PART 5

“I still love you,” Spike said, as Dawn disappeared around the corner of the building. “That hasn’t changed. Killing me won’t change how you feel either.”

“I don’t feel anything,” Buffy said, with complete honesty. She was totally numb.

The Slayer’s body was tense against Spike’s back. Her breathing was short and shallow. The vampire could sense the battle raging within her soul. He knew Buffy was being torn in two by equally powerful forces. As the Slayer, she wanted him dead and yet she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. She longed for the deathblow and still her arm would not make the final stroke.

“You can’t deny it, anymore, can you?” Spike asked, his voice a low, sweet urging toward truth. “You love me. You never say it…but I know you do. I can feel it inside.”

“Aawwrrrhhh!” Buffy roared out her frustration. Removing her blade from his throat, she thrust Spike away from her so swiftly and brutally that he staggered to one knee.

He flowed with the forward momentum, dropping his shoulder and rolling out of the fall. Recovering his footing quickly, Spike turned to face the Slayer. She was panting and her eyes were filled with a primitive rage.

“No love, no weakness, and no mercy,” the first Slayer snarled, speaking through Buffy. “YOU…MUST…DIE!”

Spike stared at his beloved, magnificent in her savagery. For one moment she mesmerized him. She was death incarnate, a force of instinctive fury, more powerful even than the demon that lurked within him. Then, as she charged, he broke and ran. Within a few hundred yards, Spike realized that he couldn’t out distance her. He needed to find somewhere to make his stand. Turning on his best speed, he headed toward the deserted Stafford dormitory.

Arriving at the dorm, seconds behind Spike, Buffy moved cautiously up the front steps. The door was hanging drunkenly from its hinges. She knew her quarry was inside. She'd seen him slip into the darkened interior of the building. Senses on full alert, sword at the ready, she followed him.

The vampire struck at her out of the darkness as she entered the foyer. Her sword went flying and he sprang instantly away. Buffy could hear the drag of metal on stone as Spike appropriated her weapon. She caught his outline against the windows but didn’t have time to target on him before he tossed her blade into the open elevator shaft. It clattered into the sub-basement, two stories below.

“Now, maybe we can have a civilized conversation,” Spike commented, but the Slayer was in no mood to talk.

She tackled him at the hip level, nearly sending them both after her sword. Spike tottered on the brink of the elevator shaft and shoved Buffy away, thrusting hard against her chest with his knee. He staggered forward; took a blind swing at her and connected. She sailed across the room, landing in the midst of construction materials. Two by Fours, glass panels and tools scattered as she crashed down. The Slayer came out of the mess with a wooden stake in her hand. Spike spotted the weapon and took off for the staircase in no mood to test his ability to survive being staked by his spiritual anchor. Dracula had never mentioned what to do if your “one true thing” was what was trying to kill you.

“You are going to see reason, Buffy,” Spike yelled back, as he scampered upward, taking the stairs three at a time. “I’ll hurt you if I have to but you are going to listen to me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy replied, from a few steps below his position. “Nothing you say can change this.” Her voice was almost normal as she added, “This is our destiny.”

“Bollocks!” Spike snapped, turning to face her across the second story landing. He pointed an accusing finger at her, saying, “This is you hiding from your feelings. Don’t you try to fob this off on destiny.”

“How can you be so blind?” Buffy returned, insistently. “Vampire and Slayer? It’s madness and this is how it ends. Just like it did with Angel.”

“Don’t you EVER compare me to your undead-ex, Pet!” Spike raged, recklessly stepping toward her. “I ain’t some neutered lapdog. And I ain’t going to slink off to L.A., no matter how unreasonable you get.”

Buffy stared at him. She didn’t know what to say. Dangerous emotions were stirring inside her again as she and Spike fell back into their old patterns. The taunting words, the deadly strike of fang or stake, it was comfortingly familiar. But there was always another message lurking just beneath the surface. Their sparring masked a multitude of feelings, heat, desire, and lately even tenderness and love.

Sensing that he was beginning to get to Buffy, the vampire decided to change his tactics and throw her even further off guard.

“Isn’t this nice?” he inquired, cheekily. "You and I alone at last." Turning, he sprinted up a few more stairs. Knowing she was close behind, he called back over his shoulder, “You know, I think we have the whole place to ourselves." He whipped around to confront her, again and she nearly ran him over. He bared his teeth, pushing her back as he added, "Feel free to scream if the mood takes you.”

“I won’t be the one screaming,” Buffy growled, kicking out from the hip.

“Funny that,” Spike said, easily blocking the Slayer’s kick and twisting her foot so that she was forced to back flip away from him down the staircase. "I’ve always pegged you as a screamer."

“Not that I ever heard a peep out of you,” he continued, conversationally, “in all the time I stood outside your window listening to you shag the starched stuffing out of G.I. Joe Finn. But, then, I figure maybe he didn’t come with the necessary accessories to get the job done proper. Him lacking the Kung-fu grip and all.”

Cartwheeling upward again, Buffy brought her stake around in an arc that would bury it in Spike’s chest. Seconds before she imbedded the wood in his flesh, the vampire’s demonic personality flooded to the surface, his features roughened and his fangs descended. He struck at the point of her weapon batting it aside and the stake shattered on the wall beyond his right shoulder. The Slayer was carried into Spike's arms by her own momentum. He looked down on Buffy; meeting her hazel eyes with his feral yellow eyes ones.

“Hi, Honey,” Spike's demon smirked, in imitation of her. “I’m home!”

Buffy grimaced and slammed a knee up into his groin. At the same time, she threw her weight sideways, over-balancing them. Spike didn’t slacken his grip as they fell the four steps back to the landing. Still locked together, they rolled across the six feet of flat surface and smashed into the balcony railing.

The half-constructed supports gave way beneath their combined weight and they plunged into the darkened stairwell. Vampire and Slayer plummeted together toward the tiled lobby floor. As they fell, Buffy squirmed free of her assailant. Twisting in the air like a cat, she pushed off of Spike’s body, using that leverage to right herself, so they hit the ground with her on top.

Spike landed hard, cracking his head on the tile, and Buffy thudding into him a nano-second later left him momentarily dazed. The Slayer, however, recovered instantly. Already targeting on a shaft of shattered wooden railing, she trod on Spike like a rug, digging into his abdomen with her sharp heels as she sprang away. Spike snarled his outrage at this treatment. He lashed out with one hand clawing at her as she dove clear of him. The vampire’s nails raked over Buffy’s body barely grazing it but lighting tiny fires all along her skin and tearing away the front of her delicate dress.

In another time and place, Spike would have been happy to lay back and admire the savage vision that spun to confront him. Buffy had come up from her forward roll with a stake in hand. She was nearly naked. Her blond hair formed a tangled mane about her shoulders and her eyes were full of fight and fire. The tattered remains of her slip dress fluttered around her like a cape, exposing the admirable craftsmanship of Mother Nature. Only a few threads of blood and the beige of her satin-striped bikinis broke the bare expanse of Buffy’s tawny skin.

His girl had apparently abandoned the concept of a bra for the evening, Spike thought, his mouth twisting in wry amusement. He, also, privately conceded that with muscle-tone like the Slayer’s a bra wasn’t a strict necessity. Quick as that thought came to him, Buffy was swinging the stake at his heart. Unable to gain his feet in time, he rolled under Buffy’s strike, hitting her mid-shin and throwing her off balance.

As Buffy stumbled sideways, one of her high heels snapped off and she went to her knees. It was the opening Spike needed. With an inner surge of delight, he came up swinging. He landed one fist hard to the side of Buffy’s head spinning her around to face him. As she fell backward, her stake slipped from her fingers. She landed unceremoniously on her back. Spread eagle in front of him, she fumbled blindly for her weapon. Spike stalked toward her, his mouth lolling open in a self-satisfied grin.

“What’s the matter, Luv?” he inquired, with feline insolence. “Didn’t wear your dancing shoes?”

“Yeah, this outfit was definitely a mistake,” Buffy agreed, trying not to grimace as her hand brushed her stake and sent it rolling further away.

In no particular hurry to end things, Spike ran his appreciative gaze over her. Buffy was suddenly aware of her nakedness and of Spike’s undeniably masculine presence. A hot tingle of embarrassment, and some other less-easily defined emotion, shot through her igniting her blush. Spike basked in the glow of it. Fighting down the urge to cover herself, Buffy willed her body to relax. She opened herself to his scrutiny, lying back and letting her knees fall apart. Spike swallowed, convulsively.

“High-heels,” Buffy continued, her voice low, her eyes never leaving his, as she slid out of her damaged shoe. “What was I thinking? You never take me anyplace nice.”

“NICE!” Spike sneered. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He straightened slightly and hissed out the word again, “Nice! You don’t want nice, Pet. You’ve never wanted it…nice.”

And finally, he came into range, leaning over her. With her remaining spiked heel Buffy kicked out connecting with his shoulder sending him flying. Continuing the flow of her movement, the Slayer flipped to her feet and with a twist of her ankle popped her other shoe off. Spike slid to a stop and surged back at her. They circled each other, looking for weaknesses, both wary and weary.

“I know you, Buffy,” Spike remarked, as if they were having a civilized conversation. “Maybe you can hide it from yourself but you can’t hide it from me. I know what you want.”

“Oh, Brother! Here it comes,” the Slayer groaned, shaking the hair out of her eyes and favoring him with a 'please end my torment now' look, “Spike the Psychologist is in. Lay down your nickel and he’ll lay that Dark Side Wisdom on you.” She snorted and continued in mocking sarcasm, “Let me guess…I want it rough? I want to play the games that draw blood? I want a little leather clad domination?”

She paused, letting her gaze sweep the blond vampire with a frank appraisal, before saying in a deceptively normal tone of voice, “Or to sum up…I want you!”

Spike had gone still as a statue. He took in a long shuddering breath as if his dead lungs suddenly needed air. After a moment, he gave a quick dip of his head. It was a Victorian gesture of agreement and a gentleman’s affirmation of a well placed hit. Buffy bared her teeth in a mirthless grin. She hated him in that moment. Hated his pretense, his mimicking of human feeling. Hated the effect he had on her even now in the midst of a life and death battle.

“You really are pathetic, William,” she spat and spun out a kick at his head.

“You unspeakable Bitch,” Spike snarled, ducking her unexpected blow. He was suddenly ashamed of his weakness for her and bitterly aware of her ability to hurt him.

Punching wildly, he landed a hard right to the small of Buffy’s back. She winced, gasping at the pain but quickly recovered turning to face Spike even as he leaped at her. They exchanged blows, matching each other strike for strike. Bobbing, weaving, fighting, they danced. Their footwork was so intricate and their bodies so in harmony that every move seemed choreographed. They were opposites, yet, forever united, man and woman, living and dead, young and old, silver and gold, the blazing Sun and the cool Moonlight.

An hour later, they clung to each other like amorous drunks at closing time. Recovering from his left to her cheek, Buffy clawed her way up Spike’s body. She was holding on to him and simultaneously holding him at bay. She felt sick, dizzy. Her knees were buckling. Spike was no better off he was swaying and had trouble focusing. Buffy levered against him and he cried out as a dislocated rib twisted in his back.

The Slayer used Spike’s weight to steady herself as she brought her knee up between them. She missed the vampire’s groin by a good margin this time as he suddenly doubled over. Her knee glanced off of Spike’s chest and sent him reeling backwards. He held on to her. They staggered together, leaning into one another for support, seeking their center of gravity. After several feet, they stumbled to a stop. Foreheads pressed together, arms braced, bodies begging for relief, Buffy and Spike held their positions in opposition

“Why didn’t I kill you years ago?” he asked, as if he really wanted an answer.

“You had a chip in your brain,” she reminded.

Spike wanted to backhand her for her bloody-minded insolence, but he knew if he let go of her now he would fold up like a string-less marionette. He needed to buy a little more time. He needed to keep Buffy talking.

“It wasn’t the chip,” he hissed, through tightly clenched teeth, “…and you know it.”

Buffy could feel the familiar cold stirring in her gut, the tightening in her groin. She wondered why Spike made her feel this way. How it was even possible to feel this way. To loathe him and all he stood for, to want to hurt him and at the same time to crave him. She knew she should chew him up, spit him out and walk away. But he still made her mouth water, made her want to swallow.

“All I know is that you betrayed me.” Buffy said, softly. “As soon as the chip was out. Just like I always knew you would.”

“Yeah,” Spike sighed, “always.”

“Oh, don’t you DARE try to make me feel sorry for you,” she berated him. “You are a killer. Merciless and cold-blooded…a soul-less reptile.”

“For the eight-hundredth time,” Spike growled, spacing out the words for dramatic effect. “I…Did…NOT…Kill…THAT…Girl!”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed, bobbling her head, vacuously. “And you’re NOT trying to kill me either. This is all some kind of comical misunderstanding.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Luv,” Spike said, soberly. “You know I don’t.”

He pulled back slightly to stare at Buffy meeting her gaze steadily until, feeling a physical pain from the intimacy, she broke eye-contact.

“I seem to know a lot,” she grumbled, looking down at the floor. “Tell me this…do I know what it is you DO want?”

Spike stopped pushing her away and instead fell forward into her body. The sudden change in dynamic energy brought Slayer and vampire together. Buffy gasped as Spike slammed into her. The sound she made caused something to clench and twist in his chest. He ran his cheek along her jaw line. Purring, he nuzzled her neck. He breathed in the sweat and sweetness in her hair before responding.

“I want,” he whispered, very close to her ear, “…to Sire you.”

Buffy tensed. She wrenched back fighting to break away from him but Spike had her now. He was holding her in a vise grip pinning her arms at her sides; keeping her close. His nails were biting into the flesh just above her elbows. He lowered his mouth and began raining small kisses along her bare shoulder working his way back toward her throat.

“I want to make you bleed,” he said, punctuating his words with tiny kisses, “And I want to bleed for you. I want to open myself and spill into your mouth. I want to make you mine, to feel you drink me down. Feel you become me.”

“You want to make me a vampire?”

Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She couldn’t believe what the words were doing to her either. She felt a trembling weakness in her joints and a bloom of wetness between her legs. She could visualize all too well rising out of the ground and falling into his arms.

“I want to give myself to you,” Spike corrected, gently, “Eternally! To hunt, to kill, to feed, and to be with you. I love you, Buffy. Together, we could rule the night, you and I.”

The Slayer’s eyes flashed. She was furious, appalled…and horribly tempted. She brought her hands up and placed her palms flat against Spike’s abdomen. Under his tee shirt, his body felt cool and tight, imminently masculine. His muscles twitched beneath Buffy's fingertips.

She looked up, meeting his eye, squarely, and whispered, “I already rule the night.”

The Slayer's claws tore into his flesh and Spike roared his pain and rage, thrusting her away. She tried to take advantage of the opening, scrambling for position, but he was on top of her in seconds. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her into his body and twisting her arm up and back. Buffy gasped at the red-hot pain that lanced through her. Spike was demonic now, his face distorted, his eyes yellow, his teeth sharp. Keeping her hand behind her, he picked Buffy up, swinging her easily into his arms. She was helpless, denied purchase for retaliation. Spike held her like a new bride about to be carried across the threshold.

“No,” he corrected, smiling down at her with a mouth full of ragged fangs. “You don’t rule anything…not until you’ve bested me.”

Swift and sure, he was moving toward the staircase, still holding her close. Buffy fought down her panic. She could feel herself grow cold as Spike carried her up the first flight of stairs. The Slayer knew that she had to stay calm, keep her wits about her and search for some escape. She figured there was a slim chance Spike intended to throw her off the roof. Her mind veered away from the other possibilities presented by an abandoned dorm. And veered right back on course as the vampire turned down a hallway. Without pausing, he kicked in the first door they came to. It flew open revealing a single room with a single bed.

“You have GOT to be kidding,” Buffy laughed, her fear evaporating as swiftly as it had come over her. “You can’t rape the Slayer. Didn’t they teach you anything in Vampire School?”

“RAPE?” Spike choked on the word. “Oh, pu-leez! That is just so…." He struggled to find something scathing enough to reply and failing finished lamely, "…typical.”

He morphed back into his human face and tossed her into the center of the bed. Buffy bounced a bit and steadied herself, but made no effort to escape. She was, quite frankly, too shocked to react. She was amazed that he’d freed her so easily.

“You think I can’t smell the desire on you, Buffy?” Spike asked, bitterly. “You think, I don’t know? You want this as much as I do.

“I don’t…” Buffy began.

“Save it for the Scoobies," he said, cutting her off. “I don’t want to hear you justify this. It doesn’t matter to me anymore. I am tired of trying to prove myself to you. Especially, when it’s just so much easier for you to see me as a monster. Keeps you on the job, dunnit? Makes sliding a sliver of wood into my chest a bit less of a soddin' tragedy?”

“You’re the one who brought all this on,” Buffy yelped, stung by the unfairness of his accusations and furious at the truth behind them. “You crossed the line. You killed that girl."

“Say that’s true,” Spike shrugged. “Say I did kill her. What of it? I’m a vampire remember? A monster, a cold-blooded killing machine, just like you said." He sank into a half-crouch, slinking toward the bed as he continued in a sultry purr, "I’m no better than any other predator. You can’t blame me for doing what comes natural. But you, Pet! You should know better…all full of soul…and yet here you are…lusting after the likes of me.”

“I…I d-don’t…lust,” Buffy stammered, as he closed in on her.

“No?” Spike asked, with wide-eyed innocence, standing up straighter. Buffy shook her head and to her astonishment he pouted slightly, "Ohhhh." And quietly slipped into the bed beside her, stretching out full length on the bare mattress.

Making no attempt to touch her, Spike watched the Slayer closely, forcing himself to remain still. He tuned into her heartbeat, savoring the rapid pulse of it. He harbored no illusions about Buffy’s ability to kill him. She was his anchor and she could so easily cut him free of this existence. He knew that he was as close to being one with the dust bunnies as he had ever been. Mustering every ounce of self-control he possessed, Spike waited for his beloved to make the next move.

PART 6

Buffy thought seriously about rabbitting, leaping for the door and dashing down the stairs. She had never been as terrified as she was by this new development. She could feel her heart pounding and her gut clenching up. She wondered what game Spike was playing. She could so easily kill him. He was offering no resistance. The Slayer in her cried out for a renewal of the violence between them but the woman in her cried out for something much more dangerous. There was a brief struggle and the woman won.

Buffy reached out, fingers trembling, and placed a tentative hand on his chest. Spike remained still, as if carved from marble. His only reaction was to glance up and meet her eye to eye. His gaze was neutral, not mocking or challenging, and barely even questioning. Buffy leaned forward pressing the issue. She slid her hand down to the bottom of his tee shirt and slowly worked her fingers under the fabric. She savored the rough denim of his jeans, the hard leather band of his belt and finally the silken smoothness of his skin against her fingertips. She traced patterns on his flesh, all the way up to the jagged wounds left by her nails.

Eyelids flickering closed, Spike held on to his stillness as Buffy’s hand stroked over him. He could feel the heat increasing in her as she touched him. He took a quick breath and was flooded with the wonderously complex scent of his Slayer. She smelled of lavender, lust and sunlit meadows. She was far too close for comfort. In spite of his resolve not to move, Spike shifted slightly. The sudden tightness in his groin was too much to ignore.

Buffy reveled in his involuntary response. She grinned, mouth open, her tongue pink against her teeth, in unconscious imitation of Spike’s frequent wolfish look. She knew the vampire was watching her again, through barely open eyes. Let him, Buffy thought suddenly. Let him know what I can do to him.

Making eye contact, she ran light claws over Spike’s body moving in a spiral but going inexorably downward. When she reached his jeans she continued dragging her nails along his thigh, sweeping carelessly over the swell of his desire. Spike writhed, the pleasure so intense it was an agony. He rose up pressing in to Buffy’s hand and she pulled away, dropping her feet to the floor. He fell back against the bed, gasping; begging her not to leave. If she did…if she left him now Spike knew he would hunt her down like an animal, throw her to the ground and, though it was said to be impossible, take her by force.

Buffy, however, had no intention of leaving. She was far too fascinated by this newfound power. She watched as Spike fought for self-mastery. Waiting until he was back in control, Buffy leaned across the bed and let her hair brush over his face. She kissed his mouth, slipping her tongue, soft and slick, over his lips. When he didn’t respond, she reached down and unbuttoned his fly with one hand. Spike’s eyes were closed again, other than the unconscious tremor in his muscles, the push of his erection under her questing fingers, he gave no sign that he was aware of her.

Slowly, with torturous deliberation, Buffy began undressing him. She tugged roughly, at times, ripping away cloth when it failed to give, but for the most part she worked gently. Spike did nothing to hinder or assist her. When he was naked, Buffy stood back and studied the contours of his body. He was so different from any other man she had known. Not as massive as Riley or Angel but more defined than Parker. And frankly, much better endowed.

“Wow, there’s a revelation!” Buffy thought, mocking her inner persona.

It wasn’t like she'd never noticed Spike’s natural gift before. For the past three years, every time they were in close proximity it had inevitably come up. Fighting with him or holding him close, she had sometimes been aware of nothing else but the size of his erection pressed against her back or stomach. Spike's hormones weren't subtle. At first it had alarmed and disgusted her but later she had been more than a little in love with it.

He wasn’t circumcised, of course, but then neither was Angel. Buffy knew what to expect from a vampire lover and in many ways Spike was more appealing than a human male. Like the rest of his kind, he didn’t sweat, or urinate, or defecate or harbor smelly bacterial colonies but unlike most vampires, Spike bathed regularly. Standing over him, Buffy could pick up the faint scent of dark amber that fragranced his body soap.

Through barely parted eyelids, Spike watched the Slayer study his body. She stood at the bedside her eyes devouring him, seemingly unable to look away. Then with a tiny sigh, she shrugged out of her dress. He watched the material slide along her skin and heard it puddle on the floor. A half-second later she stepped out of her bikinis, and Spike had to wrestle with a nearly overwhelming desire to attack her.

After what seemed like an eternity to the vampire, the need to touch him overcame all of Buffy’s innate caution. She bent forward, bracing one knee on the bed and ran her hand up his inner thigh and down to cradle him intimately in her palm. Spike convulsed under her as she toyed with him, playing her fingers back and forth until he was shuddering helplessly. Then splaying her other hand against his chest, Buffy brought her mouth down over him, sucking and licking. In one continuous movement, she ran her tongue along the length of his shaft savoring the taste of him. Reaching the tip, she slurped up the glistening pearl of wetness that had formed there and gave a soft murmur of appreciation, as if it was the last drop of her favorite ice cream.

“Buffy…” Spike whispered, hoarsely, his voice resonating with his need for her. "Luv…please…"

She was on him like a lioness springing to the kill. She crouched over him grabbing at his wrists as he reached for her, holding them tight, pressing them back into the pillow on either side of his head. The strength in her was stunning. Spike knew he would have to exert himself fully to break free of her hold but, the truth was, he didn’t really want his freedom. He wanted Buffy to win this round, to take him down, like they both knew she could. Like they both knew she had always wanted to.

“Do it, Baby!” Spike thought, meeting the primal intensity of her gaze without blinking. "Take me all the way…"

And she did! Rocking her body back she took him inside. He was a perfect fit, filling her like no one before him ever had. Buffy was as shocked as she was thrilled at this turn of events. She remembered their fight, the reason for it, and the fact that she had sworn never to do what she was currently doing. None of that seemed to matter to her. All that mattered was the satisfaction that Spike alone could give her. No one else understood her, appreciated her, and loved her as completely as he did. No one else could endure the onslaught of her unfettered appetite.

Despite not needing oxygen, the vampire was breathing raggedly now, biting down on his lower lip as Buffy engulfed him. During his time with Dru, Spike had held to the spirit of fidelity rather than the letter, and so he had known a number of women, living and undead, virginal and experienced. In fact, he’d once had a Bangkok whore; he would have sworn was half succubus. Her talent had been so great that it purchased her 6 weeks of additional life. And yet, nothing in the past 125 years had prepared him for the Slayer.

She was a Bloody force of nature; a tsunami, washing over him. He was flooded with sensation, from the play of her muscles around him to the heat of her breath by his ear, to the swell of emotion in his chest. He was drowning in her as she raged around him; heedless of the toll she was taking. He began chanting her name like an incantation, a one-word plea for release. Yet, when the release came, he was totally unprepared for the intensity of it. The French call the moment of climax, le petit mort, the small death, and with Buffy, Spike finally understood why. Nothing short of his own death transcended the experience.

It was over. Shuddering, breathing deeply, Buffy lay against Spike’s chest and slowly she became aware of him beneath her. She shifted and froze, not believing her senses. Buffy knew, without a doubt, they had come together. She had felt Spike spill into her like a cool rush of water and heard his helpless mewling cry. But, now, as she moved around him she could feel no change in his rock hardness. She clenched her inner muscles, checking her perceptions before glancing questioningly up at him.

Spike raised his scarred brow slightly and gave her a truly wicked grin before saying, "Wanna have my turn, Pet."

“How…?” she frowned, puzzling out this difference from her earlier experience with Angel.

“It’s like breathing,” Spike replied to her half-formed question and Buffy understood. It was an involuntary process under his conscious control. Not his complete control, however, she remembered with a wicked grin of her own.

The sauciness of Buffy’s unspoken thoughts played out on her face and provoked Spike to action. With a quick twist of his hips, he flipped her onto her back, switching their positions. He buried his hands in her hair and surged against her. Buffy cried out at the violence of it and Spike covered her mouth with his own cutting off the sound of her screams. Once, twice, a half dozen times he lunged into her, going deeper each time, until, desperate for oxygen, Buffy pushed him away. He over-reacted, pulling all the way out of her, kneeling between her legs with one cool hand resting just above her navel.

“No,” she pleaded, reaching for him.

“Be still,” he said, gently, but with a teasing challenge in his voice. “Try not to move.”

“You, Bastard!” Buffy thought, but she forced herself to relax, acknowledging that it was indeed his turn to take charge.

It became a game of bait and switch. Every time Buffy squirmed, twitched or moaned, Spike would let go of her, leaving her shaking as she fought to control her reactions. Using his hands, his teeth, his tongue, he teased out the secrets of her body. He explored her, discovering erogenous zones she’d had no idea she possessed.

Finally, when Buffy felt like she would burn away if he didn’t, Spike slipped one hand between her legs. Stroking over her, spreading the mix of their fluids under his palm, he sought out the small hard treasure nestled in her softness. Finding it with his thumb he rubbed over it in tight quick circles, shattering Buffy’s pretense of self-control.

“Spike…Oh, GOD!” she gasped, arching up under his hand.

This time Spike didn’t release her but instead moved closer, pressing his body along her left side. Buffy could feel his full length hard against her thigh as his mouth closed on the tip of her left breast. He suckled at her for what seemed like eternity, lapping his tongue over her nipple while his thumb continued its relentless circling below. Buffy began to writhe, her hips rotating in time with his stroking hand, the wetness spreading out of her, filling the room with her scent.

Spike took her nipple firmly between his teeth. Biting down just hard enough that she dare not move for fear of injury, he plunged three fingers into her slick velvet core. The Slayer clamped down on him with bone bruising force and screamed out her despair at this exquisite torture. Her hands clawed at the mattress as Spike kept his thumb in place, stroking her inside and out, driving her to the brink of what she knew would be an earthshaking climax. And then…he stopped.

Just short of satisfying her, he stopped. Buffy’s snarl of frustration, promised him torments not even Drusilla could have envisioned. Pulling up to his knees, he chuckled deep in his throat. The sound drew Buffy’s eye and they locked gazes as he held his hand up between them. Slowly, not breaking eye contact for a second, Spike sucked each sticky finger in turn, tonguing the length of them. Buffy could easily imagine his tongue working between her legs the same way. Spike had intended to fulfill her fantasy but the taste, the sight and the scent of her was finally too much for him.

Buffy was bloomed open, wet and more than ready. Spike shifted, until he was kneeling between her thighs, again. Using both hands, he parted her legs, pushing her knees out. Then he reached up, tracing the swell of her breasts, sliding his hands down along the contours of her body, over the slippery mound of her coarse curls and around the full curve of her hips, savoring the power he sensed in them. Cupping his hands under her smooth behind he lifted Buffy, bridging her up. The Slayer locked her fingers around Spike's wrists and held on as he shafted forward. She took him to the hilt, all the way in, and he groaned. They rocked back and forth, pulling apart, surging together. After one or two thrusts, Spike established a cadence, lunging with his lover, sliding out and slamming back into her. This was no tentative exploration. This was a total invasion, demanding total surrender.

The first time, with Buffy on top, they’d simply had sex, deliciously gratifying sex. This time they fucked. There was no other word for it. The harsh, guttural sound was a perfect description of Spike’s desperately intense penetration and Buffy’s full body participation. The heat and the friction and the fire between them threatened to boil the blood in their veins. The Slayer had never known such raw passion.

Even under the influence of malevolent spirits, Riley had been a gentle, considerate lover. Angel had, of course, taken Buffy’s virginity slowly and carefully. He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of passion. And Parker, the weasel, had been a perfect gentleman. Spike was certainly no gentleman. He was a demonic lover, in a position, at long last, to satisfy his dark lust for the Slayer. And he fucked her until the world started spinning around them.

Her senses blunted by Spike’s relentless assault, Buffy noticed the change in him a second before he struck at her throat. Quick as he was, she was quicker. She released her hold on Spike's wrists, whipping her hands around. Catching his head between her palms, she halted his forward motion so that his fangs snapped closed on thin air. Spike hissed and snarled and twisted like a serpent in his effort to reach her but Buffy held him off.

She rode out his hunger, wrapping her legs around his hips, torquing against him and meeting his yellow gaze without fear. It was unbelievably erotic, a wild rutting and as savage a battle as they had ever engaged in and they ended it together. Buffy climaxed, her fingers slipping from their hold on Spike, just as he, in the midst of his blood lust, came into her and came back to his humanity. They cried out as one, clinging tight.

He was murmuring into her throat as she returned to awareness, “Buffy…sweet Buffy…I love you so much. God help me, I do…if I'd hurt you…Buffy…I swear it would kill me…”

Buffy levered him away and stared, her eyes questioning. She searched his face and saw the truth there. She knew, with complete conviction, Spike would literally die without her. Knew also that he hadn’t killed Alice Peters. Not because he had changed, not because it was wrong but simply because his love wouldn’t allow it. His beloved was his sovereign. Her will was his law. He was a demon and the instinct to kill was strong in him but Buffy finally understood Spike's love for her was stronger.

“You’re mine,” she said fiercely, asserting her mastery over him.

Spike melted into her, submitting completely. He gave himself over to the Slayer, acknowledging her possession of him and almost weeping with the joy of it, “Yes,” he agreed, between deep kisses, “Yours…my god, yes.”

They were both lost and they knew it. There was no fight left in either of them. No more room for denial of what was, what had always been, their destiny. Their love was a supernatural force in it’s own right. Existing outside time and space, it allowed them to span the gulf between good and evil. They moved as one, two halves of a whole, seeking union. They could not seem to get close enough to one another. Legs, bodies, arms, fingers, tongues, their very existence intertwining, Buffy and Spike made love.

And sometime during that last slow dance, Spike opened a vein in his neck and Buffy drank. It was the final act of surrender for both of them, as she accepted his seed in her mouth, took him into her fully and swallowed him down. Spike passed into unconsciousness, giving up his very being to his beloved, letting her drain the strength of his demon from him. Buffy felt him slipping away, his hold on her grew slack and he fell back unto the bed. Fear shot through her and she sat up, wiping blood from her lips with the back of one hand.

"Spike?" she questioned, shakily. He didn't respond and she reached for him, panicking. Gripping her lover's shoulders and shaking him, fiercely, Buffy pleaded, "Come on! You can't die like this, not from blood loss. It's impossible." But quick on the heels of the words came a thought; vampires were supposed to drink first. They drank before the one they were siring fed on them.

One of Spike's hands was under her the other had fallen palm up on the bed, fingers relaxed as in death. His eyes were open but unfocused and deep within them pulsed a garnet redness. Buffy had no way of knowing the same light was glowing in her own eyes. She only knew that Spike needed blood and if he took it from her they wouldn't be able to stop. Wouldn't want to stop until he had drained her completely. If she allowed her lover to drink, Buffy knew, she would become a vampire.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t self-preservation that kept her from opening a vein but rather the remembrance of Spike’s fear of hurting her. Galvanized into action, Buffy scrambled for clothing. She pulled on Spike’s pants, turning up the cuffs and cinching his belt tight around her waist, making them fit. She ripped a long strip from the tattered remains of her ruined dress and wound it around her breasts like a scarf. Then, bare foot, she ran, heading for town where she knew there were two pints of A-negative. In a cold storage safe, in the floor of the Magic Box training room, Giles had a stash of the Slayer’s own blood. It was an emergency transfusion supply and only Buffy and her Watcher were aware of its existence.

The crimson robed figures watched the Slayer dash by, her feet thudding on the grass. They waited, patient as saints, until she disappeared into the night, then they entered the dorm. They glided up the stairs and into the room where Spike lay helpless. Surrounding him they chanted, "Siamo uno con il Cuore della Notte."

One of their number came forward with a white sheet and they shifted Spike onto it. Then wrapping the nearly bloodless vampire in the shroud of fabric, they lifted him up and carried him down into the basement of the building.

______________________________________________________________________

Spike sensed the warmth of a body nearby, felt it stir.

Buffy, he thought and wasn't sure if he spoke aloud.

The name had almost no meaning to him but he knew it was the word for what he needed. He was literally starving to death. And now, like mother’s home cooking, he could smell the sweetness in the air, the faint whiff of Summers’ blood. Blindly, he reached out for the living food source. Desperate for any sustenance, he barely noted the dimensions of the figure he pulled into his arms. The girl’s long dark hair cascaded around him as he sank his teeth into her throat and drank.

It shocked him, like expecting fresh water and gulping down rancid milk. Horridly wrong, the taste of Dawn’s blood twisted up his gut. Spike retched, breaking the bite and shoving his young friend violently away. He spat her blood out onto the floor, without swallowing, and struggled to focus on Dawn’s face. He knew she was alive but he couldn’t tell how badly she was injured. He only knew that there was blood. And, now, more blood was trickling from the puncture wounds in her neck. Wrestling with his hunger, Spike struggled to fight free of the fog in his head.

“He won’t eat,” a voice said, speaking out of the mist. “See how he pushes his food away.”

“He MUST eat,” another voice insisted. “She can not manifest without the blood.”

“Bring the blood of an animal,” Saul’s voice commanded.

“PIG’S BLOOD!” a shocked chorus cried in protest. “It is sacrilege!”

“We must give HER something to sustain the conception or the process will fail before it starts,” Saul snapped, impatiently. “Once he begins to feed he will not be able to stop HER from growing more powerful. Time enough for the blood of the innocent when she is come to the table, my brothers.”

Spike wondered what they were talking about and when they would go away and let him die in peace. He could feel a gaping emptiness inside as if an essential part of his being had been carved away. He knew he needed to feed but he couldn’t bring himself to drink from Dawn. He wanted to save her and himself but he didn’t have the strength to fight or even open his eyes.

He curled up in a ball and waited for Buffy to come or the empty feeling to consume him. Unseen hands lifted his shoulders and held his head. The lip of a silver bowl was pressed against his mouth and a draught of pig’s blood washed over his tongue. Convulsively, Spike swallowed the fluid down. Warmth spread into his limbs, strengthening him. The fog began to clear and he grabbed at the bowl to drink deep again.

“There now,” Saul’s voice spoke close by his ear. “Drink, blessed one, and let HER share in the bounty of this world. You are the vessel of rebirth, give HER your strength as SHE grows in your body.”

Deep inside of Spike, the empty place in his gut began to fill with the swirling embryonic consciousness of a new and hideous life.

________________________________________________________________________

At the exact moment that Spike took his first drink, Buffy wrenched open the training room door. The room was full of people. She registared the fact, looking at them in shock, barely recognizing Willow and Giles, before she was hit with an intense swirl of nausea. The world tipped drunkenly around her and she retched, sinking to her knees in the doorway. She felt as if something was sucking the life from her chest. A red mist blinded her and she struggled to focus through it.

“Buffy?” Giles’ voice cried out. As she raised her head blinking blindly toward him, he whispered, “Dear Lord…her eyes…”

“Yes," Quentin Travers’ said in grim measured tones. “It is as I feared. We are too late.”

"No, I w-won't believe it,” Giles said, his voice catching slightly. “How could she…WHY would she ever…" He hesitated, obviously assessing the evidence of his own eyes, before addressing his Slayer directly, "Have you been with Spike? Accepted him…his…seed?”

“She has taken blood,” Travers’ confirmed, dispassionately, as Buffy retched again. “His demon contagion has passed into the Slayer's body. Nothing we do can save her now.”

“Well, well, well B!” Faith commented, somewhere beyond Buffy's line of unfocused sight. “So you finally did the undead deed once too often? From what these Watcher freaks tell me, you got the morning sickness from Hell, Girlfriend." She came around to kneel before the fallen Slayer, adding nonchalantly, "I guess congratulations are in order.”

“Okay,” Buffy sighed, from her undignified position on the floor. “Vomiting, Travers and the psychotic bitch queen makes a house-call…this can not be of the good.”

PART 7

Willow, Xander, Anya and Oz sat in a silent circle at the round research table in the Magic Box. Willow was holding onto Oz’s hand, plucking nervously at his fingers, as she craned her neck to see past the Watcher’s Council guards into the backroom. The remains of the Scoobie Gang had come together at the magic shop, to compare notes on the Summers' girls' movements and possible current location. They had been startled to find the Watcher’s Council already in residence.

The news of Dawn and Buffy’s disappearance was hardly conveyed when the Slayer herself arrived. Buffy’s immediate collapse had set the stage for a shift of power. Quentin Travers and the other Watchers had sent Faith after Spike armed with a Holy Water purified sword. Buffy’s friends had been herded out of the training room, told only that the Slayer had disgraced herself and was dying.

“I wish they would let me back in there,” Willow said, plaintively. She turned pleading eyes toward Oz, asking, “Why won’t they let me see her? Maybe I could help! Do a spell? Brew a potion?”

“They got witches on the Council, Will,” Xander reminded, not unkindly. “But I still think they should let us be with her. If she's really going to…" his voice trailed off as he sighed and looked toward the guard. Glancing back at the group, he leaned in to suggest, "Anyone else up for storming the door?”

Oz raised one hand. Anya nodded her agreement.

“How do they know that Buffy’s going to die?” Willow exclaimed, with a desperate edge to her voice. “I mean...how would they...they can’t know that can they?”

“Definitely suspect,” Oz assured, in his unflappable drawl. “Seems like faulty forecasting to me.”

“It’s because they think that the prophecy about Lilith is coming true,” Anya explained, patiently to Oz, not appreciating the concept of a comforting lie. “The Night Monster will feed on the Slayer’s life force growing ever stronger as her vampire lover feeds on the blood of the innocent.”

“But not Dawnie, right?” Willow asked, in horror. She squeezed the fingers of Oz's hand, so hard he nearly flinched. “Spike wouldn’t feed on little Dawn?”

"Not Spike," Anya corrected, impatiently. "Lilith! She's growing inside him now, like a baby in the womb and…" Xander nudged Anya and shook his head, slightly. She broke off her commentary, looking over at him and then back at Willow's distraught face before quickly chirping, "It's probably all just a big misunderstanding," she favored the Wiccan woman with a beaming fake smile and added, "I'm sure Buffy isn't really dying even as we speak."

The guards at the door shifted, slightly, and the gang caught a glimpse of their friend's body; limp, seemingly lifeless, on the old training room sofa. Her complexion was ashen and her hair was plastered to her skin in a sweaty tangle.

Buffy tried to shift her position and failed. She felt drained, weak and hopeless. Each new breath took tremendous effort. She had no strength left in her trembling limbs, no fight in her at all. The bond with Spike was like a red tether, binding her to the source of all evil. A being that was dragging the life from her even as it consumed him.

Giles was talking to her, explaining things, as the Council understood them. Her drinking of Spike's blood was ordained in the sacred text of the Rossi gli abiti. It was written, predicted…foretold in prophecy.

"'And one of this calling (the Slayer) shall die and be remade by the blood of the other,'" Giles quoted and then paused to illuminate for her, "Referring, we now believe, to your resurrection and Spike's part in it," he explained. Buffy gave a small gasp of understanding and Giles shifted on the arm of the sofa glancing worriedly at Travers.

The senior Watcher continued the remorseless translation, "'And they shall set aside their battle and find peace in one another. They shall not find pleasures of flesh, nor sustenance in blood, nor free hunting, nor any other thing which might quench or satisfy until they seek it in each other. But in the bed of conception they will twine together, sated and she will drink and they will open one another in every way imaginable, through body, mind, blood, the seed of the dragon blooming in the pearled damp swell of…'"

"Yes," Giles interrupted Travers, with a nervous cough. "Well, the gist is, Lilith was conceived when you drank from Spike without his drinking from you during your," his voice cracked and he gave his glasses a quick polish before forcing out the words, "Y-your time together. And unless Faith kills him…" he trailed off again.

"…BEFORE sunrise," Travers finished the thought. He cleared his throat, pointedly, and quoted, "'The First One, Blessed of the Night (Lilith) will be reborn and the plague of Humanity will be washed away. When the first glimmer of light from the new day touches the Cuore Della Notte, all that is Holy will be cast out and all that is Unholy remade in the image of the Night Monster.

“Giles,” Buffy called, weakly. Her former watcher leaned in, very close, to catch her labored whisper, “Faith…can’t…kill Spike.”

“Buffy,” Giles soothed, gently pushing the damp hair from her forehead, “I’m so sorry. I know what he means to you. I know this is all very painful but there really is no other way to stop Lilith from rising.”

“No!” the Slayer corrected him with some force as she struggled to sit up. “I mean, Faith isn’t capable of killing him," she gasped out, falling back. "She doesn’t have the skill.”

“Faith is an accomplished Slayer,” Travers said, dispassionately. “If she defeats this beast we will arrange for her release from prison. She will have her freedom. If she fails she will die with the rest of us. I think that is enticement enough for her to succeed.”

Buffy coughed on her laugh. She took in a couple shuddering breaths and managed a sneer as she said, “Spike has killed two of your ‘accomplished Slayers', already." Talking about her love brought a small smile to her face. It seemed to strengthen her and she pushed herself upright, nearly sliding back but bracing against Giles, as she continued, "And he has trained with me for the past three years. I can beat Faith. I'm not sure I can beat him.”

“You are hardly in a position to judge other Slayers," Travers' barked. "Your distressing fascination with this particular demon is well documented and has led to this…"

“Yes, Thank You, Quentin!" Giles snapped, glaring at the Council President. "Remarkably sensitive, as usual."

Buffy’s former Watcher had a tight grip on her elbow. It was all that was keeping her from sliding bonelessly to the floor. Giles was painfully aware that his dear friend was dying. There was nothing he could do to stop it. The thing Spike incubated in his body was feeding on Buffy’s life force, eating away at her like a cancer. Every second ticking by saw Lilith growing stronger and the Slayer growing weaker. Buffy, leaned into him, as she tried to gain her feet. After a bit of scrambling, she dropped back to the sofa, exhausted. Her muscles were shaking uncontrollably but her voice, when she spoke, was as fiery as the red light in her eyes.

“Faith is going to die!” she declared, without a touch of doubt.

“Then we are all dead,” Travers’ returned, just as certain in his pronouncement as the Slayer was in hers.

“Not if you help me,” Buffy reasoned. “I can stop this.”

“You?” Travers scoffed. “You can’t even stand under your own power. What possible advantage do you think you would have over Faith?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy replied, with a touch of her usual spunk, “Maybe the ‘distressing fascination’ runs both ways.”

“You think you could get through to Spike?” Giles asked, taking her meaning. “Bring his personality to the surface? Possibly weaken Lilith?”

“Ridiculous,” Travers dismissed, with a sharp wave of his hand. “We are talking about a demon, a vampire. It exists only to feed and propagate. It has no ‘personality’ for her to influence.”

“But isn’t it worth a try?” Buffy challenged, concentrating her attention on Giles and, silently, urging him to help. “If I could distract him, even for a second, Faith might find an opening.”

“And isn’t it more likely that you simply want to assist your Demon Lover?” Travers asked, snidely. His cold gaze almost pierced her skin as he lectured, “You have always had a weakness for these creatures. Do you think that the filthy thing feels as you do? That it loves you? It is incapable of love. Incapable of any higher emotion or complex thought. It exists to perpetuate itself and to inflict pain and suffering. A vampire is less self aware than an animal.”

“You know nothing about Spike…about any of them,” Buffy said, quietly, her tone more pitying than angry. “You never have. All of your training and watching and researching has left you with so little understanding.”

“And what would you have us understand?” Travers inquired. His sweeping look included the other Watchers in his remark.

“That what the soul gives us is the ability to chose our path,” Buffy replied, with renewed vigor. "It frees us from Destiny. It gives us remorse and compassion and the promise of eternal bliss. It guides us. A vampire has no guide, but that doesn’t mean it can’t love. Love isn’t good or evil. Love is a separate force and it doesn’t discriminate. It can destroy as easily as it creates. I think I'm proof of that. Even the most unworthy creature can love. And be loved in return. Maybe we were given souls so we could guide the soulless one's who love us. Maybe we can free them too.”

A bout of coughing wracked the Slayer’s body forcing her to stop talking. Only Giles’ arm around her shoulders kept her upright. After a time, she wiped a trickle of blood from her mouth and continued her plea.

“Please," she begged, letting go of her pride in her effort to persuade them as she struggled again to stand. “You don't have to help me, just let me go to my friends. Spike loves me. I know he will hear me."

She fell to the floor but started forward on her hands and knees. Travers blocked her way and she ground out her defiance between clenched teeth, "You know…I could use a little help here but unless you’re planning to hold me down, get the Hell out of my way.

"Buffy," Giles began, but the Slayer cut him off.

"I am going to him, Giles. If I have to crawl," she growled. "This thing…it's killing both of us and all I want to do is make it stop.”

Giles was at her side in a second, lifting her up, steadying her as he asked the other Watchers, "What do we have to lose?"

Travers sighed, giving ground. Then, unexpectedly, he stepped around to take Buffy's elbow on the opposite side from Giles.

“Very well," the Senior Watcher said. "You may try to influence this…SPIKE. But," his voice dropped into a low warning register, "do not interfere with Faith in her duties while you test your theories about,” he sighed, again, “soulful love.”

The gruff old man gave the Slayer the smallest of smiles as she looked up at him in surprise. Giles put an arm around her waist and offered his shoulder as a crutch. Buffy slid one foot forward and then the other. Slowly, the little group made their way across the training room, through the shop door and out to the waiting Scoobies. Willow was first out of her chair, reciting a quick strengthening spell for her friend. Xander, Oz and Anya rushed to offer their assistance, closing in a protective circle around the Slayer.

“Wake the girl,” Saul commanded, as Spike finished off a third bowl of blood. “When she stirs he will be drawn to her.”

One of the acolytes leaned over Dawn and blew a puff of sweet powder into her face. Spike turned to look at the girl as she began to flail about. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. He was dressed in a ceremonial loincloth and his body had been painted with archaic symbols. His eyes were crimson and his mouth was wet with blood.

Screaming into alertness, the Slayer’s baby sister sat up, abruptly.

"Willow," she yelled and without hesitation, Spike sprang at her causing a collective sigh to go up from the half-dozen monks. The blond vampire yanked the teenager into a close embrace and bit into her throat for the second time that night.

“Bring him another meal,” Saul ordered. “Quickly! This one won’t last long.”

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