Closer

By Purplefeen

You Let Me Complicate You

You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you

He smells blood, his own and others. He smells humans; Xander, Anya, Giles, Captain Cardboard. He smells the stench of a human/demon hybrid, Slayer.

He smells love. Red.

On the vague peripherals of his consciousness, he knows he's in Giles apartment. He remembers the fight. They'd won. They must have, as they were all still here, him included. If the Initiative had won, he for one wouldn't still be here. If Adam had won, the humans would be dead. If the demons had won, the Slayer would be history.

There's a nice thought.

He has trouble moving, so he stops trying, just squeezes tighter to the hand that holds his. He thinks he hears her joyously scream something about a hand before he slips into unconsciousness. He'll ask her about it when he wakes up.

*flashback*

"Spike?"

He'd been waiting for her. Somehow he knew she'd be there again today and he was prepared this time.

He sat up, as he had yesterday, yawned and stretched. Made sure the sheet was covering his naked dangly bits.

"What's the problem today, Red?" he asked her. She didn't seem to notice he was more awake today than he had been yesterday at this time.

"Um, uh, um…"

He smiled and told her to either turn around or enjoy the view; then he stood quickly and reached for his pants. She "EEP"d and turned around - but not too quickly, he noticed.

When he was zipped but not buttoned, he walked over and took the blood from her hand. Walked to the frig, dropped in the blood bag, turned and stretched - all to best advantage. His best advantage.

Darla really knew her stuff. How to walk, how to move, how to turn his head just so. It was all there, in the recesses of his memories, just waiting to be recalled whenever it was needed.

But was it really needed now? Did he have to be standing here, half naked in his crypt, teasing a nineteen year old human girl? There was nothing to gain. No blood, no money, no territory, no political position, no jealousy to incite or advantage to achieve; hell, he'd not even get a good shag out of all this posing.

So why was he doing it?

Just something to do, I s'pose. Sad lack of that of late.

He looked at the girl who was staring at him with wide-eyed admiration. Suddenly he didn't want to play this game anymore.

Fuck Darla and her years spent messing with his mind and his body. This wasn't who he was, who he wanted to be.

He thought of William, the William he'd been when he was human.

Not goin' there again for all the blood in China, mate.

So what was it that he was, now that he was nothing?

And what the fuck did he think he was playing at?

Looking over at the St. Andrew's cross on the wall, he knew this could never go anywhere near the place it would have inevitably gone while he had his bite.

Bloody hell, wouldn't be standin' here, in this fuckin' horrible excuse for a place to unlive, thinkin' 'bout… nothin' that will do anyone any good, if I was a real vampire.

He decided to focus on the topic at hand. Which was…?

He moved over to the corner where a cracked pipe trickled water into a basin. He turned his back and brushed his teeth, letting her regain control over her hormones.

The normalcy of what he was doing seemed to help and she explained that Buffy had seen a demon that had said something strange and since Spike knew Fyarl, Giles was hoping he'd recognize the language, helping them to identify the demon.

"Seven thirty?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess," she said, but her mind had wandered… over to the big wooden "X" against the wall.

"What did you say this is called?" she asked, walking over to it.

"A St. Andrew's cross," he told her, afraid to move.

He wanted to - oh, how he wanted to. But he couldn't. He didn't know his own mind right now; playing mind games with the Slayer's witch was stupid.

That never stopped me before.

Let her do this at her own speed; if he looked too eager, she'd back off.

Willow reached up and fingered the chains, the leather cuffs. Spike's body got ahead of him when she sniffed the leather. He almost broke down and went to her.

Not yet.

"What did you…?" her eyes turned to him but she found she couldn't look at him and talk - and she really wanted to ask this question, so she turned her face back to the wood and metal and leather.

"What did you… did Harmony do with this?"

"Nothing," he told her honestly.

She looked skeptical, so he explained.

"Hell, luv, you've known Harmony longer than I have. Would you let 'er truss you up in that thing?"

Willow smiled and said, "No," without thinking. But then the image of Spike being… trussed up… made her brain forget everything else. She gasped.

Still, Spike didn't move.

"But… why?" Willow asked, both wanting and not wanting to know.

"Why do you think, luv?" Spike asked as gently as possible.

"Isn't it… scary?"

"Can be. Depends."

"On what?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"On who's there with you."

"Harmony?" she asked, not able to stifle a giggle.

"Definitely scary," he confirmed. "Too scary for me, anyway. That's why the cross's still, pardon the expression, virgin."

She laughed. A real laugh. Full and uninhibited.

Then her eyes met his.

"It's for pain," she said, but it wasn't a question.

"Pain can be a good thing," he told her earnestly.

This is the bloody stupidest idea in the history of the world, ya git. Remember the Judge? That smurf was a mere blip on the radar compared to this. If the plan with the Judge had worked out, I'd still've be hale and hearty and undusty at the end of it.

"I've been in pain, Spike," she told him honestly. "Occupational hazard. It's never a good thing."

Spike's eyes smiled at her as his mouth said, "Not that kind of pain."

"There are different kinds?" she asked, ever the student requesting more knowledge.

Now was the time.

But do this right or you'll never get another chance. Because you'll be in a Hoover.

"Can I come over there?" he asked her, hand waving at the distance between them. "I won't touch you."

She nodded, suddenly shy - more shy.

He slowly walked the distance and she backed up as he got closer, until her back was against the cross.

He put his hands up on the cross, on either side of her but he didn't touch. Leaned in, just a little; enough to invade her personal space, but not enough to make her run.

"Put your arms around me," he said, still not touching her.

Ever so slowly, she put her arms around his neck. Still very wary, but he wasn't touching her, so... "Like this?" she asked.

He took a breath, reigning himself in, then, "Behind my back."

Her arms went around him again, this time her arms under his unmoving ones. He didn't let go of the cross.

Everything Darla had ever taught him about erotic seduction went through his mind in an instant. Every soddin' love poem William had ever written took less time than that. He didn't want to use Darla's techniques right now, he wanted to use his own. But his own had been for shite.

He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent.

Let Essence of Willow go through him like a hurricane. He opened his eyes and said the first thing that came into his mind.

"If I made love to you," he whispered, mouth closer to her ear than she'd thought he was and she gasped, "Calm down, Red," he said gently. "I said 'if'."

Her arms were still around him, a very good sign. He continued, building the fire, breathing her in between each new thought.

Every word was a caress; a slow, deliberate wave of air that he released from his body and sent out to wrap around hers.

"If I made love to you…"

She closed her eyes.

"If I kissed you breathless for hours until you had no memories of anything but my lips upon yours, my tongue embracing yours…"

Her body relaxed but her heartbeat sped up as she let out a deep exhale.

"If I put my mouth on you and licked my way down your body, tasting your sweet, salty skin…"

A small sound escaped the back of her throat, something between fear and desire. She didn't know it, in the dream world behind her closed eyes, but she had relaxed her head, and subconsciously bared her throat to him.

"If I touched you, every inch of your soft skin with my fingers, learning your curves and your hollows, my fingertips mapping your body. Where you're ticklish, where you like to be touched, places you don't even know are erogenous zones because no man's ever explored you that thoroughly before... "

Her knees got weak and her hands gripped his back to keep herself upright.

"If I tasted you, every sweet crevice with my lips and my tongue. Loving the feel of you, the taste of you. Making your body flush with heat…"

He watched a trickle of sweat run down her neck, from behind her ear to the hollow between her breasts.

"If I made you hot and got you wet and slid, slow and hard, inside of you…"

Her inner muscles contracted, feeling him there. His voice was doing something to her; it felt like it was physically inside her, a palpable being doing all of the things he was whispering in her ear. She wanted to open her eyes, wanted to ask him what he was doing to her. But it felt too good and she was too afraid of what she might see in his eyes. Too afraid of what she might not see.

"If I touched you everywhere you need to be touched…"

Her back arched, inadvertently pushing her soft breasts up into contact with his still naked chest. He gripped the cross tighter, but couldn't resist angling his hips just a little, bringing his denim-encased crotch into contact with her cotton-covered abdomen. She whimpered at the contact; still not moving away, still not releasing her now almost painful hold on his back.

"If you let me love you every way you need to be loved..."

His breath moved the words across her skin and down inside her body, filling her up as surely as if he'd been making love to her in a bed.

"If my cock skimmed the surface of your womb over and over again, going deeper than you knew was possible, touching places you never knew existed…"

She felt it, felt something, something moving inside her - just a whisper really, but it was there, hitting all of her nerve endings.

"If your body held mine snug inside because you, only you, can make me that hard, that desperate…"

She clenched around him, around it, around whatever it was that was inside her, making love to her.

"If the feel of your quim squeezing me blew my mind and my body; holding me in your grasp until I couldn't control myself any longer…"

His seductive voice in her ear, his breath on her throat, the feeling inside her body and the images inside her mind were too much - not enough…

"If you, what you do to me, how you make me feel and react made me erupt inside you, my cum filling you…"

She gasped, then moaned, it was consuming her from the inside and she didn't want it to stop.

"If my cumming inside you made your body tighten and shudder, made you fly apart into a million pieces, made you orgasm, made you climax - made you feel for one perfect moment like…"

He could feel her, so close.

"If I fucked, Baby, fucked you hard and slow and soft and long and made you cum, made you cum around me…"

His voice broke and she whimpered, the thing inside her was desperate now, begging for her release.

"If I make love to you like I want to…" he whispered.

He stopped because she was cumming.

Fuck! It worked!

Standing there in Spike's crypt, fully clothed with her arms around him and his hands not touching her but gripping a piece of wood, Willow Rosenberg came.

And as she did, her head fell forward and her fingernails clawed into his back, tearing the skin, raising angry red welts that bled - dripped blood.

He dropped his head to the crook of her neck, smelled her sweat and her blood, just beneath the surface. He wanted to kiss her, he wanted to…

But he didn't. He just stood there until she got her breathing back under control.

When she opened her eyes and looked at him again, he said, "There are all kinds of pain, Willow. Some are more pleasurable than others." He turned and let her see what she had done to his back.

She gasped.

He stepped back - and let her go.

Because he really wasn't sure right now how much of that was Darla and how much of it was himself.

She walked to the door, still shaking. "Seven thirty?" she asked, turning, when she reached the door.

"Seven thirty," he promised. And she went.

He really hoped it was all him.

*end flashback*

The burning in his back wakes him up again. It wasn't the good kind of pain.

"Red?" he asks.

"Right here, Spike," she tells him, entering the room with a mug of warm blood in her hand. He looks around: Giles' apartment.

Anya fussing over Xander's bandaged but bloody arm over by the kitchen. Giles patching up the Slayer's wounded head over by the chair. Riley sitting next to her like the lovesick lapdog he is. He can smell the Slayer's blood and the soldier's. The whelp's is there too. But not Red's, she hadn't been hurt, thank… whoever. Willow settles herself under his head, holding him up so he can drink the blood.

"We won then?" he asks when the mug is empty.

"Yes, Spike," Giles answers, packing up his first aid kit, "We won. The spell worked perfectly. Excellent work, Willow," he compliments her.

Willow blushes at the praise; he can't see it, but he can feel it.

"Who or what hit me?" he asks, wondering what kind of demon could do this much damage without him remembering the fight.

Xander laughs, "A bazooka."

"A what?" Spike asked.

"An FIM-9 Stinger shoulder-to-air missile," Riley clarifies. "It's meant to take out aircraft. You're a hero, Spike, you saved us." He looks pained as he says this last.

'Oh. That was all right then' Spike thinks and falls back to sleep.

You let me violate you
You let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you
You let me complicate you

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