His hands grasped pale, bucking hips with as much force as his bleedin'
   chip would allowed. "Spike please," she pleaded, clutching at the pale
   locks of his hair with begging fingers.

   He withdrew his fingers and denied her the rhythm. The lips suckling at
   her nub eased up and he once again brought her back from the cusp of climax.
   "Nuh uh," he growled. "Take it back."

   "I can't," she panted. Bangs slick with sweat clung to her forehead and
   Willow's face wore lines of strain.

   "You bastard," she whimpered as the climax receded. But once again, she
   made no move to kick him away or escape even though it was within her power.
   She conceded to his mastery and submitted to his dominance and punishment
   in action if not words.

   He wanted the words too.

   Her absolute refusal to yield anything left him confused and frustrated.
   Angry. He was Rage Incarnate and denied. His was the face of violence,
   masked. He didn't understand why Willow wouldn't give him the same
   acknowledgment that he had bequeathed upon her in play.

   "What is it with you?" he grated. "Give in."

   Green eyes opened. "Are you asking or telling?"

   "What the fucking difference does it make?" He couldn't understand her
   *inability* to submit. Willow wanted to. It was there in the way she lay
   prone beneath him, accepting ravages she could easily have fended off.

   "It matters." Her tone was uncompromising. Spike had seen the same look
   in the eyes of the tortured only rarely. For a precious few, surrender
   simply wasn't an option. Spike would never have pegged Willow as one of the
   stubborn few. This wasn't the Willow Spike knew.

   "It's a matter of principle," she explained. "You'll get away with murder
   if I let you."

   "Can't," he refuted with a tinge of bitterness. "Me chip."

   "Don't remind me," she moaned. "God only knows what you'd do to me if you
   weren't chipped."

   Spike blinked. That made him think. Right before he'd acquired the
   device, he'd intended to drain his little minx dry. *Then*, he would have
   left her unturned. That wasn't the case anymore. "I wouldn't do anything
   too bad," he comforted. "You'd be dead an' all... But we'd be together.
   Forever."

   "It'd be right nice, it would," he mused. The idea had remarkable appeal.
   If he turned Willow then she'd truly be his. In his entire existence, Spike
   had never been so totally alone. It didn't sit well. When Angelus'
   patience ran out, Spike had been created to serve as Drusilla's guardian and
   champion. He was accustomed to belonging. He needed to feel needed.

   Willow bit her lower lip, eyes brightening with tears. She looked away.
   "I like living. And if you turn me, you won't like what you get. I promise
   you." There was so much pain, hurt, *wisdom* contained within those simple
   words.

   "Oh, I don't know. I've heard stories about your doppelganger..." He
   arched insinuating eyebrows.

   "Spike." She turned to look him straight in the eye. "Take my word for
   it. The stories couldn't begin to compare with the unpleasant reality. My
   'demon' would have eaten you alive."

   "Oi, no need to get personal." Privately, he conceded that she would
   probably be a real terror as a demon. Human, she was quite the handful.
   Disgruntled, he snorted and changed the subject. "Why me then?" he
   demanded. "If you think I'm so 'effin dangerous then why are you here?"

   She grinned. "I have this *thing* for dangerous, gorgeous blondes." She
   trailed fingers along his cheek.

   "Right on!" He chortled. "I saw the look you were givin' the Slayer.
   Creamed your panties just being near her, didn't you?" Inside, all of the
   talk of his chip rankled but he hid it well.

   Willow made a face. "God, you're disgusting."

   "Take it back," he demanded, switching tenaciously back to the original
   disagreement. She had called him her bitch. She had done it before but
   this time it had become an issue. This was a matter of pride. Their
   discussion of his chip underscored his urgent need to win her respect.

   "No."

   "FUCK!" He exploded, pounding his fists on the floor on either side of her
   head. She didn't even flinch. No fear. "Fine!" he snarled. "Throw it in
   my face! Spike's nothing! He can't hurt me!" He rolled away, regretting
   the words the second they were spoken. They betrayed his weakness.

   Willow switched tactics. "Aww, come'on lover. You're my Big Bad," she
   teased. "Don't be all pouty. You're a frightful creature - GRRRR." She
   bared her teeth and mocked a growl. "I'm terrified," she assured him but
   the saucy smirk on her face said otherwise. Her hands were busy between
   them.

   Spike flushed, both bashful and embarrassed that she'd gotten the better of
   him yet again. "Oh, go on!" he exclaimed, pretending it was all a big joke.
   "You're just saying that!"

   "No I'm not."

   "Yes you are!"

   "No." She looked him in the eye. "I have absolutely no delusions about
   what you could do to me if and when you get that chip'n'dectomy. I'd be a
   fool not to fear you, Spike."

   "Right," he agreed skeptically. Spike was too good a judge of character to
   fall for her line. Willow was saying the exact opposite of what she really
   felt. Spike could see it in her eyes. Oh, sure, she was afraid of what he
   *could* do if the chip were out. But she knew that it wasn't coming out
   anytime soon.

   Fire flickered in her eyes. "It's true. You scare me silly," she
   insisted. But her fear was a pure fabrication for his sole benefit. Spike
   perceived pity and sympathy. She cared for him a hell of a lot more than
   she wanted to admit to him or herself. He was beginning to suspect that the
   soft-hearted witch had fallen head over heels in love with old William the
   Bloody.

   It was the only reason he tolerated the pity, which he resented with every
   fiber of his being. He disliked the way she tried to deceive him too. It
   was just another example of her inability to open up to him, rather like her
   unwillingness to submit in bed. "Don't lie to me, Willow," Spike ordered,
   suddenly angry and weary of the games. He rolled onto his back. "You're
   not afraid an' you're not a very good liar, either."

   She stared at him in stubborn, hurt silence. Quandary. Confusion. Inner
   turmoil. Spike sensed all of it through their strange rapport. She knelt
   before him and when she spoke, her voice trembled, "I-I need you. More than
   you need me. And that scares me to death because we can play all of the sex
   games we like but when it comes to feelings, we're not on a level playing
   field."

   It was a concession and surrender. Spike flushed, pleased and flattered.
   "Aww, there now, luv." He returned to their 'bed' on the floor and took her
   back into his arms. He knew instinctively that they were one step away from
   "I need you" to "I love you" and he'd have the adoration he'd been craving.

   The quickest route to a bird's heart was between her thighs. Spike's
   opportunistic mind made a neat transition from "I need you" to "I love you"
   to "Let's shag!" From his hundred plus years of ample experience with the
   fair sex, he knew exactly what he was expected to say in order to bridge the
   gap and part her thighs.

   "I love you."

   "Really?" Willow's green eyes opened. She stared at him with guarded
   skepticism. "That's awfully sudden."

   "Yeah, 'course I do. Now spread 'em..." He growled low and rolled over on
   top of her. His cock slid between her thighs, nestling neatly against her
   sex. With a few quick strokes, Spike picked up enough lubrication to wedge
   the head of his member at her entrance. Willow whimpered and squirmed.

   "Spike no," she moaned, trying to push him away. "I we can't. Not
   allowed...without permission." Weak, ragged struggles persisted but lacked
   any real conviction.

   "Who's permission?" His sharp mind latched onto the utterance like prey.
   At the same time, he thrust forward, gaining a couple inches in her tight
   channel. He groaned in appreciation.

   Willow yelped and twisted away. His cock slipped out. "Spike, stop it!"
   she hissed. "No means no."

   "Your cunt is saying yes," he replied crudely.

   She rolled away. "My mouth is saying no."

   His denied nuts and cock imploded with pain. Christ! She was a fuckin'
   cock tease! "Then what the hell are we doing here?" Spike demanded. "Is
   this some sort of 'drop kick me knackers' game to you?"

   Her face reflected panic and stress. "No! I just *can't*. We're screwing
   around - that's it. It's play. You knew the rules from the start! I
   *never* lied to you."

   "Right," he drawled sarcastically. "We're doing everything but the
   fucking. Well I want to know who the hell it is that's dictating the rules
   to you. Cause it sure as hell isn't what you want."

   "Spike, don't do this," Willow pleaded, rolling away. He grabbed her arm
   and stopped her. A jolt of pain in his skull forced him to ease his grip.
   "I don't want to hurt you," she cried.

   It was the wrong thing to say. Spike's face froze. "What did you say?" he
   hissed.

   She turned to look at him, glancing first to the hand on her arm and then
   to his face. "I don't want to hurt you," she said. Kindness and the
   associated pity were like holy water. They burned.

   "What the fuck makes you think that *you* could hurt *me*?" The words were
   deadly cold and cut deep. Pain flashed in her eyes and he knew he had
   scored a direct hit. His most vicious instincts surfaced full force.

   "Spike, don't. I understand--"

   "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU UNDERSTAND?"

   Her eyes turned hard. He had awakened the cruelty within her. "I
   understand that you need to be with someone."

   "Like hell I do," he hissed. The very truth of her words increased the
   vehemence of his denial.

   She ignored him and interrupted, "You don't exist without Drusilla." Spike
   staggered. It was too harsh for him to mouth off an immediate, flippant
   response.

   "You're lost without her. That's why we're only fucking around," she
   continued. "You and I aren't friends - you said so yourself. And we'll
   never be lovers. Even if I could, I wouldn't, because I'd have to be a
   blithering idiot and a glutton for pain to even dream about going up against
   your ghost of Drusilla."

   "Dru and I were forever." Time had frozen the moment. His response was
   automatic and ingrained. The truest of all he believed to be true but it
   had been shattered.

   Willow's eyes gentled, tearing. "I know. God, I'm so sorry." He hated
   her pity with every fiber in his being. She rose from the floor and this
   time he let go of her arm.

   "Where are you going?"

   "Home," she breathed. "Then LA."

   That jarred him. "Why?" he demanded without thinking.

   "Just am." She pulled on her clothes.

   "I want a reason."

   "Fine," she snapped. She turned to face him, holding her crossed arms at
   the wrist. "You want a reason, I'll give you a reason. I lied through my
   teeth. I'd fuck you in a heartbeat but I *can't*. Not just won't but
   *can't*. I want you so bad that--Jesus help me--I'd probably cut my own
   wrists and let you turn me if I thought for one second you'd give me half
   the devotion you've given Drusilla."

   She'd consider being turned? Spike wondered but the rest of what she said
   left him distracted. "Why can't you?" he demanded. He had to know.

   She hesitated and then gave him the truth. Finally. "I can't. Not
   without... permission."

   "PERMISSION!" he bellowed. "PERMISSION FROM WHO?"

   Her next words were a noose around his neck. "Angel," she answered flatly.
   Anticipating his reaction, Willow leapt back as Spike exploded to his
   feet. All control was lost.

   "WHAT THE FUCK DOES ANGEL HAVE TO DO WITH THIS?"

   She might have answered if he'd kept calm but just the sound of his sire's
   name used in conjunction with permission to shag with his girl drove Spike
   over the edge. He erupted in a fury, cursing and destroying everything in
   his path.

   Willow squeaked and ran. Spike didn't follow. The chip prevented him
   taking out his anger on a living person - and part of him didn't want Willow
   dead - but it sure as hell didn't stop him from expressing his anger on the
   inanimate. By the time his rage ran out, Angel's fancy living room
   contained nothing but shattered piles of wood and debris.

   He felt empty.

   The house was empty. Willow was gone and after that little demonstration,
   Spike could only guess if she was coming back. He wasn't sure he wanted her
   back.

   Bleakness settled in the place of his anger. He'd sobered up just enough
   to stagger into the wine cellar and grab another bottle of booze. It was a
   good thing ol' Angelus had a decent sized collection, because Spike intended
   to polish off the whole thing.

   He swaggered back into the empty living room. Empty. It was empty of Dru,
   empty of Willow, empty except for Spike and his bottle. "Stupid bitch," he
   cursed. "Leave! See if I care!" He uncorked the bottle and set about
   getting drunk off his ass.

   next