Author: Midnight Girl
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Spike gets back his dignity... well, almost.
Dedications: To Stephi, for forgiving me. To Challie, notice the use
of "blue silk scarves!"
Willow sighed as she stared at her history text, not that ANYTHING was making it's way into her head. why the hell did she bother? She was bored out of her skull and she knew all this stuff already.
What a way to spend a Saturday night, studying in the library.
She snapped her book closed. The truth was she felt unchallenged. Since that night with Spike, nearly a week ago, she had lived in a state of limbo- afraid he would try to get back at her and hoping he would try to get back at her.
But she woke up the next morning, he had wound his chains neatly around his chair and left without even trying to trash the place. She was almost disappointed. He had even seen her at Giles' two days later and acted as if nothing happened. Had she really made so little an impact on him? She was sure she had made an impression, to say the least.
Spike had moved out of Giles' place that weekend. Now he was living in some crypt god knows where. He didn't even bother to say goodbye.
She tossed her book in her backpack and slung it over her shoulder, rolling her eyes at the freshman couple making out in the French Literature section.
"Definite sign you're not getting laid enough, Rosenberg," she muttered as she entered the cool dark night. "You're wishing horrible death or at least an itchy disease on any loving couple you see."
That was the last thought that registered before a cloth covered hand with something sweet and syrupy was held to her nose. She sighed and slid into soft sweet blackness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Wakey, waaaakey, pet," someone whispered sweetly against her cheek. She blinked sleepily, moaning at the pain in her head. She was laying on smooth cool sheets, her hands strung above her head to a headboard with blue silk scarves.
She looked about the room, she was in a dark cement basement of some sort. There was a TV, a stereo and a stack of records in the corner. An altar or something was in the middle of the room. Her brow creased.
That wasn't an altar. That was a standing crypt. Crypts meant...
"Son of a bitch!" Willow yelled. She tried to roll to her side, but her hands were bound too tight. Spike lay on his side, grinning trumphantly.
"SPIKE!"
"Hullo, pet, long time, no concussion." he smirked.
"You can't hurt me!" she hissed. "HOW THE HELL-"
"Chloroform." he shrugged. "A kinder, gentler alternative to cold-cocking the one you love."
"How 'bout from now on, we just call?" Willow asked, wincing at the dull ache in her head.
"I'm sorry, Willow, but I had such a good time at your house last week, I wanted to return the favor."
Spike nuzzled her neck as he laid an icy path down her neck. He pushed her tee shirt above the line of her bra, pinched her nipple and rolled it between his fingers. She stifled a moan. "I figured who better to be my first guest than my little red-headed witch?
"A young priest and an old priest?" she asked. "And I'm not your redheaded witch. I don't belong to anybody."
"Oh, but you do," he whispered against the fabric of her bra. "You're mine. All mine. And I'm never going to let you forget it. I'm going to drive so deep into you, you won't know where you begin and I end."
He sucked her pebbled nipple through the thin fabric, punishing her with his cold tongue.
"You will think of nothing but me and the coursing pleasure I'm sending through you," he pushed her skirt aside, tearing at the ties and sending it flying across the crypt. Her bra followed. Continuing his cruel assault on her breasts, he teased her slick folds with a cool finger and then plunged into her. She cried out, clenching around his fingers. "And just when you feel your whole body tightening and twitching around me and you think I'm going to let you cum, I'm going to stop. And then start from the veeeeery beginning. And then I'll stop again, until you're mad and panting and screaming my name."
She moaned as he added another finger. "Who's in control now, pet?"
She rolled, quick as lightning, and before he knew it, it was his hands bound above his head, and Willow straddling his body.
"It's still me," she grinned.
"WHAT THE-" he shouted, pulling at the scarves.
"Magick," she shrugged. "Like you said, I'm your little witch. And don't try to break the scarves, they're mystically reinforced, you might say."
"DAMMIT, PET!" he shouted. "You're not playing fair!"
"Who said I have to?" she asked. "And I can see you're a little tied-up, so I'll just let myself out."
She started to get up.
"No!" he cried. "Arrrgh!"
His game face emerged and he tugged at the scarves. "Please, Willow, stay."
"Oh my god, was that a please?" she gasped.
He shot her a pouty look and nodded. "You've reduced me to politeness, love."
"I'll stay," she grinned. "As long as you concede to one thing..."
"Anything!" he promised.
"I'm in control, you don't push me around, you don't punish me... unless I ask for it," she winked. "We're two normal peop...beings having mind-blowing sex. Got it?"
He nodded.
"Good," she sighed, claiming his mouth with a tender kiss. "Now what
were you saying about starting all over? Again and again?"