~Part 1: Oral Fixations - Willow~

 I've tried not to look.  Really I have.  I've done everything I know how to do to stop myself from looking and wondering and fantasizing.  Is it my fault that he's so damn fantasizable?

 Is that even a word?

Doesn't matter.  He is.  Fantasizable, that is.  He's got all the elements that make up a good pass-the-time fantasy - the looks, the body, the cheekbones, the mystery, the bad boy attitude and that oh so important element of danger.  I mean, think about it, he's a walking Harlequin romance waiting to be written.

Which is why I'm slowly going out of my mind.  Death by fantasy.  He'd probably get a kick out of that.  Only it's getting worse.  I'm seriously approaching stalker standards here but I can't help it.  It's almost a compulsion.  I can feel a wildness stirring inside me, beating on the walls of my control and there is something about him that feeds it.  None of the others instill this . . . this hunger in me.  Just him.  It's like the wild and wooly Willow side of me slips the leash every time I get within five feet of him.

Which brings me to my current little corner of Hell, which amazingly enough, resembles Giles' living room. Who would have suspected?   Although it's kind of sad, really.  We've all been sucked into Hell and I'm the only one that's noticed . . . just my luck.

So I did what anyone stuck in hell would do.  I looked for a diversion. Which is when I discovered that Giles' Hell doesn't come with a lot of diversions.

I tried counting the books on the shelves.  I hit 28 before my eyes slid back to him.

I tried to remember every pair of shoes Buffy owns.  Does anyone really need fuchsia kneeboots?

I tried watching Xander and Anya.  That was enough to send a diabetic into insulin shock.  Although, come to think of it, as an ex-demon you'd think that Anya would have recognized being in Hell.  But then, with her nibbling on Xander's ear like that, she probably just hasn't noticed.

I even tried listening to Giles carry on about some demon called a Tongra. Big, hulking, brain the size of a quarter.  Buffy could take that out in her sleep.

I even went so far as to try to think about Oz.  Then I thought about Tara. Then I thought about Oz and Tara together.  It didn't work. None of it worked.  Not even the Oz/Tara thoughts.  But then I should have known better.  I did know better.  I mean, it's been weeks now and nothing has worked.  It's really not fair.  It isn't right that I should have to sit here across from him and watch this and suffer while that antsy, jumpy, wild feeling inside of me grows stronger and stronger.

Don't the others see?  Don't they notice?  How could anyone *not* notice?  I mean, really, the man is *sucking* on his little finger! Nibbling with perfect, white teeth just on the very tip.

Groaning against the sight, I close my eyes and pray for strength against vampires with oral fixations.  Oral fixations!!!  Who in the hell came up with that one?!?  I mean, I realize that temptation is there to tempt you. That's kind of the whole point and everything, but that is just plain cruel. Way above and beyond-ish here and I think I'd like to log a protest. Just as soon as I figure out who to protest to.

And I've noticed he does it a lot . . . the oral thing.  Which is enough to give a girl ideas, if you catch my drift.  I mean, he puts everything in his mouth.  Little licks of his tongue, flashes of pink as he takes in the taste and tests the texture.  I don't know if it is a vampire thing or a Spike thing.  I suspect mostly vampire with a little Spike thrown in for good measure.

"Willow?"

Snapping my head around at my name, I focus what I'm sure are glazed eyes on Giles.

"Are you all right?  You look a little pale this evening."

Giving a small shake of my head, I did my best to give Giles my typical sweet Willow smile.  On my own personal scale, I'd have given it a shaky four out of ten.

But now my eyes are open again and I can't resist looking over at Spike. Big mistake.  I knew it before I did it and I looked anyway.  I'm firmly convinced that in a previous life I was evil because there is no way my karma could be this bad otherwise.

Good God!  Who in the hell gave him a Twinkie?  That's . . . immoral. That's . . . that's . . . oh my . . . sweet merciful God in heaven.  A pox on Xander Harris.  Since when does he like Spike enough to share Twinkies?

*groan*  He shouldn't *do* that.  I've got to get out of here.  I've got to go home. I've got to go take a cold shower.

Lurching to my feet, I'm suddenly pinned by five pairs of curious eyes.  But there is only one set of blue eyes I'd like to be pinned by . . . pinned to the wall . . . pinned to the bed . . . pinned to the floor . . . pinned . . . I gotta get out of here.

"Guys, I don't feel too good right now."

Oh wow, I can speak.  Complete sentences too.  Lust hasn't completed turned my brain to mush.  "I . . . I think I'll head back to the dorm.  I'll see you later."

I'm out the door and down the walkway before anyone could raise any objections.  Not the best move on my part, certainly not the safest. Sunnydale is not the place to be running around in after dark, but I've got my cross, holy water and stake.  And I really couldn't have stayed there one more minute.  I would have done something unlady-like or even worse, unWillow-like.  Damn Xander Harris and his Twinkies.

The sound of a twig snapping in the dark brought my ramble to a stop.  Uh oh.  Not a good noise.

"Hello, Little Girl.  Where ya goin' this evenin'?"

Have I ever mentioned that I hate the name, 'Little Girl'?  It's already a bitch being short.  No one has the right to rub that in.  Besides which, it makes me sound like I'm five.  I'm not five.  I'm 19 years old.  I'm strong. I'm tough.  I'm horny as hell at the moment and that is the fault of a vampire and if I can't take my frustrations out on the vampire of my choice, a substitute will just have to do.

Truthfully, at that point, I wasn't thinking clearly. Because if I had been, I would have turned around and run like a good little witch.  But I didn't choose the safe action.  Oh, no.  I went for the idiotic move.  Foolishness thy name is Willow.

So, feeling a weird combination of stupidity, anger and horniness, I snarled back at the vampire, "Little Girl!  I'll show you 'Little Girl'!"

He looked startled when I didn't shrink away or scream at his fanged visage. Go figure.  Of course, his bewilderment also gave me the opportunity to go on the offensive.  And since I've had a bit of a one-track mind lately, and become even more obsessed with sex than Anya, I kicked him in the nuts.  I even pointed my toes.  My ballet teacher from when I was eight would have been so proud.

Did you know vampires whimper?  Neither did I.

Mr. Big Evil Wannabe was curled up on the ground holding his nuts and crying.  Crying, I tell you.  Whoever turned this putz deserves to be staked themselves.  Yeah, I was feeling a little hostile and I was on a roll.

So, okay, there wasn't any spinning kicks or snappy patter a la Buffy, but I'm about 85% convinced that her puns are some kind of weird Slayer power.  I mean, think about it, she starts in with the comedy routine and its confuses the heck out of her opponents and while they're still puzzling out the joke three lines back, she's got a stake to their vital parts.  It works for her.

I'm not a Slayer though, so I just took out my frustrations by kicking the crap out of the hapless vamp that lay at my feet.

"So there, Mister Big, Bad Vampire." (kick) "Think you are all tough." (kick)  "Well, you aren't going to get to me" (kick).  "And . . . and . . . so there."   (kick)  Only, with my last kick the vampire rolled over onto an exposed tree root sticking up out of the ground and disintegrated himself.

"Noooo," I wailed as my target exploded in an expanding cloud of dust.  It was useless at that point but I couldn't help kicking at the dust-coated ground.

"You can't die, I'm not done with you yet." The pile of dust at my feet, however, was not impressed with my objections.

"Damn."

Which left me right back where I started from . . . off the deep-end with no lifeguard in sight and this wild feeling inside of me growing stronger by the minute.  And I've gone off the deep-end with this.  I realize that. I do.  I realized that even before I'd deliberately walked through the cemetery at night and lured an unsuspecting vampire to his death just so I could . . . oh wow . . . I deliberately lured a vampire out.  Talk about the subconscious at work and passive-aggressives.  Does that make me a bad
 person?  Am I evil? I don't feel evil.  I feel horny.  I feel jumpy.  I feel like a cat in heat and the only tom in town is . . .

"'ello, pet.  Fancy meeting you here."

 . . . is right behind me.  Yep, there is no doubt about it.  I was big, hairy evil in another life.

"So, want to tell me why a smart young woman like yourself would walk back to campus through the cemetery?"

Turning around to answer him was like turning to face my own firing squad.  "It was faster."

Okay, lame reason but what was I supposed to say?  That watching him lick the cream filling out of a Twinkie had driven me out into the night in a  mind-numbing frenzy of lust?  I don't think so.

So I tried for rude and disinterested.  "What do you want, Spike?"

He just raised that scarred eyebrow of his in a Mr. Spock impression at my tone.

"Now, that's no way to be, luv.  Here we're on the same side now.  All for one, and one for all, and all that rot.  I'm just being neighborly and offering to walk you home."

"Neighborly?  Don't make me laugh."

"Ah, but it is neighborly."  Egads, he was practically purring.  "Considering that's my crypt right over there.   Why don't you come in and see my new digs.  It lacks the ambience of the Watcher's loo but I like it."

Then he was standing in his the doorway.  How the hell did he get over there so fast?

"Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," he quoted softly while bowing me through the door, one arm outstretched in invitation toward the shadowed interior of his crypt.

His crypt.  At the thought, I shook my head.  Now there's a phrase that you just don't find in everyone's vocabulary out in Middle America.   Sometimes I wish I'd been born in Nebraska instead of here.  Bet there aren't many vampires in Nowhere, Nebraska.

My attention was wandering and Spike was still waiting.  So what do you do in a moment like that?  Spike may have had his fangs pulled but I wasn't stupid enough to think that made him harmless.  The others might forget on occasion and think he was safe, but I knew better.

So I stood there, knowing the choice of the spider and the fly, wanting so badly to step across the threshold and absolutely positive that once I did, nothing would ever be the same again.

It's funny.  I had nightmares about that poem when it was first read to me in grade school.  I'd worried and fretted over how the fly could be so stupid, how it could so easily go to its own destruction.  Stepping through that doorway now, feeling that wild thrumming excitement in the pit of my belly increasing with each step, I knew.  The fly never had a snowball's chance in hell.  It's a real bitch being a fly sometimes.

I stepped past him to stop in the middle of the room, keeping my back to him.  I knew it was an insult, a slap at his demon ego.  For that one gesture said better than any words that I thought him no threat.  It was a bit of foolishness on my part, for I felt the true nature of his threat keen and sharp through me, making my breath come faster and raising the hair on my arms until I couldn't help the shiver that crawled upon my skin.

I knew the instance he came up behind me though he made no noise.  I felt him like a solid presence at my back reaching out for me.

Spinning around I snapped out, "Don't touch me." Okay, I tried to snap, to sound menacing.  I'm not nearly as good at it as he is.  My snap came out more as a breathless whimper, but it's the thought that counts.

Of course, bastard that he is, he just grinned.  Then he's walking towards me and I'm walking backwards because I just know that if he touches me I'm going to pounce on him.  That'd shock him.  He'd not be expecting that from me, not from good old Willow.  I could show him a thing or two.  I'm not even going to think about what he could show me.

"Pet?  You in there?"

Oops, lost in my head again.  Time to pay attention here.  Which is when I notice that he's gotten awfully close while I was lost in thought.  Very close.  Invading my space, Mulder-standing-next-to-Scully, close . . . and he's doing the flexing of his jaw thing while he's standing there staring at me with this intense look on his face.

*whimper*

Have I mentioned that I think I must have been evil in another life?  I beginning to think that in that life I was running neck and neck with Angelus in the bad-guy department.

He's honoring my request not to touch me . . . barely.  He's got me pinned against the wall. <snort > Like that wasn't one of the places I wanted to be anyway.

But, he's trying to be the bad intimating vamp with his arms braced on either side of my head with his body leaned in close.  If he had clue one, he'd be running for his unlife.  And he sure as hell would quit pursing his lips like that.  I'm only human after all.

"What's going through that head of yours, Willow?"

I just love the way he says my name, which is big, clue number one that it is time for me to beat a speedy retreat.

"Spike, look, the place is nice.  I love what you've done with it.  Early supernatural is you, but I think I'd better be going now."  I ducked under his outstretched arm and was halfway to the door by the time I finished.

"You've been watching me."

I stopped dead in my tracks.  Oh shit.  I was in trouble.

I turned then, an incredulous expression on my face. When all else fails, fall back on ignorance and bravado.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, with hopefully what sounded like sincere puzzlement in my voice.

Spike, however, wasn't buying it.

"Nice try, Witch, but it won't work.  Not with me, because I know."

"What do you think you know?" I demanded, my temper rising as he continued to bait me.

He had the gall to smile lazily at me then, raising the chill ghosting along my body up another notch.

"I know about the passion stirring within you," he answered, while moving closer to me.  This time I didn't back away but stood my ground as he slowly advanced, his words in even cadence with his steps.  "I know about the dreams that wake you in middle of night wrapped in twisted sweat-soaked sheets.  I know what's boiling in your blood.  I can smell it on your skin. I can hear it in the wild beating of your heart.  I can see it simmering hotly in your eyes."

Spike was almost upon me then, leaning in close to my neck while I stood there like a ninny.  This time when he spoke, his voice was right beside my ear, pitched low and growly.  "I can *taste* it.

I have no doubt he heard the quiver in my voice when I answered him.  "You' re m-mistaken."

He gave a lazy shake of his head as he said, "I don't think so.  And I'm not the only one, you know.  The Watcher, he's seen the signs too.  He watches you now more than the Slayer.  He's waiting.  I, on the other hand, am done with waiting."

I shouldn't have let him touch me.  But I fantasized about this for so long. Maybe that's why I didn't resist when he reached for my hand and brought it to his lips.  For weeks I'd watched that mouth, traced the curve of those lips with my eyes as they'd caressed pen caps, nibbled on his pinkie, pursed in thought or clenched tight in barely leashed anger.  Is it really so surprising that I lost myself for a moment?

"I know what you want, Witch," he said softly, lips moving across my knuckles with his words, the false breath of speaking a ghostly caress that stirred the fine hairs of my arm.

Mobile lips moved with sensuous abandon along my hand.  Moist tongue coming out to flick teasingly across my palm, sending a jolt of electricity through my body.  Oh God.  I wasn't going to survive this.

"Did you think you could hide your desire from me?"

I had no answer as he gave my wrist a long, slow, wet swipe with his tongue.

"Hmm, your blood pounds in your veins, luv."

I groaned at the sensation as that agile tongue licked at the base of my fingers, darting out to flick between them.  I jumped as I felt the rasp of teeth along the pad of my thumb.  A gentle bite, teeth human blunt, the pressure just hard enough to leave a tingle when released.

"The others, they don't understand . . . but I do."

I had just enough presence of mind to protest his claim but even I could hear the weakness in my voice.

My denial didn't even slow him as he nibbled up the length of my pinkie, his tongue wrapping around the tip before sliding its length past pursed lips, sinking it deep into the cool wetness of his mouth, his tongue rough along its full length.

Sliding it back out was just as bad  . . . or maybe the word I was looking for was good . . . or maybe I simply didn't have the words any more for what this was.

Now there's a shock -- me without words, but there are no words, not for this.  Not for the sight of Spike, my hand clasped tight in his, moving my fingers so that the wet tip of my pinkie rubbed slickly against his bottom lip.

"Choose, Willow."

Sanity and self-preservation said run.  Considering the situations I've found myself in since that first day I met Buffy, I'm beginning to think that self-preservation isn't a big thing with me.  But even then I still couldn't choose.  I was caught, unable to go back and unable to go forward. I wanted him but part of me was still saying that this was wrong.

So with the last shred of willpower I possessed, I pulled away from him and said with trembling determination, "I don't know what game you're playing Spike, but I-I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

He chuckled then.  Evil bastard.  Tilting his head he looked down at me, maybe for the first time tonight really looking at me rather than just seeing me.  And before that smirk settled back on his face, I saw surprise before it was quickly hid.

"No, you don't, do you?"

Then Spike was laughing.  It wasn't the seductive chuckling of before, not even that evil laugh that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but real, live, delighted laughter.  And he was laughing at me.  That broke the seductive spell he'd been weaving.

Hurt.  Pain.  Anger.  I can't tell you what I was feeling at that moment but I had to get out of there before the hurt overcame everything else.  Fool I might be, but I won't be laughed at by Spike.  Turning stiffly, I headed for the door.  I was already out of the door the first time I heard him call my name.

By the second call, I was already among the tombstones.  "Willow, wait!"

I'm an idiot, what can I tell you.  I stopped.  I could hear him behind me. He must have run to catch up with me.  Gathering the shreds of my courage, I turned to face him.

"Do you want to laugh some more, Spike?

"I'm not here to laugh."  Surprisingly enough, he looked serious.  "It was just a shock to realize you really didn't know."

"Know what, Spike?" I snapped.

"You're here because of the magick, Willow.  Magick is always a wild thing. It marks you and taints you.  It builds up in your blood until it fights for release.  You can feel it screaming inside you."

I didn't want to believe him but I could feel the magick within me surging up at his words.

"I'm not . . ."   I didn't get to finish my thought before he interrupted me.

"Didn't you ever wonder, luv, why witches were cast with the vampires and the demons and the monsters?  Doesn't matter if you're a good witch or a bad witch, the magick is the same, and it's the magick that makes you one of us. Think about all those old tales of witches and demons and wild orgies out in the night forests."

"No."  Okay, I was in denial.  I admit it.

"I'm a demon, luv. We know lies, and you aren't a very good liar."

That's when my mind shut down.  Me, girl semi-genius, IQ of 140 and I couldn't come up with a single reason to combat what he'd just said.  I seriously considered having a panic attack.

"No.  It isn't.  I - I won't . . ."

"You will.  Protest all you like, but you called me, girl, and I answered."

I'd already taken a step towards him when I realized what I'd done.  I let the panic take me.  Spinning around, I ran like the big 'fraidy cat that I am. There was no laughter behind me this time and that only made it worse.

++++++

It's been six days -- six days of absolute hell.  I've seen Spike.  It's hard not to see him.  He's taken to hanging out at Giles' house and dropping by the magic shop at all hours. Buffy is completely exasperated with him. Giles, too.  I'm fairly sure that Xander thinks that Spike is hatching some nefarious plot to kill us all. For all I know, he probably is.  He's also slowly driving me out of my mind.

I did a little research.  Spike is right.  I'm the one doing this 'thing' between us.  I chose him.  Magick calling.  What little I could find out says I'll be more powerful afterwards though it doesn't explain exactly how. It all means nothing except that, Heaven help me, I want him.  So like the fly he originally named me, I find myself snared in a web of my own making, which brings me here outside of his crypt and to contemplating dancing with the devil.

What courage I had seemed to flee as I stood outside his door.  I didn't want to just burst in and risk the laughter again.  And his door was cracked open. He really shouldn't leave his door open like that.  People look in open doors.  It's normal.  Not like I was sneaking a peek or anything.  So, I crouched there in the doorway and looked inside.  I was just going to see if he was in there.  He might have had company.  I certainly didn't want to interrupt anything.  Interruption is rude.  Interruption is . . . oh my
god.

Spike was alone and very much naked.  His body smooth and white in the flickering light of the candles that lit his home.  He was like a marble statue come to life, muscles flowing beneath the silk of his skin.  The world could have been ending at that moment and I wouldn't have been able to look away from the sight before me.

Leaning against his bed, Spike pleasured himself with long languid strokes, the heel of his hand pressing down hard at the thick base of his cock and then running up his entire length.  He'd dropped the pretense of humanity, demon ridges distorting his face, marking him as unnatural and evil.  Yet, looking at him, head thrown back, eyes closed to gleaming golden slits, I found that he was no less enticing to me now than in his human form.

Licking at suddenly dry lips, I watched Spike touch himself with unselfconscious abandon.  There was never any doubt of me watching this display.  I was mesmerized, there was no other word for it.  Watching as he lengthened his strokes, rolling his palm down over the crown with each downward caress.  Slow and deliberate as if he had all the time in the world to build the pleasure.  Fingers from his left hand joined the right, cupping, fingers shifting, playing softly against his skin with gentle touches.

Those minute tickles must have felt good for his eyes were completed closed now, his lips parted to reveal the tip of his tongue pressed between sharpened incisors.

 I'm not sure when I moved.  Hell, for all I know, I floated into the room. I haven't a single conscious memory of taking those few steps into Spike's lair and dropping down to my knees in front of him, like a supplicant before a favored altar.  He made no outward sign that he registered my presence though I knew he was aware of me because every time my warm breath fanned out against his straining flesh a shiver rippled beneath his skin.

So close now and never once did the rhythm of his strokes falter.  Opening my own mouth slightly I breathed in his scent.  The heady musk of his arousal twined about my sense of smell and ghosted across the back of my tongue with a hint of what he would taste like.

And I knew I wanted a taste.  I wanted to still the rasp and slide of his hand against his flesh and replace it with my own.  Reaching out I encircled his fingers with my own, sliding, replacing his shifting hand with my own until his fell away to brace himself upon the bed.  Then only I stoked his flesh, marble cool beneath my palm, but quickly warming to the almost furnace heat of my body.

He gave me no direction, no hint in word or movement or noise what he liked, staying as still as the statue I'd called him in my mind.  I could have almost have been afraid I touched him wrongly, that he took no pleasure in my caress, except that those golden eyes were now fixed upon me with a predator's unwavering concentration.

When he spoke his voice was husky and low, his words as penetrating as the stare in which he still held me.  "Few now have the power to call the dance. You called and I came.  You chose me and I'll give you what you need."

Spike leaned down, eyes still holding mine.  Lips parting, I waited for a kiss that never came.  Instead cool fingers slid into my mouth, bitter salt tang telling me that these were the fingers that Spike had used to stroke himself before I had arrived.  Eyes still wide, I sucked, running my tongue up against the press of those fingers in my mouth.

He was thrusting his fingers gently now, pressing inward, pressing deeper. I knew what he was doing, getting me ready for him, preparing my body, sending tingling waves of anticipation like electricity through me.

I once read an article in one of Buffy's fashion magazines how the position I find myself in is one of subservience and submission.  I don't feel submissive as Spike withdraws his fingers from my mouth only to run them gently against my jaw.  Maybe I should, but I feel only power as he stands and I open wide under the pressure of those fingertips along my chin and take him inside.

The first cool silk touch upon my tongue and taste explodes within me and thank god Spike is moving because I don't think I can anymore.  And Spike *is* moving, moving forward, little snaking movements that drive him deeper and back again until I can't possibly handle more.  Only I  . . . do, handle more that is.

My hands are holding him now, clutched tight to his hips.  I could control his movements but I don't, but simply open myself to him and to the dizzying power I can feel building within.  This is what I wanted.  This is what I need.  And though I'm the one on my knees, I am control.

He is rocking now, filling an emptiness I didn't know was there, filling me with power and taste and smell until the bindings I've placed upon the wildness within me shatter.  There is perfection in that moment, perfect clarity of sight and soul.  The magick and I are one and I understand.  And in that moment I want to laugh and I want to cry that I've come to this time and place with a
cock  in my mouth and I don't care but it is good and this is power and life and I know why the witches of old called to the demons to dance with them in orgies of lust.  I called Spike and he answered and he will give me what I need.

And I am rising up off my knees and Spike groans with the loss of contact, his own hand leaving the knot of covers to clasp himself.

"No!" I gasp, the word harsh from a throat ill used.  "You will not touch yourself.  You are mine."

Startled eyes, vampire gold still, flash up to me and see the truth of my words and his hand lowers to grasp the sheets once again.

He stays there as I strip away my clothes, shedding the outer layers of myself until lust and power unleashed remain.  He does not stir but watches me, eyes intent upon my every move.  I think to tease him, to tantalize, but this night is not about holding back and to tease him would be to tease myself and I have not the patience for that now.

I never thought myself the wanton.  Never thought of myself in terms of sexy or sensual.  I find now that I like those words, like the sound of them in my head, like the taste of them on my lips, because I want this.  I want him.

And maybe, just maybe, he wants me.  Because he's pushing at me now, arranging me across his bed.  And I've always thought of Spike as having a short attention span, but I was wrong.  So wrong.  Apparently Spike wasn't kidding when he said he would give me what I need.  Because this was indeed need what he was doing to me, because nothing else would possibly explain the whimpering and outright pleading coming from me.

Before he was done I was begging.

And somewhere, somehow, he decided that wasn't yet what I needed.  Looking up he smiled in a smug, self-satisfied way and went back to driving me insane. I was suspended over my desires again and again. Each time the push driving me a little closer to the orgasm I could feel trembling like a live thing just beneath my skin.  But each time I felt the ecstasy within my grasp, Spike would pull me back from the edge - his touch just a fraction less than the pressure needed to send me falling or with a fanged nip that was just sharp enough to distract my senses.

Vampires with oral fixations . . . who would have guessed?

 +++++++++

Turns out that I'm very needy. Spike doesn't seem to tire of meeting those needs. I've lost count of the times he has made me come.  I'm tired and exhilarated and still the magick burns within me.  Throwing my hands back I grasp a small wrought iron grill set in the wall behind his bed.  Wrapping my fingers around and through its intricate weave I use this newfound leverage to push back hard against Spike's thrusts.  I push back and I'm finally rewarded with a falter in his smooth driving rhythm.  Again I force
 myself against Spike and this time his control snaps and he lungs forward hard, forcing a gasp from me.  And still I push, locking my arms against the wild thrust of his hips.  And somewhere in the sparkling blackness that tinges the edges of my vision, I feel the iron grillwork bite into the flesh of my fingers.

Blood and magick swirl together in my palm.

I can't think as my body screams for its release and my hands throb as warm blood trickles over my fingers and Spike . . . Spike is reared up over me, his head thrown back and every muscle in his body rigid with tension.

Looking back, I couldn't tell you what possessed me in that moment.  I could claim temporary insanity but I'd be lying.  It wasn't insanity but something older and darker.

So while Spike's hard body surrounded and filled and possessed me, I offered up my bloody hand to him, fingers curved back to catch the crimson drops within the palm of my hand.   Watching as hot, yellow eyes fastened with eternal hunger on my stained fingers, I knew why Eve had offered Adam the apple.  I knew her exultation, as like Adam, Spike fell to the temptation offered to him.

It was only as Spike's lips closed around the tip of my index finger that I remembered that Eve was cursed for her actions.

 ++++++++

Debauched.  It's such a funny little word.  It means to be seduced, corrupted and perverted.  It's not a word I ever thought I'd apply to myself.  Funny how waking up stiff and sore in a crypt with a vampire can change your self-image. And you know, funny thing, the wildness that had swirled within me for the last few weeks was still.  Of course, overwhelming panic was quickly taking the place of that wildness, I'd traded one out-of-control feeling for another.

Bright sunlight peaked under the door, which explained why Spike was still asleep.

It looked like a tornado had come through here . . . or an orgy.

Spike uncurled from his position as I sat up. He obviously was not feeling my own sense of alarm.  Rumbling a deep note of contentment he stretched out across the bed, fingers and toes curling into claws and out again as muscles shifted and ligaments stretched. He took such obvious hedonistic pleasure in his movements that I wanted to smack him. I was panicking here. The least
he could do was panic along side of me.

So maybe that's why his first words threw me so badly. I was unprepared. I was expecting typical Spike, something crude, cutting, sexual and aimed at me. What I got was determined blue eyes and "I ain't wearing no collar for you, so you can just forget it. I don't care what is was like in the old days."

Okay, so I wasn't exactly swift on the uptake, but I think I deserve a little leeway here. I'd just betrayed my girlfriend, my friends and quite possibly myself on top of the fact that I'd just participated in 8 hours of mind-altering sex with a vampire, which is why my answer to the collar statement lacked a little something.

"Huh?"

Spike didn't even notice.

"And don't expect me to be at your beck and call every second either, Witch. I've got an unlife of my own you know. I'll not be running up and down just 'cause you've got your knickers in a twist about something. And I ain't no errand boy, either. And no magical experimentation 'cause I ain't no lab rat. And while we're laying the ground rules here, I'd kind of prefer if we could just keep this between ourselves. Don't much mind if the demon community knows." Spike smirked and puffed out his chest a bit, as he
added, "Brings my standing up a bit, it does." But then he slumped back down and made a face, his upper lip curled in distaste. "But your friends, well, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather they not know."

Have you ever had a moment in your life when you're just waiting for the Twilight Zone music to cue up? I was beginning to wonder if Rod Sterling was hiding under the bed.

"But you know, luv, now that I give it some thought, we might invest in a collar. Nothing fancy, just a simple black leather band, tasteful-like. Just for special occasions, mind you, like anniversaries or big spell castings."

Forget the Twilight Zone. This was beginning to rank right up there with the Hellmouth opening.

"Spike, what in the hell are you talking about?"

"Ground rules, of course. I mean, just 'cause you called me and I answered doesn't mean I'm going to be a big pushover. I get benefits out of this partnership too, you know."

"Spike, I repeat, what in the hell are you talking about?"

Spike was looking at me like I was an idiot. At this point, I was pretty much feeling like one.  "Luv, I thought we'd already covered this one.  You called me.  Right?"

That one was easy. "So you keep saying," I grumbled

"And I answered," he said with a self-satisfied smirk.  Then he stopped, looking at me expectantly like that was supposed to answer everything.

"Spike . . . "

"Are you always this slow on the uptake?"

"Spike!"

"Okay, okay.  I'll even use small words."

Bastard was grinning like the bloodmobile had just broken down outside of his door.  I hate vampires.  Doesn't he realize I'm seriously freaking here? Glaring at him I waited for the explanation.

"Little witch powers call little things, luv. Big witch powers call big things. I'm a big, bad, thing."

"Spike, what does that mean?  Big witch powers call big thi . . . oh."

Comprehension dawned.  Holy Shit! That's what the books meant when they said the witch would gain more power.

Oh God, I'll never be able to explain this.  I think I'm going to throw up . . . or maybe cry.  Possibly both.  Because this one I can't even begin to explain, and there aren't enough cookies in the world to make this better. I'd sent out a call and got not a cat, not a bird, not a dog, not even a gargoyle. Oh no, nothing small and easily explainable for Willow Rosenberg. Nope, not me. I sent out a call for a familiar and I got Spike.

Did I mention that I think I was evil in a former life?

 ~End~

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