her about her inability to stake him, as though it were a weakness instead of a choice. Well, we're on equal footing now, aren't we, Spikey?

"Just how bad are you, Spike?" She asks him, her voice low. "How much pain can you take?"

"More than you could possibly imagine," he growls back. I'm in love with *you*, aren't I? "Anything you can dish out."

"I don't know, I barely touched you this past year."

"Barely touched me? You slapped me down every time you saw me!"

"Trust me, I held back out of pity." She spits the words out with disdain. He hates that she can use the term "pity" in regard to him. Buffy places the cigarette, now half spent, back in her mouth. Pushes him flat on the ground and straddles his forearms with her knees. He struggles briefly, then relents. More fun to stay put, I reckon.

She yanks his belt from his jeans. His hips rock up, thrilled at this turn of events. C'mon Buffy, hurt me real good.

She's not entirely sure what to do with the belt. He watches the wheels turning in her brain. Tries to send her telepathic instructions. Tie me up! Bind me with the belt, you bleedin' idiot!

She snaps the belt once, taking satisfaction from the slapping noise, then loops each of his wrists in it and wraps it around the slim post. That's it, pet. Now pull nice and snug... She refastens the belt, making her own, new hole in the leather so it's extra tight.

Spike practically hums with pleasure. Always knew you had it in you. She taps the cigarette to rid it of ashes, then presses it down hard on his upper chest.

He roars. "Bloody hell!"

He struggles, legs and hips flailing. Tries to yank his hands free. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea? She grinds the cigarette deeper, turning it. He bangs his head against the post, yowling. ... But God, she's sexy. Hurt me, Buffy, hurt me. Hurt me...

She releases it. Flicks the dead cigarette casually away. "Just seeing what you can take."

"Fuck!" His hips buck up at her again, more urgently. There's a nasty red welt near his collarbone, some black ash mixing in with the skin. "At least clean it out a little," he pouts, "give a bloke a chance to avoid infection."

"Fine." She leans across him to fumble in the pockets of his duster. He's confused, and then distracted by her breasts in front of his face. He strains his neck toward her, desperate for a nibble. So close... She sees him straining and pushes her chest toward him for a split second. He latches onto a nipple with his lips and tongue, and she instantly pulls back. Flashes him a wicked little smile. "Oh, did you want that?" she questions. He seems to have lost the ability to speak, resorts to nodding vigorously instead. She angles toward him, just out of reach. He tries to touch her with his tongue, but she's just a centimeter too far. He stamps the floor with his heel, frustrated beyond all reason. Tries to hook his foot behind her back and push her in closer. Ready to admit it now: This bondage thing was a bad idea.

At last Buffy finds what she was looking for in his coat. Waves it in front of Spike's face: it's his flask. His eyes widen. Definitely a bad idea... He grits his teeth, anticipating the enormous pain she's about to inflict. Struggles with his restraints, tries futilely to get his mouth near her breasts. She slowly uncaps the flask. Tips it over the cigarette burn. The liquor slaps his skin and the wound sizzles anew. A half mangled howl escapes his lips and his body twitches in agony. "There, all clean," she murmurs. Her wet, hot tongue emerges, ever so slightly, to lap gently at the wound. Oh God, that tongue... all the places it could go... He bucks his hips up at her. Hurt me again, hurt me more... ! She sucks on it now. Hard.

"Gaaahhhh -- !"

She whispers in his ear. Ridiculing him. "My cute little masochist..."

He growls. I'm not your "cute" anything... He jerks his hands violently above his head, trying to free himself.

She holds the flask to her lips. Runs her tongue around the rim, just to make him jealous. It works. "You wanna sip?" she questions innocently.

His throat is suddenly parched. "Yeah," he rasps.

"Might help with the pain."

"Yeah."

"You'd like that, then?"

"Yeah." Please, please, please...

"Too bad."

She re-caps the flask, tosses it aside. His fists and toes clench angrily.

Buffy suddenly remembers her original intention: to tire him out as soon as possible. Before he can protest (not that he would), she picks up his cock and takes it into her mouth. He momentarily forgets the pain. Ahhh... Sweet bliss. She probably thinks this doesn't make it as bad, if I'm still wearing my clothes. He disappears into her hot little mouth -- oh God, she almost fit the whole thing in there, in her throat -- Uhhhhhh -- he manages to restrain himself for a while. She's frustrated, grabs him by the root, her slim fingers encircling him, and pumps him a little while she licks and sucks at his tip. The visual alone is enough to send him crashing, but he doesn't want to give in to her yet.

He finally finds his voice. "That wasn't what I wanted to do, Luv."

She pauses, looks up at him. "You're not terribly convincing." Her tongue flicks out. He flexes, and moans involuntarily, betrayed by his body.

"Yeah, yeah, just -- un-bind me when I tell you to."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. Maybe. Starts in double time with her tongue, giving him tiny little nips every once in while to hear him whimper. She can tell it makes him nervous. He starts to think of all the places he wants to come on her. Her chest, definitely, maybe her back, rub it all the way down... if only he had enough come to drown her in it. If only he had gallons of it, he could slather it over her entire body... Massage her with it, fill every hole... More than anything though, he wants to come on her face. Watch it drip across her, force her to acknowledge it, taste it, feel it, look at it... Hey Slayer, ever had a facial?

"Lemmee go," he demands. Kicks his boots away, tries to toe his pants off, his hard dick bobbing against his stomach, deliriously eager. She helps him slide his pants off. He's naked from the waist down. Now it's her turn to appraise. She definitely likes what she sees, but tries not to display this. Never quite noticed how muscular he is. Not an ounce of fat on him, anywhere. God, his abs are rock solid. "Mmmm," she murmurs, her tongue slipping out to caress her own bottom lip briefly. Why did I just do that? I didn't mean to do that...

She undoes the belt binding his hands above his head. It drops to the floor, forgotten. Spike snatches her skirt up and tosses it to her. "On your back," he commands. "Finish me off." She spreads the skirt (damn skirt!) behind her and lies back on it, observing him a little wearily. He crawls up her body and positions himself over her mouth. "Let me know if I go too deep."

Oh, you'll know because you'll feel my teeth bite down. If you even try to gag me, I swear you'll regret it... She wets her lips and lightly caresses his tip with them. Holds his ass with her hands, prepared to control him if she has to. He moans, tries to push inside her mouth. She makes him wait a little longer, sucking just the tiniest portion of him she can. A drop of pre-come oozes out. She flicks at it, driving him out of his mind. Mmmm, not bad. He grunts with frustration, then sighs with ecstasy when she accepts him inside. He actually tastes pretty good. Cool and refreshing and silky... He wastes no time quickening the pace. She clutches his ass harder, helping him pump in a rhythm she likes, while her other hand gently squeezes his balls. This all feels so natural, she's ashamed to realize. It just seems right, somehow...

Spike gasps suddenly and pulls out of her throat and mouth. She looks up at him, worried -- did I do something wrong? He moves his dick higher, pumps it once with his hand, then explodes all over her face. "What are you doing?!" she screeches.

Spike strokes himself a few more times, squeezing every last drop out, giddy with gratification. Her expression is priceless! Worth every torment from the cigarette burn. He shoots her a rakish grin. "Wasn't sure if you were the swallowing type, thought I'd better pull out."

"And go on my face?!" She wipes at her eyes and mouth, brings her hand to her lips without thinking and licks her fingers clean. Spike relishes every second. Buffy realizes what she just did and becomes even more frustrated. I'm all... sticky. Stands and grips his shredded shirt, still attached to his chest, and yanks it toward her, rubs the rest of his come off with the shirt. "You could have asked! Uccck."

"My mistake," he teases, stripping his shirt off. "Next time you can drink it all down. Swallow it, slurp it, lap it up --"

"I get it!" she snaps, shoving him away.

"Don't be mad. A tiny part of you liked it."

She punches him in the face.

He falls to the ground. She stands over him. He grins. Now that's a nice view. "A real tiny part." He dips his head to her crotch and starts to nuzzle, his tongue searching, finding said part and circling it once. He hears her sharp intake of breath. Then her knees buckle slightly. He abruptly pulls away, dives around her, and kicks her legs out so she falls forward.

"Spike -- "

"I got you," he murmurs, catching her in his arms, letting her drop a tiny bit lower to the ground. "Let me make it up to you..." He's behind her, exploring her a bit roughly with his hands, across her belly, up to her breasts, taking her nipples in his thumb and middle finger, caressing, pinching a little. She gasps, happy that she doesn't have to look at him. These could be anyone's hands, she reasons, breath catching in her throat. Anonymous Hands. Anonymous Hands driving me out of my friggin' mind...

Oh, she's perfect, he purrs. So small, so delicate and impossibly soft, yet firm and strong at the same time. Enticing pockets of flesh he can't wait to get to know better. Spike's hands continue moving, across her collarbone and shoulders, then over her back. He traces one hand slowly down her spinal cord, feeling every bump and ridge. When he reaches her butt, he pushes her forward and eases her down onto her stomach.

Retraces the path his fingers took moments earlier. Kisses her shoulders. Cool, wet kisses. Then trails his tongue up and down her spine a few times. Blows on the moist spots, making her shiver. He kneads her butt with his hands, squeezing gently. She moans softly.

He kisses along her thighs and down her legs. Picks up her ankles and turns her onto her back. Works his way up the front of her legs with slow, thick kisses. Her eyes are closed, head swaying side to side. She's not ready to look at him yet. He can accept that. For now...

He kisses her thighs and hips, studiously avoiding her pussy. Circling the area in broad strokes. She grows frustrated, clutches his head with her hands, tries to guide him there.

"Ah, ah, ah, not yet," he responds, kissing her stomach and up to her breasts. He cups both of them while his tongue teases a nipple. Round and round, side to side. His lips encircle it and he begins to suck. She goes rigid. You like that, huh? He sucks harder, wanting to consume her, wanting to gobble her up. Buffy feels like she's melting, falling into quick sand. He sucks and sucks and sucks...

Finally she opens her eyes. "You keep that up I'm gonna start lactating," she gripes. He nips her then, just to show her who's boss. Moves to the other nipple and repeats his action. She's really frustrated now, the tension in her belly mounting. She's never had such a persistent lover. She's never had someone so *hungry* for her. Grabs his head, firmer than last time.

"Something you'd like me to do, pet?"

"C'mon," she whispers.

"C'mon, what?"

"You know, just... get on with it."

"I don't know what you mean."

So this is the part where he makes me beg. Knew it would happen eventually... She speaks so softly he can barely hear her: "Please."

"What? Didn't quite catch that, Luv."

Bastard. A touch louder: "Please."

"Please, who?"

"Please, Spike."

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." He positions his face between her thighs. "But you have to watch."

She opens her eyes. Fine, I'm watching, whatever, just hurry up!

He looks at her. Feels the power surging between them. Wants to make sure she knows exactly who is doing this to her. Then he licks his lips and his face descends.

He teases her for awhile, brushing his lips over her skin, not quite touching her. Her hips and thighs twitch, trying to force contact with his mouth. He finally gives her what she wants: licks her slowly up and down, stabbing her clit with his tongue. She bucks up and he cups her ass, holding her there in the air, mashing his face into her, licking and sucking feverishly. Mmmm, tangy.

"Ohhhhhh." She comes hard, clutching his hair again, and before she's even finished, Spike picks up her ankles, stands with them and tosses her on her ass. Ooof. Ow. She looks up at him. Dammit, he's hard again.

He kneels in front of her, pressing her legs up, back, and against her. Her inner muscles throb with pleasure as she contracts them again, hoping to find yet more release before the night is through. Spike's fingers spread her skin open and he licks her again, very briefly, before pushing in closer with his entire body. He pulls her ankles around his neck and slams inside. She cries out, whimpering a little bit. He thrusts excruciatingly slowly at first, his hips grinding in circular motions, making sure his pubic bone hits the area around her clit with each sweep. She's being folded in on herself, crushed, compacted, her legs so far back, his dick so deep inside her...

They continue that way for ten minutes. She can't deal with the silent fucking any longer, punctuated by his occasional moaning or grunting. She needs to say something, make light of the situation before it gets too serious.

But then he beats her to the punch. "I. Love. You," he grits out, in time with his thrusting.

Silence is better, she decides and doesn't respond.

He's annoyed. Repeats himself, grinding into her in time with the staccato beat of his words. "I. Love. You."

"I. Heard-you. The-first-time," she snips back, mimicking his cadence.

He frowns, sick and tired of being mocked. Thrusts faster, reaches an impasse, and gulps her name out as he breaks and spills inside her. "Buffy...!"

A tiny, suppressed part of her thrills in overwhelming joy to hear him say her name with such reverence. As soon as he's finished, he slides out. Rolls onto his back and hauls her up his body by her underarms, crushing his mouth to hers, tasting all the heat between them on her tongue.

She glances down at his cock. Ha! At last, he's weakening, slowing down.

He notices her looking. She seems triumphant. Hmph.

She traces his stomach with one of her fingers. Circles his belly button. "You held off for so long, I was beginning to think you weren't --"

"Human?" he finishes. "Neither are you, remember?"

Her eyes turn cold and she shifts away. Spike wishes he'd kept his mouth shut. They're silent for a long, interminable moment, Buffy refusing to look at him, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Goosebumps appear, up and down her arms. He curses himself, wishing he were warm so that he could hold her. He reaches out tentative fingers to lightly brush her shoulder. She jerks away, then whips her head around to face him. He doesn't like the new look in her eye. It's full of fire again. Anger. Her voice remains eerily calm, however.

"You know, you don't really have me. If what you say is true, if I came back 'wrong', then none of this is actually me. You have something, but it's not me."

"Shut up, Buffy." A warning in his voice. Don't continue this train of thought, pet, it's just going to get you into trouble...

But Buffy can't resist. Touched a nerve, did I? Her voice vibrates with chilling mockery: "The person you want, Spike? She's gone. She'll never, ever be yours --"

Strike Two. He grits his teeth. "You'll do just fine, so shut your mouth --"

"You think for a second I'd be here if I hadn't died? You think 'she' ever would have chosen you?"

Lightning fast, he moves to her. Clamps his hand over her mouth. "I don't much care."

She struggles slightly. He's overwhelmed by a sudden urge to keep his hand there forever and cut off her oxygen. She's overwhelmed by a sudden urge to let him. Before they can decide definitively either way, he feels a sharp pain stab through him. She bit my hand! Damn, that shouldn't be turning me on... Oh Buffy, Buffy, Buffy... All coherent thought flies out the window. He replaces his hand with his mouth, smothers her with kisses. She's just trying to hurt me. It's a test. This is you. You're Buffy. At least, it's enough of you that I would kill myself a thousand times, I would kill everyone in the world for you, one by one, with or without the damn chip, I love you, you're Buffy, you're mine...

She scratches at his chest, leaving marks. He reluctantly releases her and lets her catch her breath. She gasps for air, pushing him off and glaring at him reproachfully.

They're silent for a moment. He speaks softly, genuinely pained. "If I walked across the world for you, you'd probably criticize the shoes I was wearing."

Buffy looks him dead in the eye, unemotional. "You'd probably wear stupid shoes."

He sighs. Ouch. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, moving in close, a little hesitantly, needing to feel her body again, nuzzling his mouth between her breasts. She grips his hair with the fingers of her left hand, painfully tight. Burning his scalp. He wants her to forgive him. Tries the only thing he knows that might work. At least, it worked last time.

Moves to her pussy and licks her in a sensuous little pattern, up and down, back and forth, side to side. She bites her lip.

His groin throbs. He shifts positions. They both notice.

Great, Buffy thinks. He's hard again. He's not gonna stop. He's never gonna stop. He's going to fuck me until one of us dies, or we run out of ways to do it, which I somehow doubt... Wait, the sun'll come up eventually, he has to stop then. That's one perk of having an insatiable demon lover. That, and the whole "don't have to fuss with birth control" aspect. So really, there's two perks.

Interrupting her private musings, he slides his pinky finger inside her. Wow, she's still so tight, wrapped around my littlest finger. How does she manage that?

"Got anything bigger?" she teases. "Can barely feel that."

He glides his pinky out, hoists himself above her. He's completely hard again, ready for round four. Enters her in one, long, steady thrust. She inhales slightly, closes her eyes for a moment, adjusting her body to the fit.

Her eyes open. Mischievous. "Can barely feel that, either."

He pulls out instantly, livid. Not big enough for you, bitch?

She snickers. Aww, he's pouting. I hurt his ego. Heh heh.

He shoves his hand up to her mouth. "Give me some lube," he grinds out, seriously pissed. Gonna make her pay for that remark...

He presses his fingers closer to her lips. A vague warning drums in her ears, a sense of misgiving enters her mind, but curiosity gets the better of her and she takes each of his long, slender fingers into her mouth, one by one, licking and sucking them, then gives his palm a tiny little swipe with her tongue. He hisses.

Moves back down her body and slides one, two, three, fingers inside her. She tightens around them, tries to keep her face expressionless, won't let him see how he's affecting her... He pumps his fingers a few times, then adds a fourth... Oh, jeez...

She gasps. "Uh..."

He pounces. "Too much?"

Yeah. "No."

He pumps faster, harder. Ooh, that's a little rough. But she adjusts again and starts to get used to it. He can tell she's capable of taking more.

That's my Slayer. Nice and resilient, aren't you? He strokes her clit with his thumb for a split second. Her hips buck up, way up, and he eases part of his thumb inside her as well. His eyes flit angrily about the room. The place is completely trashed. Shards of wood and glass everywhere...hmmm, maybe that'd shut her up, long piece of wood or glass, maybe that'd be big enough for her.

She closes her eyes tightly. Part of his hand's in her now. Uhhhhhhhhhh.....

"Too much?" he whispers, menacingly.

I won't let him win. I won't let him win. "No....."

He scrutinizes her, noticing the grimace that decorates her perfect mouth. Oh, really?

He's fisting her now, impressed with the way her insides mold and remold around him. He moves slowly at first, gaining speed fractionally. Wants to split her open, break her in half and fill her with his entire body...

"Too... much..." Buffy pants, her hands flailing wildly, trying to latch onto him, any part of his body, tear and scrape his skin off, dig her nails in, get him back for this... Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!

He stops moving but doesn't withdraw. "Open your eyes," he tells her and she complies. "You sure you don't want anything bigger?" he questions. "I got another fist." He raises his other hand near her face and clenches it.

She shakes her head, pleading. He smiles, satisfied, and slowly pulls out of her. She exhales. Her body is still for a minute, recovering. She aches so good down there. He makes a show of licking his hand clean, each finger, each knuckle, his palm, the back of his hand, the top of his wrist... Licks off all her juices like a cat grooming itself. She's kind of mesmerized. He watches her, waits for her to say something, but she remains silent.

Finally he speaks up. "How do you want to finish off?"

"Good old fashioned way works for me," she replies, crawling up his body. "And don't gloat," she mutters, fitting him inside her.

"Wouldn't... uhhhhh.... dream of it."

It's nice to have him inside her this way again, though she'll never admit this to him. He's a good fit, a perfect fit, and despite her taunting, definitely big enough... oohhhh... She flexes her muscles from the inside out. A tiny, minute movement. His eyes roll back, and his hand, the one that was inside her, knocks something over.

"You felt that?" she questions innocently.

God, yeah.

"'Cause I barely did anything."

Do it again. Do it again. Do it again.

"Where do you like it best?" she asks, rising up, letting him slide almost all the way out, encasing just the very tip. Squeeze. His eyes bulge again. "Here?"

"Uhhhh..."

"Or here?"

She sheathes herself lower, midway down his rigid cock. Squeeze.

"Oh, yes...." He wriggles, tries to keep here there. "Yes..."

"I'm not done. What about here?" She plunges all the way down. Squeeze.

Gahhh, she's strangling me...

"Well?"

Well, what? He's confused.

"Which do you like best?"

"Both."

She slaps him on the stomach. Hard. Ow!

"There were three."

"Right." Focus, man... "All."

"Can't do all. Pick one."

"No, don't make me pick," he beseeches. Hoping upon hope she'll squeeze him again soon. He's addicted now, has to have it... can't go much longer without it...

"Fine, I'll stop." She slides up, about to get off him --

"No! Stop, right, there --" She freezes. He's barely inside her. "Yeah. At the tip."

She smiles. "'K."

He would hold his breath, if he had breath to hold.

"You want me to squeeze?"

God, yes, please, yes... his eyes are nearly tearing up at this torture. So exquisite. So very Buffy. My little crack cocaine. I need this...

Still she does nothing. Finally he grits out, "Well go on, then!"

"Ordering me around? That won't make me do it."

He's resigned to his fate. "Please," he whispers.

Squeeze.

That one was tiny, almost imperceptible. He feels it, though. She can see his Adam's apple bob and his body twitch as he digs his fingers into her ass.

"Nah ah," she admonishes him. He relaxes his grip.

"Okay," (bitch, he adds mentally), "Tell me what the rules are, what I gotta do, what I gotta say."

"We're gonna have a little conversation. You answer my questions. That's all."

"That's all?"

He's suspicious, a tad uneasy. But he's completely at her mercy and they both know it. He licks his dry lips, wishing she would lick them for him. Buffy seems to be contemplating something.

She presses her lips to his gently. Pulls back, then kisses his eyebrow, the one with the scar. He's touched. It's the most intimate connection they've made tonight. Abruptly, she breaks the spell: "How often do you get off thinking about me?"

He thinks a moment. "I dunno, uh... it varies."

"Be specific."

"Couple times, probably."

She slaps him on the stomach again.

"Bloody hell!"

She rakes her nails across his chest. It's satisfying, to see the red lines and scratches appear. She likes how it looks: such a nice contrast to his pale, nearly translucent skin...

"Be specific," she repeats.

"Couple times a day."

"Couple times a day?!" She's incredulous.

"If I'm bored, yeah, what else am I gonna do?" he retorts.

Squeeze. Ahhh.

"You know you're pathetic, right?" she remarks. "I mean, you are aware?"

"Yeah," he snaps back, "Yeah, I'm aware."

"How long does it take?"

Is she really gonna make me answer this? "Could be thirty seconds," he begins, "Could be an hour. Depends."

Squeeze.

Uhhhh....

"On?"

"Huh?"

Another slash from her nails across his chest. She's impatient. "Depends? On?"

"What you're doing."

Squeeze.

"Did you think about me when you were with Harmony?"

"Yeah."

Squeeze.

"How much?"

"Constant --" he stutters, "Constantly."

She pauses. Squeeze.

Ahhh, yeah. So. Good.

He likes this, she realizes. The degradation. It's making him get off just as much as my muscles are. Well, fine, then.

"What about when you were with Dru?"

A pause. "Yeah. Once or twice."

Squeeze. Mmmmmmm.....

Her next words startle him a little bit.

"You know you're worthless, right?"

How does she want me to react? He racks his brain. "I'm worthless," he repeats, rapture coating his face.

Squeeze. He jolts and jerks. She almost giggles. This is so easy! "Oh, I like that," she coos. "Say that again." She's testing him, not entirely sure he'll comply. Gives him a half squeeze to nudge him along --

"I'm worthless," he croaks out. Who cares? He thinks. They're just words, I'll say whatever she wants. "Worthless," he repeats again, his new mantra, anything to get her to keep squeezing. "Worthless, worthless, worthless..." She squeezes again and again, enjoying her power, no matter how temporary it might be.

Naughty little girl. Grrrrrr.... "Worthless," he grinds out, louder, catching her off guard and sheathing her all the way back down his length. Her muscles clench involuntarily this time and her eyes widen at him, annoyed.

He comes in just two more thrusts, roaring, shaking, reaching between them and rubbing her. She doesn't stop him, lets herself give in to it. When they finish, the smell of sweat and sex pours off her in heavy heat. She rests her face on his chest for a moment as he strokes the small of her back, where the sweat seems to be pooling most. She stares openly at him. He feels her gaze, opens his eyes to return it.

"Something else you want?" he murmurs.

"Yeah, actually."

"What's that?"

"Suck it out of me." Who is saying these things? Was that me?!

"What?" he asks, not certain he heard her correctly, or if he did, what she means.

She raises herself up on her knees. "Suck everything out of me."

He's shocked. Impressed. "You've been holding out on me, Slayer! Who knew you had such a filthy mind?"

"You better hurry up before it gets too deep."

He folds his arms behind his head. "Sorry, pet, don't fancy chugging my own spew."

"Well I didn't 'fancy' having your spew all over my face."

He sighs. "Give me one good reason I should do this."

She plays her trump card. Leans in close. "Because I told you to."

He looks at her. So that's how it is, then. Shrugs. "Right." Pause. "Sit on my face."

She rises above him, hovering.

Spike steels himself. Can't believe what he's about to do. The term "willing slave" flashes through both their minds. He gingerly cups her ass with both hands. She mashes herself to his mouth. His fingers tighten their grip as she gyrates against him. He drinks deep, sucking harder than he ever has in his life.

She feels everything flow, feels Spike suck his own come out of her. It's a flood. It's exquisite, it's amazing. It's like nothing she's ever experienced. She mews happily and pulls back to look at him. His lips are glistening, shiny with both their juices.

"Now swallow."

He swallows. Grimaces slightly. She's pleased. Pats him on the head. "Good boy."

"Alright, you're finished," he mutters.

She lies down, settling herself next to him. Surprised at her own brazenness, and his willingness to perform on her every whim. "I can still stake you, you know," she remarks lazily, her hand curling on his hip, her warm little breaths tickling the various wounds seared across his skin.

"Why don't you?"

She sits up. "'Cause I found a use for you."

"What might that be?" He sits up as well.

"Not every girl has such a nice toy. Bit cold, maybe, but workable."

Bitch! Fresh rage contorts his face. Your toy?! That's how you see me? "Go ahead and kill me, then. Bet if you used the stake covered in my dust to pleasure yourself afterward you'd still come harder then you did with Angel or Soldier Boy."

She slaps him twice in a row. "That's disgusting."

He leers at her. Squeezes her breasts. Crushes her to him and places his hands on either side of her face, forcing her to look at him. "It's true. I'm not a toy, Slayer. I've ruined you for anyone else, man or vampire. This is the beginning of the end for you. No one else will ever be able to satisfy you now except for me."

She waits too long to respond, disturbed by the truth of his words, then tries to shake it off. "Prove it."

He snorts. "Again? How much proof do you need?!"

"Make. Me. Scream."

He quirks an eyebrow. Hmm, she *had* been surprisingly restrained in the vocal area tonight. Can't have that, can we?

Knowing his body is going to ache like hell tomorrow, he never the less starts stroking himself, willing himself hard again. She watches, fascinated. She's never seen a man -- vampire, whatever -- do that in front of her before. Her gaze serves to speed up the process. He glances at her. She's impressed. I might not be quite as hard as the first, uh, four (?) times, but I'm still capable of drilling her again. It may kill me, but what a way to go.

The phrase "What have I gotten myself into?" loops through her brain for the millionth time that night.

"Down on all fours," he instructs her gruffly, giddy with the idea of pumping into her from behind, like animals, in a frenzy --

"Nuh uh. We're not doing it like that."

"It'll be good, I promise --"

"No."

"Okay, how about a compromise?"

Her expression softens slightly, but she's still suspicious. He explains, patiently. "I lie back like this, and you get on top, but face away from me." He sees a flicker of confusion color her eyes. Helps her into position, glides her on top of him. "Don't buck up, though, that'll snap me in half."

"Tempting."

"Just stay flat, awright?"

She nods. She wants to ride. They move quickly, vigorously, their energy renewed, their lust reawakening with every thrust and roll. He adores her enthusiasm. "Mmm, my frisky little kitten," he whispers. "My horny little slut." Buffy makes a vow to never, ever admit how hot he's making her with his voice, let alone his body. She tries to lean up a few times, out of habit, but Spike holds her there, his hands gripping and caressing and smoothing her out.

She moans, her breath coming in short, intense gasps. A sound he wants to memorize, a sound that cuts right to the throbbing ache inside her, making him harder than before, if that's even possible.

"You ever do it like this before?" he asks, his fingers slipping over her nipples, hard as stones, slowly down to caress the small patch of hair bobbing up and down on him. "Nice, innit?" She doesn't answer. Maybe she didn't hear me. He's sure she hasn't done this before, that he's the first to show her, and it makes him swell with pride and possessiveness. He takes his hand away from her and she whimpers with disappointment. He brings a finger to her lips.

"Suck it for me," he whispers and traces her lips once, twice, before she acquiesces and invites it inside her mouth. She sucks hard, giving it a tiny nip. He pulls it out and brings it back down to her curls, feeling around for a moment, searching.

She jerks. "Uhmm..." she mutters, biting her lip. He grins. Found it. He taps very softly on her clit, using her own saliva to moisten it. She grinds against both his hand and his dick, coming in a slow wave that floods her down her legs and straight to her toes, which curl in ecstasy. He can feel her release them after a few moments. She grabs his hand in hers, laces her fingers through it, clutches it to her stomach. We're holding hands. Jesus.

"Lift up a little," he tells her, still pumping slowly in and out of her.

She's hesitant. Doesn't want to "snap him in half." Since when do I care about hurting him?

"But --"

"I appreciate the concern, pet, but I'll be fine. Just go slow."

She lifts her chest forward fractionally. He grits his teeth, his hips continuing their tormented thrusting. "Yeh, that's it... little more..."

She follows his order.

"Mmm, just a spot further --"

Oh. Ohhh. That's -- she freezes, incapacitated and dizzy with new feelings. Indescribable feelings. His dick is somehow tapping her, hitting her, in juuuuust the nicest place imaginable. There's a name for that place, right? What he's hitting now, it's that place. Right? The g-spot? How is he doing that?? Her mind is racing. Her gut clenches. This is gonna be huge. This is gonna be bigger than all of them... She tries to calm down. She can't let him know how good this is, he'll lord it over her, and he'll use it against her...

"Spike?" she gasps.

"Yeah?" he grunts, beginning to lose what little control he has left.

"Hurry up and come," she barks out, her face flushed.

"Why?"

"Because I'm about to again..."

He doesn't need convincing. They blend their bodies to a final frenzy of movement, fingers clutching and scratching, legs twitching and shuddering. Spike throws his head back, his mouth open, slack jawed, in a mute howl.

He pushes his dick right against her slippery wall, shoves it against that same place, that miraculous place she wasn't even certain existed until tonight --

"SPIKE!" she screams, shrieks, bellows, sobs... and follows him into the void, spasming uncontrollably. Ooooh. More, More! She comes a second time and collapses.

He can hear his name reverberate off her lips, hoarse and full of need, over and over in an endless loop. He reckons he'll hear it for the rest of his life.

They lay together in silence for a good ten minutes. He notes the gradual slowing of her heart beat, gradual lessening of bloodlust charging through her veins. She might even be on the verge of falling asleep. But if she falls asleep, he realizes with concern, their evening will be over, and he doesn't want that quite yet.

He props himself up on one elbow. Gives her a proud, lazy grin. "I win," he announces simply.

She's too sated and content to argue. I did scream for him, after all. Let him have his moment of satisfaction.

Her restraint in not picking a fight amuses and encourages him. He caresses her cheek, chin, jaw... then follows the path with his lips, lightly brushing them across her forehead. Nibbles gently on her ear. Strokes her neck with his index finger. When he reaches the scar from Angel and Dracula's bite, her body tenses, and her pulse jumps.

"Something the matter, pet?" he whispers.

"No," she stammers softly. "Just..."

"Just what?"

"That's pretty much not cool. In fact, it's so out of bounds, it's not even funny."

"Out of bounds? I think we're way past that..." To prove his point, he slips a finger inside her for a second and withdraws it. She shivers. His voice lowers. He's barely speaking at all, but she hears him clearly, in her mind, in her gut, in all the places that pulse inside. "...and it's so pretty."

She waits, not moving, to see what he'll say next.

"I want to mark you," he continues, pure seduction. "It doesn't have to be there."

He brushes his lips across the other side of her neck, a fresh area. It's untouched, creamy, silky, gleaning with a thin sheen of sweat. Buffy... "Just a teensy little bite, won't go deep..."

This time his voice cuts through the hazy desire and she's able to respond. "No," she insists, alarmed, pushing him away with her arms and legs.

Spike chuckles. "What are you afraid of?"

She panics. If I let you bite me, you might not come back for more. But if I withhold it, you'll always, always, always need me. You'll always want me. The only reason I know I'm alive is because you need me. You can never stop needing me, Spike...

He sees a change wash over her features. She's truly scared. While part of him relishes this information, part of him feels ill about it. He decides not to push the issue.

"It's alright," he hears himself sooth her, "I don't have to bite you." Yet, he mentally adds before he can stop himself. Then he continues with, "There's other ways of marking you."

She bolts upright, horrified. "If you even consider peeing on me, so help me --"

He laughs again. "God, Slayer, you really have got quite a mind. I just meant..." To demonstrate, he moves down her body, places his legs on either side of her waist. Leans in to suck the delicious flesh of her stomach. Hard, relentless.

"Ohhhh," she moans softly. That's nice. That's fine. He can do that all he wants.

He dots her stomach and hips, sucking the blood up to the surface in hard little hickeys. It's harsh and a little bit painful, but not violent and he doesn't bare his fangs. He makes loud satisfied smacks at the end of each one. She giggles, then sighs contentedly. This pleases him, makes his heart sing. She writhes under his mouth, her nimble fingers playing lightly in his hair, threading and weaving and massaging. He reluctantly tears himself away from her succulent stomach and thighs and breasts and returns to her neck.

Buffy tenses again slightly, but doesn't push him away. "Not where people can see," she orders him, drowsily, eyes closed. But he pays her no attention and sucks her neck with his lips, determined to leave a welt. It'll remind her. She won't be able to ignore it.

When he's satisfied, he slowly covers her body with his own. Not to dominate or crush or smother her, just to cover her. Maybe protect her, a little bit. From what, he cannot say. Life, death, all the things in between?

Spike wishes he could tell her he loves her, but he knows the silence to follow would be unbearable. Whether the silence comes from the fact that she is asleep or the fact that she cannot possibly love him back will be irrelevant. His thoughts begin to slip away then, incoherent. Oh, what the hell... "I love you, Buffy," he murmurs, sounding almost drunk, his arms enfolding her tightly.

She lies perfectly still for a moment, then shifts and turns, so her back is to him. But she allows one of his arms to remain slung around her waist.

Shut up, Spike, she thinks, before sleep claims her.