My response to the following challenge from *S_Star* and Mia Devine/Isabella Stardust:

"Somethin' Cupid

Cupid intervenes in Buffy and Spike’s love life in any way, any season or even AU. Causing them to eventually end up together. Could be a stand alone or a series.

Must include either :

1)Spike having chocolate licked from his *gorgeous* body. OR 2) A vampire animal or demonic animal of some kind (preferably a small, tabby cat)

Happy writing! *S_Star*"



* * * * *

Title: Shot in the Dark

Author: Tiana

Reviews: Would you? Really? That would be so nice. If you want to email me: tianabelle@hotmail.com Disclaimer: I don’t own the rights to Spike, Buffy or any other BTVS characters. Damn it.

Distribution: Just ask at tianabelle@hotmail.com.

Summary: Set Season 4, Post-Doomed/A New Man, except there is NO RILEY. Cupid, on a bet from his mortal love, Psyche, decides to play matchmaker with our two favorite mortal enemies: Buffy and Spike

Rating: NC-17. No peeking if you’re not old enough.

* "It is easy to dodge a spear in the daylight, but it is difficult to avoid an arrow in the dark." -Chinese Proverb *



* * * * * Chapter 1: Place Your Bets * * * * *



* * * * Somewhere not of Earth

"Psyche, love. I’m bored." Cupid flips onto his back, sprawling on the satin-covered bed. Psyche strolls by, dragging her fingers up his arm.

"Sweetie, what do you mean? Bored with what?" Her voice is gently inquisitive.

"It’s just too easy. I shoot the arrows, boy loves girl, girl loves boy, blah blah blah. I need...I need a challenge."

Psyche perches on the edge of the bed, her luxurious blonde curls trailing down her back, her shimmering robes catching the moonlight streaming through the window as her delicate brow furrows in thought. Finally, her deep brown eyes light up. "Darling, I have just the thing. Let me go to Earth and find a challenge for you! I will seek out the two most difficult people to match and let you try. We can wager on it, even. You make them fall in love and...I’ll do whatever you want." Her eyebrows lift in suggestion and a wide grin cracks Cupid’s handsome face.

"Well, that leaves me with some very good ideas. And if I fail?" His green eyes twinkle at his mortal love. "What will be the price of my failure?"

"I’ll make you dress up in that diaper everyone thinks you wear when you shoot the arrows of love." Her laughter warms the room. Cupid can’t help but laugh along.

"It’s a deal, darling. Are you ready, then?"

"No, wait. I need to put on something more mortal-looking. I mean, I am human, after all." Cupid gestures at her, his powers as the god of love making the change effortless. Pysche looks down at her new revealing outfit and shakes her head. "Love, more fabric, please? I’m not going down there to pick up men, after all."

"Oh, right, sorry. I just love you in that outfit. How about..." He waves his hand again and Psyche is revealed in jeans and a button-up white shirt. "Boring, but appropriate, right?" He sighs.

She smiles at him. "Yes, sweetie. This will do. Now, if you will? I’ll even let you pick the location."

His smirk reveals the inner workings of Cupid’s mind. With a snap of his fingers, his lady love disappears.

* * * * *

Sunnydale Cemetery, 1 a.m.

"Spike, that’s it. I’m going home." Buffy shakes her head, tucks her stake in her waistband and starts toward Revello Drive. Spike bounces around her, shadow-boxing the air.

"Oh, c’mon, Slayer! Just gettin’ the juices flowin’! Let’s find more demons and vamps to take down. Evil is seriously afoot, I can tell." He gives a half-grin. Buffy is more than a little annoyed about spending time with the blond vampire. *Giles’ stupid idea.*

"Spike, the only evil afoot here is you. Now, get going before I regret bringing you with me any more than I already do. I’m tired. Go home." Spike frowns at the tiny and angry Slayer.

" ‘Ey! That’s gratitude for ya. I came to help you patrol! Turn back the tide of hell, rescue kittens from trees and so on."

Buffy rolls her eyes, hands on hips. "Please. You only came because you missed the violence. Don’t pretend it’s anything else. You’re a blood-sucking killer, plain and simple. You like to kill. That’s the only reason I didn’t have to pay you to help me."

"What’s your point, blondie?" He smirks at her.

Buffy sighs in frustration, throws her hands up in the air. She opens her mouth to say something else to Spike, but thinks better of it and walks away, muttering under her breath. "I don’t have time for this. I don’t WANT to have time for this."

He calls after her rapidly retreating form, "Slayer, you’re wound so bloody tight, I don’t know how you can walk straight!" She only accelerates her pace, shaking her head. Spike watches her stalk towards home while fumbling through his pockets. Finally locating the pack, he pulls out a cigarette and lights up. "Irritating little chit. I can do better on my own, anyway." He strolls off, smoke wafting behind him, duster swinging.

Quiet finally falls on the cemetery. From behind a nearby crypt, Psyche steps out. She turns left and peers after the petite blonde Slayer, striding purposefully for home. Then, she looks right after the swaggering blond vampire, heading towards unknown quarters for more mayhem. She smiles and says quietly, "Well, that was easy." She touches the amber amulet around her neck and suddenly vanishes as quickly and unnoticed as she had arrived.

* * * * *

Psyche claps her hands, bouncing giddily around the chamber. Cupid reclines on his luxuriant chaise, watching her dance, a small smile playing on his lips.

"That was quick, my love. You had some success?"

"You didn’t watch? I thought you would watch!"

"I wanted to build some suspense. What did you think of Sunnydale? Interesting place, hmm?" He raises his eyebrows at her questioningly.

"Oh, you mean all the demons and vampires and such? Very interesting, indeed. I stumbled upon the perfect pair almost immediately. I followed them around for a little while and they fought endlessly! Both with demons AND each other. It was fabulous fun. I think they would both rather die than fall in love with each other!" She flops victoriously on to the end of Cupid’s lounge, cheeks flushed with excitement. "Shall we start? I can hardly wait to see the sparks fly. Because, I can guarantee you, there will be sparks!" Psyche giggles, tucking a long golden curl behind her ear.

Cupid sits up, leaning close to her angelic face. "Of course. Let the fun begin." He stands up and strides to a large pool of water set into the stone floor at the end of their silken bed. "Their names, darling?"

"One was called Buffy and the other Spike. Oh, and here’s the best part. I almost forgot. She’s the Vampire Slayer! And he..." Her grin threatens to crack her face wide open. "He is a Vampire!"

Cupid runs his hands through his short hair, making it stick up every which way. "Oh, you are good. This will be very tricky, my dear. Ah, but a deal is a deal. I made no qualifications on the identity of the pair. We‘ll just have to hope she doesn‘t stake him before the bet is won." He winks at Psyche and waves his hand over the pool and an image begins to form. It is Buffy, sprawled on her bed, still fully dressed and already fast asleep.

Cupid smiles. "Excellent. Humans are so much more susceptible to suggestion when they are sleeping. Now, based on what you‘ve said, I‘m thinking I‘ll start with an arrow of lust, rather than love. If I can make them simply want each other, love will be my next step. Besides, a bit of unbridled lust, always fun to watch." He grins wickedly, as he reaches for his gilt bow and his quiver of golden arrows. Cupid pulls out one with a fiery red tip. With aim grown true from years of practice, he looses an arrow into the pool and straight to Buffy’s heart. She starts up, her hand to her chest, where there is...nothing. She winces, writes it off to Slaying aches and pains, and relaxes back into sleep.

Before too long, she begins to dream. Psyche comes over to watch over Cupid’s shoulder at the Slayer. Buffy’s breathing begins to accelerate, her hands running over her breasts, pulling her shirt open, one hand trailing down to her pants. Suddenly, she starts up again into full alertness, panting. She shakes her head, mutters under her breath. "Okay, that was disturbing. I mean, Spike? Yech. I’ve got to cut back on the caffeine." Rattled, she gets up, changing out of her slaying clothes and into cream silk pajamas. "Should talk to Willow about after-effects of that do-thy-will spell. I can’t have images like that in my head. UNacceptable." Buffy turns the covers back and crawls into bed. Eventually, she finds a fitful sleep as the curious pair observes her from somewhere in the heavens.

Cupid waves away the scene of Buffy sleeping and turns to Psyche. "This is going to be harder than I thought. And what spell is she talking about?" Psyche shrugs. "Hmm. Well, I better start on the other half." He gestures to the pool and finds a fully awake Spike, pacing his crypt. His duster is tossed aside on a sarcophagus. A few scattered pieces of furniture are in the crypt. "Figures. Vampires don’t sleep at this time of night..." Cupid is interrupted by Spike’s sudden outburst.

"Can’t bloody believe I’m reduced to helping the Slayer and her pathetic sidekicks. If I ever get this chip out..." Spike punches the nearest wall. He licks the blood off his knuckles, a tight grimace on his face. "Will be my soddin’ pleasure to tear the Slayer into tiny Buffy bits." His grimace stretches into a devilish smile at the thought.

Cupid swallows. "Psyche! You weren’t kidding. These two don’t just not like each other, they HATE each other. This is going to be...great!" His eyes light up. "Not boring in the least, and isn’t that the point?" She kisses him on the cheek.

"Have fun, lover. I’ll be turning in." Psyche snuggles in the bed as Cupid leans over the pool, reaching for a fresh arrow for his bow.

Chapter 2:

After another sweep through the cemetery for a few more demon encounters, Spike returns to his crypt, bloody, shirt torn, but satisfied.

"Now, THAT was fun!" Spike flings himself into an armchair, lately acquired from the dump. "Slayer wouldn’t whine so much if she just took a little more pleasure in her work." He stretches his arms out, yawning. "All this violence leaves a fella a bit knackered, though. Dawn must be coming, too."

Spike squints at the wall of the crypt, as if he could peer through the stone and see the deadly sun creeping over the horizon. Regardless, he can feel the sunlight coming, sapping his energy.

"Nothing for it then to sleep, then." Using his duster as a pillow, he lies down on top of a sarcophagus. Before long, his unnecessary breathing stills completely as he slips into sleep.

* * * * *

Cupid, chin on his hand, finally perks up. "Heavens, I thought he would NEVER go to sleep." He reaches for his bow and arrow again, now that his target has become more vulnerable. Bowstring pulled taut, Cupid lets the arrow fly at Spike’s undead heart. As it strikes, he calls to Psyche, "Love, do you want to see the vampire’s reaction? Should be interesting." Pysche stirs from her nap and comes to perch next to her lover, peering into the still pool.

Spike jerks upright at the sudden pain in his chest. His hand goes to his heart and finds nothing. However, he immediately begins to breathe faster. "Cor, ‘s weird. Can’t bloody well have a heart attack without a beating heart..." Spike is distracted by the strange sensations beginning to radiate through his body, his undead heart the source.

A warmth trickles down his chest and he rips his shirt open, half-expecting to see blood. But no, the feeling is internal. He runs his hands down his abs, following the sensation. It reaches his cock, which immediately springs to life, straining against the constraint of his black jeans. He groans, the suddenness of his erection nearly painful. The warmth continues to flow through his body, causing him to twitch and moan. He quickly unzips his jeans, releasing his throbbing cock, wondering at this dramatic reaction to...nothing?

Just as quickly, images begin to flash through his mind. Taut, bronze skin stretched over a narrow back, the groove of the spine catching the light. Small, pert breasts glistening with sweat, the droplets running down the finely toned abs. Tiny fingers caressing his face, his neck. Blond hair swinging to cover a face as this phantom straddles him in his mind. Exquisite moans as she rises and falls over his naked torso. Faster and faster, he clutches for her in his vision as his hands slide over his cock more and more quickly. Finally, with one great yell, he comes as his imaginary sex kitten screams and claws his chest. She throws her hair back and...

"Buffy!" Spike sits bolt upright, shaking his head furiously. He stares at the disarray of his clothes, the sticky wetness covering his chest. More disturbing are the visions in his head. "The Slayer? What the hell?!" He quickly jumps up, zipping his jeans. Grabbing his nearby shirt, he wipes off his chest and throws it into the corner. As he does when he is agitated, Spike paces the crypt.

"Sex dreams ‘bout the Slayer? That’s just wrong. Want to kill her, not shag her...though she does have the tightest little.. NO!" He roars in frustration, running both hands through his short blond hair. "What is this? She was...I wonder if she really looks...oh god. This has to stop right bleedin’ now . I don’t want her stupid hair and short little legs and perfect breasts running through my... WHOA! Okay. Simmer down, Spike. Just a dream." He turns in tighter circles, hands on hips as he tries to regain control. "Just a bloody dream. Sometimes violence makes me horny, that’s all. Yes, that’s it. Had the nice big fight after a long lay-off - saw her tonight - so, she was just convenient. Convenient. Yep. And hot. DAMMIT!!" With renewed vigor, Spike paces, trying to ignore his completely unnatural, but accelerated breathing.

* * * * *

Psyche jumps up, clapping her hands in excitement. "That is so great, sweetie! Look, he went from loathing her to coveting her in no time. I think he still wants to kill her, but it takes time, right?" Her curls bounce as she jumps to her feet.

"That’s right, my dear. The arrows are quite powerful, but of a limited duration. I will let them simmer in these feelings for a few days before I replenish. They won’t know what hit them." Cupid reaches forward, waves his hand over the pool, blurring the image of the agitated vampire, still pacing.

* * * * *

Buffy’s House, Morning

Buffy stretches long and hard, feeling satisfied. The sunlight pours through her windows, warming her bare skin. Bare skin? She looks down, suddenly remembering why she feels so satisfied. Her pajama top is ripped open, her silky bottoms loosened and wrinkled.

"Ohhh crap." Buffy covers her eyes as the memories come back in detail.

Images of the blond vampire she hates dance through her mind. His ripped abs under her hands, his muscular arms gripping her. His lips kissing her in many, many places. An unconscious shiver runs through her body at the thought. "Stupid dream. I mean, gross. So so not of the good." Her hands go to button her pajama top and she discovers most of the buttons are gone from being forcibly ripped open. "And I just bought these. Oooh, I hate him. Hate him, hate him, hate him! Him and his piercing blue eyes and tight little...ARGHHH!" She pounds her fists into the bed in frustration. "I am NOT attracted to that evil, bloodsucking thing. It’s just inconvenient that he has killer cheekbones. Truly truly inconvenient." Buffy sighs. "Dammit."

She struggles out of bed and heads for the bathroom. "Hot shower will wash away the bad. Just a fluke dream thing. I need a boyfriend. Yeah, that’s it. Boyfriend. A LIVE one." Buffy turns on the water, making it a bit hotter than normal. She drops the pajamas to the floor and steps into the steamy shower. She soon realizes how hot her dream truly was. Her nipples are sore and her thighs covered in her own juices. With a gentle hand, she washes her sensitive breasts and works the washcloth between her legs. Buffy’s eyes slip closed as she massages the still swollen area. Unbidden, Spike’s glinting eyes appear in her mind. His naked body gleaming under the spray of water, bleached hair wet and curly. He reaches for her, pulling her closer, his hand goes down to her thigh, slowly sliding up to meet hers. His strong fingers work inside her, his thumb rubbing her clit in time. Buffy slumps against the cool tile wall, eyes closed, lips parted. Her fingers bring her closer to the edge, though her mind tells her it is him. Spike is holding her against the wall with one hand, the other driving her around the bend. His soft lips press against her neck, gently kissing his way down her jugular. She starts to shake, her breath catching as she comes closer and closer to orgasm. Finally, with a furious drive, she feels the ripples course through her pelvis and she cries out.

A knock at the door shatters the illusion. Spike disappears as her Mom’s voice carries through the door of the bathroom. "Buffy? Are you okay in there?"

Buffy scrambles for the water, turning it off. Still shaky, she calls back, "I’m fi-ine, Mom. Almost done."

"I didn’t know you were staying over here last night‘til I heard the shower. Everything okay at the dorm?"

Buffy stumbles out of the shower, reaching for a towel. "Oh yeah, I was just patrolling late and decided to crash here...it’s closer to the cemetery." She peeks out the door and smiles at her Mom. " ‘morning, by the way." Joyce smiles back. "Good morning, sweetie. Want some breakfast? I can make pancakes."

"Sounds great. I’ll be down in two shakes." Buffy clicks the door closed and leans against it, trying to slow her breathing to normal. "If that stupid vamp didn’t have a chip, I would stake him for making me feel this way. So so wrong." She continues to dry herself off, forcing her mind to other topics beside Spike, completely unaware that the subject of her anger is across town fighting the same unwelcome lust with a vengeance.

************
 

* * * * * Chapter 3: No Substitute for the Real Thing * * * * *

Spike’s Crypt, early afternoon



Spike continues to pace, periodically taking swigs from a quickly emptying bottle of whiskey. He mutters under his breath, "Tiny little neck, should be easy to snap, but no. Little girl, big power. Totally bleedin’ unfair, it is." He has spent half the day in this state, barely able to sleep without waking up in a cold sweat, visions of Buffy dancing in his head. Slowly, the effects of exhaustion and too much whiskey are helping him towards unconsciousness. He slumps into his beat-up armchair, the bottle dangling from his fingers. Spike’s platinum curls rest against the chair, his head pounding from the thoughts that torture him. Buffy. The Slayer. His mortal enemy. Yesterday, it was easy. He wanted her dead. Now, he just wants her. He closes his eyes and rather than sleep, he finds unconsciousness. The bottle drops from his limp hand as he finally finds peace. For now.

* * * * *

U C Sunnydale, History class

For the third time in an hour, Buffy drops her pencil. Willow glances sharply at her friend, wondering at her distractedness. As Buffy leans down to pick it up, she hopes her hair hides how flushed she is. Dammit. She looks down at her notebook, noticing it has happened again. In the margins of her notes, doodles. But not just any doodles. The last one that made her drop her pencil...a heart with the name Spike drawn in it. Buffy takes her pencil and scribbles at the heart, pressing so hard she rips the page in half. Willow turns to Buffy again, eyes wide. Finally, mercifully, the bell rings. Buffy scrambles to grab her belongings and get out of the suddenly too-hot room. She gets halfway to the door before she feels a hand on her arm.

"Buffy?" Buffy stops, eyes closed. She can’t face Willow like this and she sure as hell can’t tell her why she is acting so odd. With a small sigh, she turns to her dear friend. "Are you okay? You were acting a bit wiggy in class."

Striving for nonchalance, Buffy smiles. "I’m fine, Will. Just, that class is so boring. And uh, I was up late slaying. Plus, isn’t it extra hot in here?" She stops rambling. "Also, it may be that I have a fever. With the flushed cheeks and all."

Willow’s eyebrows knit together in concern. "Well, you are kind of red in the face, Buffy. Maybe you should head back to the room and lie down."

"NO!" Willow jumps at Buffy’s vehemence. "Can’t lie down. It makes me feel, uh, funny. And not funny ha-ha, funny weird."

"Right, well. Can I do something for you?"

"Sure, let’s get some lunch, that should be distracting... I mean, delicious." Buffy strains to grin and take Willow by the arm, dragging her to the cafeteria. She mutters under her breath, "I will stake him for this. Right after I take him...ARGH!"

"Buffy?!" Willow jumps at Buffy’s sudden exclamation of frustration.

"Fine, fine, Willow. Thought I, uh, saw a mouse. Big fuzzy one. Yech. Let’s go."

Willow trails Buffy, shaking her head. Girl is acting seriously weird.

* * * * *

That night...

Spike groans, rubbing his hand over his face as he struggles to consciousness. The alcohol is wearing off. He feels that the air in the crypt has grown colder and the light even dimmer. Finally, it’s nighttime. He needs to get out of the close air in here, shake the memories of the day, fight his craving for Buffy. Only, now he might actually see the object of his anger/affection in living flesh. He sighs, body shuddering as he pictures her in the moonlight. Spike slams his hand on the arm of the chair. "No. I’ll just avoid the bleedin’ cemetery tonight. If I don’t see her, maybe I can get these ridiculous thoughts out of my head. I can find other things to do, not that pathetic." The blond vampire snatches up his duster and makes for the door. He is torn. Most of him wants to tear the town apart ‘til he finds the petite Slayer and acts out every fantasy he’s had in these dozen hours. Of course, he would be a pile of dust formerly known as Spike before he got through fantasy number one. "Rather not get staked just yet. For my own sake, I’ve got to avoid the bloody bint." He slams the crypt door open and stalks off into the night, hoping he is heading in the opposite direction of Buffy.

* * * * *

"Patrolling tonight?"

"What? No!" Buffy jerks up from her reading at Willow’s suggestion. "I mean, no. I don’t feel like it." She looks down at her psych book and the page she has been reading for the past twenty minutes. "In fact, I don’t feel like studying, either. Wanna Bronze it?"

Willow looks at her book, then at her roommate with the hopeful smile. "Well, alright. Not too late, though. I’ve got a paper to finish up."

"Sure, sure. Let’s go!" Buffy hops up, grabs her jacket and pulls Willow out the door.

* * *

The Bronze, 11 p.m.

"Another Coke, Willow?" Buffy plops down on the stool next to Willow, slightly out of breath. Willow, head on her chin and poking her straw absently into a glass of ice, gives her friend a look of slight exasperation.

"No thanks, Buff. I think I better hit the road. Homework? Remember that? And besides, aren’t you tired? You’ve been dancing all night..." Willow continues under her breath, "...with every guy within a five mile radius, too..."

Buffy, distracted by the wide selection of men around her, turns back to Willow. "What was that? Yes? I’ll get you one." Buffy starts to bounce back up, but Willow grabs her arm, guiding her back onto the stool.

"Buffy! Look at me." With great effort, Buffy turns her eyes on her redheaded friend. "I’m going home." Willow makes little walking fingers with one hand, demonstrating her intentions for her fickle-minded friend. "Are you staying?"

Buffy nods, trying very hard to listen. All she can think about is a certain blond vampire and everything else is a bit blurry. "See you at home?" There, that was a reasonable response.

"Buff, are you okay? Should I take you with me?" Will looks around, but Buffy hasn’t actually been drinking. She’s just one tiny, but potent ball of energy tonight. Probably extra oomph from not slaying.

Waving her hand in dismissal, Buffy laughs, "Heck no, Will. I’m having fun. You go, get some sleep. I’ll be home later on."

Still unsure, Will gathers her things and stands up. "Have fun. Okay, but not too much fun. Or be careful having it. You know what I mean." A crooked smile and a wave and Willow is gone into the crowd. Buffy turns back to the press of bodies, scanning for her next victim...dance partner. Next dance partner. She spots a blond head in the crowd and her heart flies into her throat. He turns and she realizes it is not Spike, just a regular guy. She cocks her head a bit and mumbles, "Looks a teeny tiny bit like him, that’ll do for now." Unable to understand her insatiable appetite for Spike, Buffy is trying substitutes on for size. Anything to keep her mind off him. Evil, bloodsucking, delectable Spike. Crap.

She pops off the stool and sashays toward the blond undergrad in question. Tapping him on his arm, she turns on megawatt charm. "Care to dance, cutie?" Her pearly whites flash at him and he immediately follows her onto the dance floor to a throbbing rock number.

* * * * *

Meanwhile.

"Bollocks. Every soddin’ thing I do makes me think of her. Need a drink." Spike pushes the metal door open and steps into the crowded bar, full of warmth and bodies pressed against each other. Stepping up to the bar, Spike slaps down a few bills. "Whiskey. Shot. Keep it comin’." The bartender nods, pours out a shot and slides it over. Spike slams it and pushes the glass back to the bartender. After repeating this routine a half dozen times, he feels the artificial warmth of the whiskey permeating his body, even giving his skin a bit of heat. He holds up his hand, stopping the bartender from refilling his glass. "Enough for now, mate. Thanks." Nodding, the burly bartender wanders down to another customer. Spike turns, leaning back and resting his elbows on the bar, surveying the crowd on the dance floor. After a few seconds, his throat goes suddenly and completely dry.

Buffy.

On the dance floor. Moving like he’s never seen her move before. He swallows. She’s wearing a barely there black dress, skinny straps and short. Her hair pulled back so her delicate neck is completely exposed. Spike swallows again and clumsily reaches back for his glass. Reaching it, he taps it gently and then louder on the bar. The bartender, hearing his cue, walks back over and fills it again. Spike takes the shot and drops the glass again. Buffy doesn’t see him, so he takes a chance to keep watching her. She smiles up at the wanker she’s dancing with, some dumb college boy with no clue who he has hanging all over him. Her hands trail down his arms, and as the music slows, she moves closer. Her hips swivel against the guy and Spike has to clutch the bar with one hand while demanding a shot with the other. Full of whiskey and a blinding lust, Spike feels himself moving towards her. Her bronze skin, luring him ever closer with every gyration. He stops on the edge of the dance floor, fists clutching. Abruptly, he makes for the edge of the floor and a table. Facing away from the floor, he sits and shakes, half in anger and half with raging desire for the petite blonde a few yards away. His shoulders tighten, stretching his leather duster across his back as he tries to fight down his urges. Just as he feels his artificial breathing slow down, a warm hand touches his shoulder, runs down his arm. A hot breath whispers into his ear.

"Care to dance, handsome?"
 

* * * * * Chapter 4: Come Here Often? * * * * *



Spike grimaces and mutters, "Sorry, luv, no can...." As he turns to glance at the girl in question, his words die in his throat. Her hand withdraws quickly as if she was burned.

"Spike!" Buffy’s cheeks flush crimson red as she takes a few stumbling steps backwards. "Uh...uh...didn’t know it was you, um, gotta go." She spins on her heel and makes a break for the ladies’ room. Spike stares at her, mouth slightly agape. Buffy wanted to dance with him? But wait, she didn’t know it was him, just thought it was...another platinum blond with a leather duster? Weird. Without pausing to think too much more, Spike leaps from the stool, following the Slayer as she flees.

He catches up to her in the dark hallway leading to the restrooms. Spike reaches out, putting one hand on her shoulder, trying to slow her flight. Buffy shrieks, jumps away from his contact. "Spike! What the hell are you doing!?" She slowly backs away from him, finally reaching the wall and stopping.

Spike notices her cheeks are still red and her heartbeat is racing. He cocks his head, realizing she is even more intoxicating in person than in his dreams. A low growl in his throat silences his inner voice for the moment.

"Funny you should ask that, Slayer. I was wondering the same of you. Bit late for a school night, isn’t it?" His eyes are dark, intense despite his playful words and it is making her squirm. She sees his glance flick down her body, assessing her rather revealing outfit and the body within it. Buffy is torn between anger and arousal at his obvious appraisal. Strangely enough, arousal wins.

"I’m a big girl, Spike. Can take care of myself, don’t you think?" Buffy looks up at Spike through her eyelashes. Her mind is screaming at Buffy, telling her to stop flirting right this instant. Only she can’t. Or won’t.

Spike is slightly taken aback. He wasn’t even sure exactly what he planned to do when he followed her, he just knew he couldn’t let her escape. Logic is taking a backseat to his more basic instincts this close to her. The perfume of her body is making his head swim. Sunlight, youth and suddenly sexuality assaults his senses. And she is not running off, she is in fact, looking at him in a most interesting way.

"Yeah, sure, pet. Just don’t see you here too often. And dancing. Didn’t know you still danced."

"Oh, but I do. I love to dance." Buffy remains against the wall, but somehow Spike feels like she has moved closer to him. Her voice is almost a purr. Whatever has made him lust after Buffy the last 24 hours is kicking into overdrive, amplified by her proximity to him.

"That so?" Spike swallows, fighting his urge to grab ahold of her and pull her body against his. He is grateful she cannot read his body’s signals like he can read hers. She is aroused by his presence and it is doing a number on his self-control. Buffy’s eyes are glazed over, as if she is not quite there.

"Yes, that’s so." Buffy feels her pulse racing as Spike looks at her with those deep blue eyes. She knows she should be running away from him, she hates him. Only she can’t quite make her legs work that direction. In fact, she realizes belatedly that she has, in fact, taken a step closer to Spike. Buffy wonders when the world begin to tilt off-kilter. And why is Spike looking at her that way? He hates her with the same white-passion that she does him. Only. Only, God, he’s so cute. So hot. Buffy takes another step, brain sending alarm signals as she comes within his arm’s reach.

Spike fights to keep his arms at his sides as she slowly moves towards him. She is close enough to him that he can feel the heat radiating off her petite body. He imagines what her skin would feel like, soft, warm, pliable under his hands. The steady pulse beating , pumping in time with his desire.

A new song begins, a slow, pounding number. Both Buffy and Spike pause, the only sound the music around them. They are alone in the dim hallway, but the music reaches them through the thin walls. Simultaneously, Buffy’s hand reaches out to Spike’s as his arm snakes around her waist. As their hands meet, and he finds her bare back, the skin on skin contacts elicits a shudder from both. Her fingers wrap around his hand as his other arm pulls her roughly against his body. She molds her body to his, her head resting on his chest, face mere inches from his neck. Their clasped hands rest against his chest. Buffy’s other arm slides under Spike’s duster, grasping the fabric of his shirt. Her breathing is rapid, uneven.

Moving slowly in time to the music, Spike’s mind races. He has the Slayer in his arms, tender, gentle, completely vulnerable. Despite the chip, he could take a crack at her in this state. She is off-guard, clearly affected by something which has altered her judgment. What else could possibly explain her clutching her mortal enemy in this dark hall? Of course, he is not feeling quite himself either. Truth be told, he is as confused as she. He doesn’t want to drain her dry and leave her in this hallway. No, he wants to slam her body against the opposite wall, rip this black dress from her and have his way with her taut little body.

Buffy’s thoughts are in turmoil, as well. Why, oh why is she dancing with Spike? Spike!! Enemy, evil, thorn in her side. She can feel his muscular chest under her hand, pressed against her. He smells like danger, nighttime, sex and it makes her feel weak. And strong at the same time. As she presses even closer to Spike, she feels his arousal and smiles slowly. In her mind’s eye, she can see herself taking him down to the ground in this dank little hallway with one swift kick. Straddling him, ripping that shirt off and..

Buffy and Spike’s fantasies build to a fever pitch, and they suddenly push away from each other to opposite sides of the hall. Both panting, eyes wild, they stare across at each other, only a few feet apart. The fear and the lust is thick in the closed quarters and Buffy’s eyes dart around, like a trapped animal. Spike is frozen against the wall, unsure what to do next. Unsure and unsettled by the power of their desire, both make a break. Buffy takes off for the main floor of the Bronze, disappearing into the crowd. Spike watches her go and turns away himself, flinging himself out of the emergency exit and then flattening himself against it in the back alley.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" Spike puts both hands to his head, trying to calm himself and failing miserably. While she is still somewhat nearby, his body betrays him, straining, craving her. His mind fights for dominance as his hormones continue to shoot off the charts. He is horrified at how close he came to kissing her, caressing those soft shoulders, picking her up in his arms... Still, he had her writhing body right against his and there was no doubt what he picked up in the air. Arousal. She sometimes gave off the scent in a fight, but nothing like this. This was like getting hit with a brick. She wanted him, wanted him very badly.

Spike pushes off from the door and fumbles in his duster for his cigarettes and lighter. Finding one, he lights up, hands shaking. He wanted her too, there in the dark. And still does. He lifts his head sharply. The scent is still there, wafting toward his sensitive nose. Buffy. Like the predator he is, Spike stalks down the alley, following the scent. He reaches the corner and looks around it. Off in the distance, he sees her, lit by streetlight. Head down, arms wrapped around her chest, obviously distracted and upset. She stumbles a bit, and he watches her put out a hand to steady herself on a lamppost, leaning down to adjust the strap on her black strappy shoes. He groans to himself as he follows her movements. Was she aware how sexy she was? She didn’t act like it.

Spike comes around the corner and begins to follow her, keeping to the shadows. As she starts to walk again, he could tell she was lost in her thoughts. So lost she didn’t see the vamp coming out of an alley near her. Surely, she’s just playing dumb. She knows he is there. Spike hesitates, unsure if he should call out. The vamp is moving quickly towards her and he is not alone. Two vamps coming up behind Buffy. Why the hell wasn’t she reacting? Increasing his pace, Spike moves toward the group, tossing his cigarette aside. Could just let them have her, save him a lot of trouble. Only somehow, he can‘t. Just as the long-haired vamp leaps into action, Spike yells, "Oy! Buffy! Heads up, luv!" She turns suddenly towards the vamp right as he lands on her. They roll together on the pavement, struggling for the upper hand. Clearly, she is being hampered by her clothing and the element of surprise. Not to mention the apparent lack of a stake. The second vamp looks to get in on the action, but Spike tackles him to the ground a few feet away from Buffy and her attacker. A few well-placed punches later and the vamp is a pile of dust, courtesy of the stake Spike keeps in his duster. He gets up to see that Buffy has rolled on top of the vamp in question.

He calls out, "Slayer!" as the stake flies through the air. She looks at him just long enough to catch the stake, plunging it into the vamp in the same motion.

Spike walks up to Buffy as she is sprawled on the cold pavement in her short dress, the vamp dusted. He takes a deep, unnecessary breath, trying not to see how much of her legs are exposed in this position. She looks up as his hand reaches out to help her to her feet. Her eyes are wide, as she takes the help to stand. Dropping his hand, she straightens and pulls down her dress, standing awkwardly in front of Spike.

"Th-thanks, Spike. I didn’t see them. I was...uh...distracted." Her eyes dart up to his for a second, but then resume their study of the pavement between them.

"Right, well, you’re welcome, Slayer. Guess I should go." Spike turns to leave, body quivering in desire for her. Coming within a few feet of her causes his skin to vibrate in a most pleasant way, but he has to remember he hates her. Hates her and her stupid Scooby friends and their do-gooder ways. But bleedin’ hell, she is a goddess. He growls, hands into fists. Again, he feels her small, warm hand on his arm and he almost blacks out. Contact.

"Uh, Spike?" He turns to her, sees she is grimacing in pain. For the first time, he notices that she is bleeding from her side, her dress torn. Bloody vamp had a knife, it looks like. The smell of blood hits him, copper and heavenly. "I...I think I need help." Her eyes roll back as she starts to collapse. Spike leaps forward, catching her before she hits the pavement. He gathers her up in his arms, her head lolling back. She moans, coming quickly out of her faint. Spike groans. Things have gone from bad to worse. He wanted to avoid Buffy, avoid temptation. Instead, he now had her in his arms, barely dressed, weak as a kitten, with fresh Slayer blood staining his hands.

Adjusting the warm body in his arms, Spike turns towards his crypt. Buffy snuggles in closer, making small sounds of contentment despite her injury. He turns his eyes to the heavens, to whoever is listening. "If this is a joke, it’s not soddin’ funny!"


 

* * * * * Chapter 5: Walking a Thin Line * * * * *



Buffy struggles to stay conscious, aware of a shooting pain in her side and a very strange sensation of floating. Or being carried? Yes, that’s it, definitely being carried. An arm around her shoulders and one under her knees. Strong arms, she can feel the tightness in them as he holds her as still as possible, trying not to jostle her injury as he walks. A moment of panic flashes through Buffy’s mind as she figures out who is carrying her. Her eyes , adjusting to the darkness, pick up the platinum hair and black leather. Spike. She is being carried by Spike. The walking stops in response to her sudden squirming.

The voice is quiet, concerned and she can feel the vibration through his chest. "Buffy? You in pain, luv?" His tone is soothing and she settles back down.

"M’okay." She feels sleepy and light-headed. Probably a bit of blood loss to blame for that. "Where?"

"I’m taking you to my crypt, Slayer. Just to get you bandaged up, mind. Didn’t figure either your mum or Red would take too kindly to me bringing home a Slayer covered in her own blood."

"S’alright. Mum... Mom’s not home. Gallery trip." Spike hesitates at the thought of taking Buffy to her own bedroom, but it would be better to take her home. Then he could get away from her before something else happens between them. She’d be safe there. He sighs.

"Okay, Slayer. I’ll take you home." He turns towards Revello drive with his patient.

"Mm, ‘kay. Tired." Buffy’s eyes begin to slip closed. Spike stops walking, with alarm.

"Stay awake, Slayer. You might be in shock."

Buffy giggles. "No, you might be in shock." She is clearly out of it, but Spike decides to play along to keep her conscious.

"Me, pet? Why would I be in shock?" He resumes his pace, adjusting her slightly in his arms. A warm arm slides around his back, under his duster and he almost yelps. When the hand slides down to grab his butt, he does, in fact, yelp. "Slayer!!"

She giggles, but doesn’t move her hand. "See? Shock." Her eyes, pupils dilated, try to focus on his stunned face. "You feel nice."

Spike swallows, hard. "Buffy, please stop doing that." Her hand is travelling now, slipping under his shirt. Warm skin on his cool back makes him almost drop her in the middle of the street. "Buffy. Stop. I...I don’t want to drop you."

She purses her lips in a pout and pulls her hand out of his shirt. She doesn’t remove it from his back, though, and Spike can feel all five fingers burning into him. He closes his eyes for a second to calm down, but the images that flash through his mind rattle him further. Throwing her down right here and...well, that would likely shock her quite a bit. Remembering his desire to not be staked before the night is over, he continues walking. "You don’t know what you’re doing, Slayer. It’s the blood loss. Tomorrow, you’ll either hate me even more or want to stake me, so let’s just walk, eh?" He raises an eyebrow at her, wishing he could grab ahold of that bottom lip she is thrusting out so prettily.

Buffy struggles to form a sentence. "Do too know what I’m doing. You are so..." Her head drops back again and this time, Spike decides to let her stay out. Probably safer for all concerned. Slayer healing skills are already slowing the bleeding, so no need to worry too much.

Finally, Spike reaches Buffy’s house with the still-unconscious Slayer in his arms. After struggling through the front door , he manages to get her upstairs to her old bedroom. She moans slightly as he gently lays her down on her bed. Spike stands back to survey the scene. She is still bleeding lightly. Her dress is torn on the side and it looks like he can’t really get to the wound without taking it off. His fists clench and the muscle in his jaw twitches. "Has to be so bloody beautiful. Noooo, can’t have an unattractive Slayer, now can we?" As he talks, Spike bends to take off her shoes, slipping the straps off, his hands sliding down her delicate feet. He looks the dress over, trying to figure out how it comes off. His hands shake as he has to run his hands down the seam, looking for the zipper. Finally, he finds it down the side. The separating of metal makes an incredibly loud sound in the still room as he pulls it down as far as it goes.

"Oh god." He pulls his hands back. "Has to go over her head." Spike stops and throws off his duster to bend to this delicate task. His eyes flick to the Slayer’s face, looking for any sign of wakefulness and muttering, "Run me through on the spot if she comes awake during this. Fitting end. Horny vampire helps unconscious Slayer, gets staked in the process."

Leaning forward, he puts his hands on her thighs and nearly loses it right there. She moves a little, reacting to the coolness of his body. Her skin is soft and warm, smooth and tight. Sliding up slowly, he gathers her skirt and pushes it. His thumbs graze her panties and he feels the moisture there. Gritting his teeth, Spike continues on, revealing her taut belly and narrow waist. Suddenly, he jumps back as if burned. "Jesus, Buffy." No bra. "This is not good. I mean, it’s very very good, but oh god." Spike feels his world going slightly off-axis. The more he touches her, the more disoriented he feels.

Lust. Overwhelming lust threatens his sanity. A distant voice points out that he has revealed her stab wound. Through the miracle of Slayer healing, it has closed. Blood still glistens wet on her bronze skin and Spike finds himself equally woozy from the heady scent. His hand reaches slowly, slowly towards her side, the blood calling to him. His face flickers from human to vampire as he struggles for control. Slayer blood. Better than any other, an elixir of power and seduction. And he’s gone without human blood for months now. As his hand nearly reaches her recent injury, a smaller hand wraps around his wrist, stopping his progress.

"Spike." There is a slight question in the husky voice, but more of something else. Fighting his urge for the blood, Spike turns to Buffy. Her face is open, intense with longing as her eyes meet his. The blood pounds in his ears, so that he cannot almost not hear her above the roar. She pulls his hand towards her mouth. As her moist lips press against his palm, he starts to shake. He sees a tremor run through her half naked body. She is slipping into this maelstrom with him. Spike dips his head towards her, unable to keep his lips from hers a moment longer. Thoughts tumble over one another, alternately encouraging him and screaming at him to stop right this instant.

Buffy can’t quite focus her eyes. She knows she is in her bedroom and she is not alone. When she woke, the pain in her side was fading, but other sensations were striving to keep her body heated. Cool hands were on her, her dress being lifted. Her eyes opened to slits and she immediately knew the silver-white hair and lean body bending over her. He was being so gentle, and she had the sense to realize he was there to help her, to check on her pain. The blood, that’s where the blood came from. Also, she flashed back to grasping a tight, leather-covered butt and her cheeks flushed with high color at the thought. Nerve endings tingling, she sees his hand moving over her, towards her injury. She takes ahold of him, turning his attention to her face, kissing the palm of his hand. He seems startled, but hazy. His face moves closer and she tenses, waiting for the kiss.

Electricity. It courses through them both as their lips meet, super-heating their bodies and threatening to short-circuit their systems.

They moan in unison.

"Oh, Spike."

"Buffy."

They freeze, both their bodies crying for more, but their minds have awakened in this lust frenzy. They jerk away from each other and for the second time tonight, stare at the other, wondering what and why and how this could happen. Mortal enemies don’t end up half-naked together, making out. It simply isn’t done. Spike grabs for his duster, while making a move for the window as Buffy scrambles to cover herself with the coverlet. With one glance over his shoulder at the distraught Slayer, a paler than usual Spike climbs out the window. She hears him land lightly outside and his footsteps pound away. As the distance grows between them, her heartbeat slows slightly and the haze lifts a bit.

* * *

"Damn it!" Cupid slaps the water of his gazing pool, disrupting the image of Buffy in her dim bedroom. "I thought that was it for certain this time!" Psyche pops to her feet, clapping her hands.

"Oh, they are fun, aren’t they?! I knew this was going to be great."

Cupid eyes furrow in thought. "I’ve never seen anything like it. They should still be under the deepest influence of those lust arrows and yet..." He gestures at the water, where they’ve just witnessed an evening full of near misses. "I think I underestimated these two. Both their willpower and their confusing emotions toward each other. There’s something already there which is causing a great deal of turmoil."

"Yes, darling. It’s hate. They hate each other, remember?" Psyche grins at him.

"I know, I know. But have you ever seen a lust spell rattle two people in quite this way? It’s like...well, I just think it’s intriguing. They won’t get the best of me, though." Cupid leans over for his quiver of arrows.

Psyche squals in delight. "Already?! You’re going to dose them again so soon? But sweetie, it has only been 24 hours!"

"I know, but this is a special case. I won’t let them win. I’m the god here, right?" He winks at his love and withdraws two red-tipped lust arrows. "This should get very interesting, very fast. Grab a seat, my dear." Psyche perches on the edge of the pool. Through the magic invested in this water, both Buffy and Spike are visible. He is running towards his crypt while she sits stunned on her bed. Cupid loads his bow with both arrows and lets them fly into the still water. They separate and focus in on their individual targets. The force of the arrow knocks Spike to the ground as Buffy is flung back into her bed by hers, a new and more powerful heat burning them both from the inside out.

 

* * * * * Chapter 6: Release * * * * *



Spike clutches his chest, a burning pain there radiating outwards, warming him in a most unnatural way. "Bloody hell, what the..." He scrambles to his feet, still checking himself for injury and around him for an enemy. His vampire senses tell him he is completely alone in the cemetery, but something has definitely happened to him. The sensation screams up his spine as his mind is flooded with visions of Buffy. Images come at him fast and furious as he reels, trying to regain his stability. His feet are moving back towards her before he can stop himself. His skin feels too tight for his body, his clothes too smothering and the distance between them entirely too far. Something Spike means to correct, and fast. Must have her. Must feel her again. Now. He accelerates his pace towards the Slayer, who is having her own awakening.

Buffy grabs onto her bedclothes, wondering what truck just hit her. She looks down at herself and sees nothing. Looks around, sees nobody in her room. But oh god, she wishes he was there. Spike. She shakes her head, but the thought won’t leave her. The delicious blond vampire is overwhelming her mind. Buffy feels her heart begin to race and her palms sweat as she envisions him. She struggles out of bed, half-zipping her black dress, trying to decide the best way to find him immediately. Because all of a sudden she must. She is soaked through with arousal, needing his cool touch on her body again. Dizzy and not a bit confused, Buffy moves to the window, hoping to see which way he went. Nothing. She turns and runs for the stairs barefoot, clearing them in a few seconds. Grabbing the doorknob of the front door, she flings it open.

Her heart stops beating for just a second as her breath catches in her throat. Spike is standing on the front porch, chest heaving with unneeded breaths and piercing her with his eyes of darkest blue. She feels weak in her knees, and at the same time, filled with a burning need for him. Buffy reaches out and grabs him by the shirt, yanking the vampire forcefully into the house and slamming the door shut. She flings his body against the door like a rag doll and holds him there.

"Spike." Her voice is almost not her own. It is violent with sexual need and desire.

"Slayer." He growls to her, his voice matching hers in intensity and ferocity. She moves on him with lightning speed, ripping his shirt open, buttons pinging on the wooden floor like hail. Slamming into him with her own petite body, her hands clutch his chest as her mouth finds his. The blinding heat of her lips is transferred to Spike as their mouths attack, tongues tangling in a desperate fight for dominance. His hands grasp her shoulders, hard enough to bruise. They pull apart briefly and Spike advances on her. The air between them sparks, thick with electric charge. Slow steps, prowling closer. She backs slowly, not trying to leave him, but rather to lure him. She bends her index finger at him, drawing him closer with a smirk and her deep eyes.

A low rumble in his throat, Spike whips his duster off and throws it to the floor. His shirt hangs open, revealing a carved chest, gleaming silver in the dim light of the hall. He lunges forward with blurring speed, grabbing Buffy around the waist and pulling her sharply to him.

"Not trying to leave, are you, luv?" His voice washes over her and she closes her eyes, absorbing the sound.

Her eyes snap back open and lock onto him. "Never." He grabs ahold of the back of her dress and pulls. Hard. Already ripped and half-open, the dress tears apart at the seams like tissue paper. It flutters to the floor, scraps of fabric lying around them like ticker tape. Thoughts of right/wrong, Slayer/Vampire evaporate like so much steam, burnt out of both their minds by this raging need. The only thought present is lust. Unchecked, it drives them on.

With a few more steps, they fall onto the stairs. Half-crawling, half-climbing, the tangled pair struggle up the steps, Buffy on her back, clawing at Spike in a fevered and failing attempt to strip him. Partway up, Spike clamps his arm around her waist and holds her to him, continuing on and letting her bare feet drag up the steps to the top. His blunt teeth bite nuzzle her neck and she moans, low and deep. Finally, they collapse on the landing, grappling with their mouths again, unwilling to release each other’s lips in their hunger. Constant contact or they whimper like wounded animals. Buffy feels her temperature skyrocketing and her pulse racing double time. She turns and crawls toward her room, watching Spike over her shoulder. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip as he watches her still-clothed ass wiggle its way across the hall. With a noise caught between a growl and a purr, he is on her again, rolling her back down on the carpet. Holding her down with his lower body, Spike leans back a little bit. Buffy pants, eyes narrowing as he presses against her pelvis, his erection plain under his leather pants.

"Take. Off. Your. Pants." She enunciates every word, punctuating her demand with a snarl that is almost a smile. He matches her with an upward twitch of his mouth and stands up, towering over her prone body. Ever so slowly, Spike drags the zipper down on his pants, kicks off his boots and slides the leather down his sleek body. Now completely naked, he stands over Buffy for a second, a Greek god, carved in stone. The anguish of not yet having her is plain in his face, eyes flickering from blue to gold, skin tight with a failing self-control. Buffy sits up on her knees and puts out her warm hands onto his legs. With a slow smile, she drags her fingers up, dancing along the smooth skin, leaving trails of warmth as she travels upward. Her eyes flick up to Spike as she reaches his erect cock. Her mouth opens slightly, her pink tongue darting out to wet her top lip. He grins at her and then throws his head back as she licks the length of him in painstakingly slow fashion. She doesn’t stop there, though. The need is too strong for her to wait much longer.

She stands up quickly, startling Spike by sliding one hand around his neck and jerking his head down to hers again. He leans into her, bruising her lips with his kiss. Their momentum takes them onto the floor once again, near the open door of her bedroom. Buffy tastes blood in her mouth and realizes Spike’s fangs have elongated in the midst of their kissing. Spike fights his demon back down briefly to meet her gaze. Her eyes, glowing with want, meet his defiantly, daring him to return to her mouth. He moves back to her lips, eyes still on hers. She meets his silken lips, her tongue dancing into his warm mouth. The fresh blood is there for his taking. He sucks on her tongue, softly and then with more insistence, drawing the blood out. She groans, matching his low hum of pleasure. Finally, they break apart, out of breath and trembling.

Buffy’s leg slides up the back of his, opening herself to him. Spike’s hand slips down her belly and into her panties. His supple fingers find the source of her heat and slide in, one, two fingers and now three. She is dripping wet and it becomes obvious she needs and wants no further delay. Her invitation to him is engraved. Spike pulls his hand away, tearing her panties with it. Snatching her bottom lip between his teeth, he rams into her in one swift motion.

Blinding, scorching heat is the only sensible thought left in Spike’s brain. He is having sex with the molten heart of the sun. Buffy screams as he fills her, nearly quenching her voracious appetite with his single thrust. Nearly, but not quite. Her legs tighten on his back, demanding that he continue. And hurry. While they are finally linked, it has done nothing to deaden their appetite. He begins to pound into her, relentless in both his force and speed. A cry of pleasure and pain escapes her with every new invasion.

She tries to form words. Not since her demand for Spike to remove his pants has she been able to nail down any coherent thoughts. Want him, take him, eat him alive have come to mind. But this, this feral sex. This is beyond words. There is possession and taking and scratching and oh god. Buffy locks her hands behind Spike’s neck, rolling with every thrust, her body absorbing the impact. Only a Slayer and a vampire could take the brutal force generated between them. Minutes later, her hands scrabbling over his cool skin, they rise and rise, seeking climax. Spike does not relent, sweltering in her depths. Finally, they feel the onrushing flow of orgasm. Spike’s mouth has wrapped around Buffy’s nipple, sucking and teasing. One hand slips down to her clit, working it over and over. Dragging her to the peak with him, kicking and screaming. Literally. With one cleansing roar and a prolonged moan, they come together. Suddenly boneless, they end up in a sweating, overheated heap on the floor. Spike’s head rests on Buffy’s chest as she runs her fingers through his tousled hair, breathing hard. Her eyes focusing, she sees the angry red welts on his back and realizes she caused them.

Within a few minutes, Spike and Buffy feel the heat building again. Every point where their skin touches is a spark of contact, awakening the urge, the lust. Spike lifts his head to meet her eyes and sees the same as he feels. With only a touch of the urgency taken away by their first encounter, Spike finds time to smile at her. She matches it, slow and seductive. Their minds may be out of the picture at the moment, but their bodies know what feels good and this is it. The first round was about releasing a blinding, bottled-up explosion of lust. This one is going to be different. Neither has been about much in the way of sanity.

Getting to his feet, Spike bends down and takes Buffy by the hand. Taking his offer, she is swiftly thrown over his shoulder. Smacking her on the bottom, Spike chuckles and strides into Buffy’s bedroom. He flips her down onto the edge of her bed, standing between her legs. Sleek muscles rippling in his back, he reaches down with one hand, cupping her breast gently, rolling it in his fingers. Buffy leans back on her elbows, drawing him closer. He can see the shallow breaths in her chest, tiny droplets of sweat glistening. Drawn to her flame, he covers her with his body once again. His hungry mouth goes to her delicate neck, kissing and nipping his way down it. Buffy matches him, tasting his cool skin with her blunt teeth, leaving tiny red marks on the alabaster skin of his neck. Spike groans as she pinches the skin between her teeth and sucks, marking him as hers.

***

"Wow, uh, do you think you might have overdone it, honey?" Psyche stares, eyes popping, into the still pool as Spike lunges on top of Buffy again. She deftly flips him on his back and straddles him.

Cupid laughs, a low seductive sound. "Psyche, love, that’s what I do. I remind humans that lust is powerful. But love, even more so. These two have no idea what is coming. I am going to.. holy mother of Olympus, I didn’t know a mortal could DO that!!" Cupid’s eyes widen and Psyche covers her mouth as the sexual gymnastics continue below them. She giggles quietly.

"They are quite the physical specimens, aren’t they?" She cocks her head, giving Spike a bit more study.

Cupid casts her a sidelong look as he sees her subject of interest. "That’s enough, love. Remember me?"

"Uh-huh." Her eyes do not move, locked on the writhing pair, Spike’s muscles gleaming in the moonlight. "Oh, I mean, of course, sorry, darling. Got a little distracted." Her china doll cheeks flush red as she looks away and back at Cupid. "I’ve just never seen you...uh...affect two people quite like that. It’s...amazing. Gives me...ideas." Her smile turns tempting as she gives her lover the once over.

"Is that right? Maybe she is not the only mortal that can do...that?" Cupid gestures back at the pool, eyes locked on Psyche.

"Maybe. And perhaps he is not the only non-human capable of...that?" Her eyes widen as she nods back to the water at Spike as he makes Buffy scream.

"Let me remind you, my dear. I am the god of love, with all the perks that entails. Let us leave them to it and make our own fun..." He moves toward Psyche, who squeals and leaps up, dodging his hands as she makes for their silken bed, laughing all the way.


 

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