True to her word, Willow stayed away for another day. Spike spent the
  first several hours hanging out in the mansion thinking it was just another
  of her sadistic games. She wanted to spend time with him. He could see it
  in her eyes. It didn't make any sense for her to leave.

  After midnight it finally dawned on him that she wasn't coming back. The
  two-bit witch had used *him*, William the Bloody, for a twardy tryst on the
  floor of a garage! She had blown in, blown him, and blown out!

  "Bleeding chip musta fucked up my head in more ways than one," Spike
  muttered. "No bird uses *me* for a cheap fling!" No, no, that wasn't how
  it was. All wrong. It was the other way around and damn obvious to anyone
  with two eyes. *He* was the one who had done all of the using!

  "An' now I'll do the leavin'." Determined to demonstrate to the world that
  *he* didn't need anyone, Spike left the mansion and went looking for
  trouble. He bought a bottle of whiskey and some blood from Willy's but the
  bar was empty so he didn't get his fight. Instead, Spike wandered the
  streets of Sunnydale late into the morning, determined to never go back.

  Near sunup, Spike somehow wound up back in the Crawford Street mansion. He
  was drunk enough to be deeply mired in emotional crap, mentally reviewing
  his entire breakup with Drusilla yet again, and then moving on to the
  quagmire he'd gotten himself into with Willow.

  "Bloody hell!" Spike announced to the empty room and took another swig off
  his bottle. It was his gut reaction to life in general. His very
  location--lounging on top of the grand fireplace of *Angel's* elegant
  home--was a prime example of how truly fucked up he was.

  "Can't believe I let her talk me into this!" Swig. "Bad enough I've got
  her leadin' me around by the balls but now I'm livin' in that soddin'
  trotter's house. Bloke doesn't even 'ave a decent bottle of booze." He
  glared at the pilfered bottle of wine in his hand as if it were to blame for
  Angel's taste in alcohol.

  Spike hadn't been this worked up over a woman since...Dru. "Fuck!" He
  exploded to his feet and staggered around the room. Thinking about
  Drusilla's betrayal and abandonment never failed to put him into a foul
  mood.

  Spike continued to add up his grievances, moving on from his residence to
  the real source of his upset: "Mistress" Willow. "Willow's screwin' with my
  head. I know she is... This is a big setup an' the Slayer an' her powder
  kittens are going to get a right royal laugh at my expense."

  PARANOIA. Except... except... he didn't believe it. Spike knew people.
  He understood what made them tick. And he didn't sense a setup. Her
  want--NEED of him--was REAL. He saw it in her eyes when she reached for him
  and the hurt when he made her cry.

  What he did know about "new" Willow didn't jive with anything he knew about
  the "old". New Willow didn't make any sense, no matter how soused Spike got
  or how hard he thought about it. She was *too* confident, *too* sadistic,
  *too* violent, *too* sarcastic, and possessed too many other un-Willow-like
  qualities. Nothing fit with what he knew of Willow.

  The only conclusion that made sense was that neither the Scoobies or he had
  ever really known jack shit about the redhead. "Either that or she's
  possessed. Or I'm bewitched..."

  Huh. *There* was yet another mystery. And no matter how hard he figured
  it, he still couldn't explain why he'd become entangled in an affair with a
  *human* girl. And the Slayer's best friend no less! Dickering with Willow
  might very well get him staked considering that he was as helpless as a
  newborn kitten. The Slayer would be in a wicked ass mood if the little
  witch got hurt and went crying to her best friend.

  Humans were too soft and transitory to hold Spike's interest for any length
  of time. Girls like Willow didn't understand that shagging was shagging.
  Nothing more. Girls like Willow expected candy and flowers and sweet
  nothings. They wanted commitment and everlasting love, things that a demon
  like Spike wasn't capable of feeling for a human girl.

  Oh sure, Willow was a fine bit of rough. He ached to give her the old
  heave ho right and proper like but she wasn't exactly his ideal choice of
  companion. Apart from Drusilla, women with a less class were usually more
  to his liking. They were certainly less work. In contrast, both Dru and
  Willow were extremely High Maintenance.

  "But she does 'ave A Quality," Spike confided to the flames. New Willow
  had an edge--raw sexuality and personal power. He liked the way she
  dressed, talked, and walked. She rode his lap like a jockey going hell bent
  for leather, and gave the best oral sex he could imagine. If it was the
  last thing he did, Spike swore he was going to give her the shaft. He
  *would* wedge his cock into that tight little pussy or ass. Either way
  worked, preferably both.

  Thinking about Willow got him all horny again. Spike's spike hardened in
  his pants, taking up a lot more room than the tight fitting back jeans
  afforded.

  "Life's not going like it's supposed to," Spike mused, weaving as he
  swaggered about the room. "Bad enough I got this bloody chip in me head. I
  never really appreciated the killin' till it was gone," he lamented. "Makes
  me wish I could go back and savor each murder and mutilation proper like."

  A feminine snort interrupted his monologue. "You're a real piece of work,
  Spike. If you got your chip out, how long will it be before you thought to
  yourself, 'Ah, sort of miss that old chip of mine....'?" The mocking words
  cut him to the quick and a creepy sense of familiarity descended over the
  blond vampire.

  Spike swiveled to face Willow. The redhead lurked in the shadows,
  effortlessly occupying the darkest place in the room. It was damn spooky,
  her newfound talent for that. Spike took a heavy draught from the wine.
  How long had she been standing there? "Not nice of you to sneak up on a
  bloke like that." It was the second time in a row. She was making a real
  habit of it and he didn't like at all.

  "Thought you said you weren't coming back, *pet*," he taunted. He
  deliberately emphasized 'pet', daring her to punish him. It was a
  transgression in blatant violation of the rules of their dom/sub
  relationship, which Spike only played along with because he wanted to pork
  the little vixen until she couldn't stand.

  Willow grinned and let the comment slip. "I said that *yesterday*," she
  pointed out, unconcerned. Her smile promised retribution later. She was
  good at unexpectedly giving him some of his own back.

  The blow job had been a good example. She'd postponed and withheld it as a
  form of punishment for real and imagined transgressions alike for two full
  days before she'd blindsided him on the cold cement floor.
  Somehow-someway--giving head had gotten turned into a dominance maneuver.

  Spike's balls turned the color of neon smurfs as his cock stirred with the
  memory. He swallowed as she strode over to him, swinging her hips like a
  doxy begging for the some argey-bargey. She wore a black tube dress with an
  indecently high skirt and low neckline. If he were a little lower Spike
  would have been staring straight up her skirt and had a front row seat to
  her panty-clad crotch.

  He sat down.

  "You're drunk," Willow said, grossly overstating the obvious.

  "Am I?!" Spike exclaimed. "No kidding, love?"

  "You're thinking about Dru again."

  "Sure I am," he agreed. It was easier than admitting he'd been thinking
  about her. He wasn't about to hand over that sort of power. She'd use it
  to leverage him over a table and give it to him up the ass.

  She believed him. "I can tell from the distant look in your eye. You're
  here with me but your mind is with her." There was only the faintest trace
  of hurt in her tone but none of Harmony's whininess.

  "Don't like that, do you? Me thinking about Dru?" he asked, expecting her
  to be jealous.

  "Nope, but I understand. I know what it's like to love someone so much
  that you don't know where you end and they begin." Her eyes drifted away as
  she thought about her own true love - that Oz fellow, the werewolf.
  Jealousy cut through Spike's gut.

  "Me and Dru was like that," he confided. He didn't want Willow thinking
  about another man while she was with him. Oi, but it was a nasty double
  standard. By the same token, Willow probably didn't appreciate playing
  second fiddle to Spike's absent Dark Queen.

  Willow sighed. "I know," she replied simply. "I'm sorry. If I could give
  her back to you, I would. If I could undo what Angel-us did, I would." The
  sorrow in those intense green eyes was sincere.

  "You have nothing to be sorry for, pet," he protested.

  "Yes, I do." Her compelling eyes trapped him. "More than you know. More
  than you can ever know." Regrettably, she sat, leaning against the wall
  next to him, so Spike lost his front row view of her pussy.

  "Bollocks!" he exclaimed. "What? Are you my fuckin' shrink now? Do I
  look like I need one?" Irritated, he heaved the bottle into the fireplace.
  It shattered in a red and orange shower of shards as the firelight caught
  the glass.

  She smirked but otherwise refused to give him the satisfaction of a
  reaction. "With all that pent up rage that has nowhere to go? Hell yes!"

  Spike leaned back against the wall again and closed his eyes. "It's the
  damn chip. I haven't got any problems that aren't caused by the chip." He
  opened his eyes and touched his forehead, looking to the side at her.
  "Don't need my sex pot playin' at being my chum," he told her, rebuffing her
  attempts at "bonding" with him.

  Green eyes widened. "I'm *not* your sex pot AND I wasn't trying to be your
  chum."

  "Sure you were. You've even got the body language us blokes use down
  pretty good," he conceded magnanimously. Her eyes rounded more and he
  smirked. She thought he hadn't noticed! "No fault o' your own, luv. You
  just aren't a man. You're way to soft for one thing."

  Her jaw dropped. "I am?" It was the first real rise Spike had ever
  managed to get from Leather Goddess Willow and it got his juices going to
  see her so completely confounded.

  "Hell yeah you're soft," he confirmed with satisfaction. "If you were a
  man you'd be a right flouncey nonce."

  "But but..." She mouthed something and turned a strange look on Spike.
  "I'm bi," she pointed out.

  "I'll bear that in mind if I'm ever in the mood to see you gettin' it on
  with another bird," he acknowledged generously. Spike definitely had the
  upper hand in this conversation and he intended to keep it.

  "But but..." Her head titled. "Are you telling me that I'd make a lousy
  man?" The query was phrased so that she could be one hundred percent sure
  that she had his meaning. Her uncertainty was both amusing and endearing.

  "Pet, you would be a Pouf to end all Poufs."

  Her mouth turned down and her arms crossed. "You asshole," she snapped.
  "I only wanted to talk."

  Cor, now she was hurt! "Look, don't go getting' all pouty." He pulled the
  little jezebel into his arms. "It's sweet an' all an' I appreciate the
  grand gesture. Don't be hurt." He smiled sweetly. "It's right as rain
  that you're all soft and squishy on the inside an' tough as nails on the
  out. It's as sexy as all hell, and fuckin' adorable."

  "Thanks," she said dryly. Willow rolled her eyes but she flushed with
  pleasure, her delicate complexion warming to a lovely shade of pink. Her
  eyes were still wary though. Spike knew he needed to do some kissing up or
  he'd never get her into bed. There was a fine line between being right and
  rubbing a woman's nose in it.

  "I don't need therapy from you, pet," he purred. A warm burr entered his
  voice as his groin tightened. "What I need a bit of the ol' slap and
  tickle."

  She laughed. "You're so pathetic, Spike! It always comes back to this:
  getting me into bed. I told you no."

  He scowled. "I don't like 'no'. You haven't even given me a good reason."

  "You're right." She squirmed in his arms and sat up. "I don't need to
  give my sub a reason."

  He was too drunk and surly to care about the game. "Don't start with that
  crap now. You dom because I play along. Any power you have over me, I gave
  you." His eyes turned yellow on the brink of game face.

  Like he expected, Willow shot to her feet. Spike knew such blatant
  disobedience would be met with swift reprisal. It was part of the game.
  Her boot clad foot collided with his ribs. "Umf. Starting with the
  foreplay already, Red? Hot to get to it tonight, are we?"

  "Willow or Mistress," she informed him imperiously.

  "Whatever you say, ducks." Willow put her foot down on his crotch. "OUCH!
  FUCK! All right all right I give!" Spike grew extremely accommodating,
  smiling and wheedling. "I'm just funnin' with you, *Mistress*. Don't
  always 'ave to go fer me knackers, you know."

  "Yes. I. Do. It's the only way to get your attention."

  "You have it now." He offered up his most endearing, shit-eating grin. At
  that point, Spike would have said or done anything to convince her to remove
  her stiletto heel from his crotch. She had one of his delicate sacs pinned
  to the floor with enough force that a human's testicle would have ruptured.

  "Mistress or Willow," she warned with a sweet smile. Her foot stayed where
  it was and she even leaned in a little harder.

  "Mistress! Willow! Auntie Bertha even!"

  She laughed and stepped back. Spike sagged with relief and grabbed at his
  crotch, checking his one eyed trouser snake over for damage. His inspection
  revealed to ruptures or tears, only a raging erection. Abuse turned him on
  and Willow knew how to dish it out. He could tell from the look in her eyes
  that his Red was hot to trot.

  next