It's the necklace that Angel gave her years ago and it tells him two things.

The first is that she will always belong to another. And the second is that

he has no real place in her life.

But it doesn't stop her from coming to him at night.

He could set his watch by it; five after midnight, every night... All night.

She is shameless in what she asks silently of him. She never voices her

questions-- her demands-- but he knows them just the same. They rarely

speak anymore. The most he hears of her voice is in her breathy moans, but

he continues because of what he told her lover once, that it would be better

to be near her and not part of her heart than not near her at all.

He's still waiting to feel that.

She is an automaton in the day and he knows it, sees the hunger for release

in her eyes when she visits him in the shadows of night. Everything about

the two of them is hidden from the world in those stolen hours where time

seems to stop, where she can breathe again, and writhe against his hand or

mouth or body and feel the satisfaction that can only be had in bed.

She lets out her tensions when she is on top of him; she is thorough and

harsh and their coupling is as vicious as she can make it as she continues to

tell him without words that it's not really him that she needs, just anyone.

But it's only in the other times, when she allows him to take control, that

she seems content.

Her cross burns him frequently. It dangles over him when she decides to be

on top-- because everything is done according to her whims and he simply goes

along willingly-- and skims across his bare chest. Or, when he's above her,

leaning down to press a kiss against her mouth and she pulls him closer it

sears into his flesh creating welts and burns. And scars.

He has so many scars now, inside and out, all because of her.

There are nights when he devotes himself to tasting her. Her breath will

become deep and ragged, and her flesh will become pink-tinged as the blood

pulses hotly underneath. She pulls away from his seeking mouth and tongue,

begging for less, and then thrusts herself toward him again, begging for

more. She is salty and musky and there's some sort of indefinable taste

inside her too, something that's just her, like no one else he's ever done

that to. Maybe it's because she's the Slayer, he thinks, when he's thinking

at all.

But then, inevitably, she will clamp her thighs around his head and rock

against him, finding her own rhythm and she will let him lap up her juices as

she comes. These are the moments they speak, without really speaking. The

moments when she'll let go of a moan and perhaps a 'yes' and he will groan

with delight, just because he's hearing her voice and she's not leaving yet.

He doesn't ever want her to leave.

The daytime isn't the hardest, like he would expect it to be. It's not the

waiting to see her, or the fact that he can't go out with her in the

sunlight, or that he can never share his triumph and heartbreak over her with

anyone. It's the minutes directly after she arrives, before they're lying

tangled around each other. When she undresses so methodically, folding her

clothes and setting them on the end of his couch. When she looks at him,

saying nothing, as she waits for him to approach her.

That's what's hardest. The moment she waits for him to approach her.

Night after night, he tells himself that it's the last time. That if she

wants him, he will wait her out until she makes at least one step in his

direction to let him know that he's the one she wants, that this is the place

she wants to be.

But of course it isn't. *He* isn't.

So night after night, after he makes himself that promise, he breaks it.

It's part of the rules now, like her cross. As much as he wants her to come

to him, he knows she never will and he's afraid-- yes, he smiles, he's

afraid-- that she will leave if he doesn't make the first (and second, and

third) move. So he does. He takes the steps. Starts the kisses. Makes the

moves.

It's not easy to be in love with her.

He suspects it was easier for her other lovers because she gave more of

herself. Even the last one, the soldier, was able to pretend for a while

that he was a part of her heart.

But, as hard as it may be, he can't stop it, can't pull away from it. It's

like blood to him, fatal and rich and addicting. Her kisses ignite him and

at least when she's in his arms, he knows that she's safe and can imagine

that she really wants him. And when he's inside her, she can't hide from him

any longer and he knows that she's exactly where she wants to be.

He almost wishes that they were still in the time before sex, on the brink of

it but not quite there. He almost wishes they were still balancing

precariously between chaos and sanity because before... When it was only

innocent kisses passing between them (as innocent as she could make her

kisses), at least he got to see that tender, warm light fill her eyes. He

almost wishes that.

Almost...

Now her eyes are dark and restless, as dark as she herself is becoming. He

doesn't think the others recognize it, not yet, but he does. The way she

moves, prowling from place to place, unplacatable. Her smile is nearly

brittle, and he knows that she's on the verge of breaking under the strain of

her memories and her secrets and her pain.

He suspects he might be one of those secrets breaking her but still he cannot

pull himself away. He wants to help her, longs to do something to show her

that yes, inexcusable as it might be, his love for her is real. But he

worries that the sudden rejection might push her even farther.

At least he can calm her, and give her those moments of bliss that she seeks.

Can give her a bliss that no other man-- despite what she says-- would be

able to provide.

She likes it when he hurts her. He thinks it might be because she knows that

it hurts him to do so, but the dampness between her thighs tells him

differently. He wonders what thoughts torment her so that she would prefer

his fangs sinking into her flesh over them.

He bites her but he never drinks, no matter how tempting.

He knew what she wanted, the first time she bared her neck to him. So he

raked his fangs over her jugular and listened to her moan while the scent of

her blood drove him to the brink of insanity. He doesn't drink because he's

frightened that once he's begun, he won't be able to stop, and he'll end up

draining her... And he's frightened that that's what she wants.

It's amazing to him sometimes... He was over a hundred years old, and rarely

had feared anything. Yet his love for her brought up more terror than he had

ever experienced. And worry, and compassion... All of the emotions a soul

would give someone, yet he knows he remains soulless. He wants to comfort

her through this dark time in her life but doesn't know how, doesn't know

what steps to take other than the ones he's already taking; the steps he

takes toward her at night in his bedchamber.

It was ridiculous when Angel loved her, a vampire with a Slayer... But at

least he had a soul. Spike sees his own love as the mockery that it is, and

he is still powerless to stop it.

He glances over at the clock and holds back a growl. She's killing herself

by coming to him and even that fact can't make him turn her away, as much as

he might want to. She relies on this, relies on him, to make the pain stop,

if only for a few hours.

She'll come soon.

And he'll give her those hours. It's her time, when he's at her command.

Before sunrise, and after midnight.

The End

Something ugly this way comes

Through my fingers sliding inside

All these blessings all these burns

I'm godless underneath your cover

Search for pleasure search for pain

In this world now I am undying

I unfurl my flag, my nation helpless

Black black heart

Why would you offer more

Why would you make it easier on me

To satisfy

I'm on on fire

I'm rotting to the core

I'm eating all your kings and queens

All your sex and your diamonds

As I begin to lose my grip

On these realities your sending

Taste your mind and taste your sex

I'm naked underneath your cover

Covers lie and we will bend and borrow

With the coming sign he tide will take

The sea will rise and time will rape

Black black heart

Why would you offer more

Why would you make it easier on me

To satisfy

I'm on fire

I'm rotting to the core

I'm eating all your kings and queens

All your sex and your diamonds

All your sex and your diamonds