Title: My Favourite Game
Author: Caitlin
Email: Caitlin@teenagewildlife.com
Disclaimer: I own nothing, all Joss Whedon.
Rating: US PG-13 UK 12. For language.
Season: Latest, take it that Joyce is in hospital and Buffy is at home. And Spike is still stalking.
Feedback: You betcha but don't bother with nancy pansy replies like "*shrugs* it was okay, drivel drivel, drivel." Constructive crit. welcome.
Although I'm told I don't take criticism well, lol.

I don't know what you're looking for
You haven't found it baby, that's for sure
You rip me up and spread me all around
In the dust of the deed of time
And this is not a case of lust, you see
it's not a matter of you versus of me
It's fine the way you want me on your own
But in the end it's always me alone
And I'm losing my favourite game
You're losing your mind again
I'm losing my baby
Losing my favourite game
I only know what I've been working for
Another you so I could love you more
I really thought that I could take you there
But my experiment is not getting us anywhere
I had a vision I could turn you right
A stupid mission and a lethal fight
I should have seen it when my hope was new
My heart is black and my body is blue
And I'm losing my favourite game
You're losing your mind again
I'm losing my favourite game
I've tried but you're still the same
I'm losing my baby
You're losing a saviour and a saint

The Cardigans.
My Favourite Game.


No one noticed him. The dark figure against a murky backstreet wall. He slammed a bright peroxide head against the damp, cool stone a few times, his face contorted in frustration. But still no one paid attention to that alleyway. Partygoers, whether drunk or sober, clean or stoned, didn't come near, didn't even throw it a glance. Those were the kind of alleyways where people got mugged, where people got raped, where people got killed. No, you don't need your mother to warn you about those kind of alleyways. Dark evil things lurked down passageways that ominous and that dark.

And most of the time you'd be right to steer clear of them. But this wasn't like most places, this wasn't like most nights and he certainly wasn't like most dark evil things. But don't ever tell him that. For the life you hold dear never tell him that. You'll be first on his "To kill" list. And when you come back to the game after so long, as long as he's been away, then you're the best. Not that he wasn't before. But that was before Sunnydale, that was before falling pianos and government initiatives. That was before her.

And her, a mass of contradictions, one hell of a fucked up bitch to tell the truth was the centre of his attentions. Again. He was automatically drawn to her with a need he couldn't satiate. And even if he could kill, no amount of meaningless murders or empty feeds could ever fill the hunger that gnawed at him. The hunger which said "Spike get off your bloody ass and kill her," which said "William take this fascinating young woman and kiss her." No amount of blood could kill that incessant little voice he should have lost long ago.

He'd spent this night pacing backwards and forwards in his crypt, pulling apart that damned model he'd made of her and smashing a curled fist into anything breakable. Anything to quench the need, to kill the pain. Sighing with anguish and emotion that you'd assume a heartless killer couldn't possess he gave up banging his head against the wall, and raked his hands through his short spiky locks. He hadn't managed to knock any sense into himself; to make him forget about her, instead he'd just gotten himself a thudding headache.

"The bloody bitch has reduced me to my ponce of a sire." He cursed, his lips pale and tense, "Brooding and lurking about in dark alleys waiting to get a peak of her. This time next week my hair'll be plastered in enough sodding bryllcream you could cook a pan of fucking chips on my head."

He ran his tongue over his sharp teeth, an action which accentuated his high cheekbones and gave his face a harsh look. A look which said "Don't mess with me mate or I'll rip your bloody head off and use it for a football to win the Premier cup with." How he wished every single time he sucked that small plastic bag dry it was true.

Caught up in his thoughts he nearly missed it when she came out of the Bronze, the sound of her voice caught him by suprise and his face immediately changed. Forehead transforming into sharp ridges which cast jagged shadows in the sparing light, eyes thinning to slits and teeth growing till they were long and pointed. He crept through the alleyway with years of practiced skill which had amounted to the deaths of many, including two slayers. The sound of his boots a soft thump on the pavement, not a flicker of noise, save maybe a low growling reverberating in his stark white throat. A growl that he was using all of his will to quieten, in foolish attempts to numb the hunger.

She had the little red head with her. But Spike barely noticed. He was too concerned with the way her hips swayed in those tight red leather pants, of the way her blonde hair shimmied despite the gloom of the evening sky, of the way her hands moved as she spoke to her quiet friend. That was one thing he always loved about her. Her hands. They were always immaculate, elegantly pale and well manicured, not a single blemish on them. A mass of contradictions he thought, for not the first time.

The red head was listening attentively, and he could tell from her body language that the Slayer was ranting. Her brow was low in a frown of annoyance, her hands gesturing frantically, and she spoke so quickly Spike wondered when she had the time to breathe. The witch just nodded at everything she said, she tried to intercept a few times, but the Slayer was too wrapped up in her own thoughts she didn't even notice. So the witch was reduced to biting her tongue and just nodding in agreement. When they neared him he retreated slightly further into the shadows, just to be certain the Slayer couldn't sense him, but not too far away that he couldn't see her, couldn't hear her, couldn't smell her. He took a deep breath, her fragrance filling his senses like a lovesick teenager before he even realised what he was doing. But before he could smack himself on his forehead he managed to pick up fragments of their conversation.

"But a boyfriend should be understanding Will, a boyfriend should trust me no matter what."

"Riley does trust you Buffy," Willow assured her best friend, "It's just that he's been through a hard time lately. I mean think of it from his point of view. He's been reduced to super man to well," the witch chewed the side of her mouth trying to think of the words, "Not so super man and your still, well, Faye Dunaway." She finished lamely.

The Slayer pouted at the redhead's words. Her chin defiant and insolent. How he wanted to kiss that full lower lip, how he wanted to....

"I know all that, I've been understanding, I've been supportive. What else does he want me to do?" She sighed and dropped her arms, "I give up Will."

Her eyes widened and she moved round to face Willow, the two of them stopping face to face opposite a dark alleyway where a very interested vampire hid engrossed in their conversation. Buffy shook her head and her hands at her friend, obviously distraught at whatever her ponce of a boyfriend had said, "Doesn't he have any faith in me? I mean Spike, how could he think that I was in love with Spike! That is just way too wacky to even think about."

The Slayer shook her head, the words tumbling out of her mouth without a care. But then she didn't know that a certain blonde vampire stood in the shadows, his vampire game face dropped into human features again. But that still didn't hide the rage in the way his jaw was tense and shaking, or the hurt in the ghastly white his lips had gone. Hurt vampires aren't meant to feel. How can you be hurt if you don't have a soul?

The witch linked her arm through that of her distraught best friend and lead her away.

"Then don't. We'll go get chocolate, and watch piffle films and than you'll forget all about Riley." The redhead told the still sulking Slayer, smiling hopefully.

"I don't want to forget about Riley. I want to forget about Spike." The Slayer whined, her face full of gloom and in the alleyway Spike's eyes narrowed.

"Likewise, Slayer," He mouthed, "Likewise." But still, even when Spike could no longer hear their conversation and only make out her bright hair swaying in the breeze from the shadows, he couldn't tear himself away. He savoured every part of her, remembering it so he could love it, or so he could kill it. Forehead drooping and arms falling limply at his side like a lovelorn fool he gazed longingly at her image, wanting to run after her and jump her, so that he could......

"She is pretty the petit, non?"

His thoughts were rudely interrupted and Spike whirled.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Leaning casually against the red brick wall just behind him a figure spoke, "Dat's not the question, mon ami, the question is what are you doing?" A long elegant finger pointed at him from the shadows and a figure stepped into the light in front of a severely pissed Spike who hated the fact that not only had somebody crept up on him, but they had also seen him sigh like a lovesick puppy.

Spike eyed him curiously, a lion sizing up his prey but he couldn't work out whether he was demon or human. Or whether he could kill this arsehole or not. He was tall, about six foot, black hair tied back in a severe pony tail, lightly tanned skin, so not vampire. He wore a dark navy suit with a black shirt underneath, modern and trendy. A bloody pussy Spike decided. But he was bored, let's see what the pussy has to say, he decided, so he could work out whether he was going to get a decent spot of violence tonight.

"At this moment mate, I'm deciding whether I'm going to kill you slowly or, " he cocked his head to the side as if making a decision and clicked his tongue, "Very slowly."

The man chuckled bearing blunt teeth, definitely not vampire. Spike noted a gold filling in the left side of his mouth amd guessed he was human. He also made a mental note to pull that out that 32 carat after he chopped this wanker's head off. Get me a fair few bags of blood with that, he mused.

"No worries mate, I've just made my decision." He strolled casually up to this french sod who still grinned smugly, "Very," He emphasized the words with a nod of his head, "Very slowly." He stretched out his arms as if he were tired and rolled his neck, "Maybe I'll watch some telly in between." He stopped to face the man who surveyed him with what could only be described as fascination, "Although I'm not sure that there's much on tonight, I might have to wait till my soap comes on tomorrow." He shrugged his shoulders, "Oh well."

He growled and morphed and attempted to attack the guy, going immediately for his throat around which a silver chain with a strange shaped medallion lie. Immediately he was met with a jolt of pain reverberating around his head like someone had just jabbed an ice pick through his ears.

"Argh!" He shouted clutching his head and bent over double from the impact. Amidst the pain he heard the foreigner chuckle again and the familiar growling echoed in his mouth.

"Dey told me I'd find you un interestin challenge mon ami, and dey were certainly right."

Spike was still holding his head, bent over double. The pain was searing and ripped through his head relentlessly with agonizing furiousity. Straining and tensing he tried to fight the ache as much as possible, but it was hard when the French sod's chuckling was still penetrating the raw parts of his brain. He knelt down to be beside the vampire shaking his head but still bloody smiling,

"You shouldn't try to attack me William, I am not demon." He laughed again and Spike snarled, he had a great sense of smell and this guy definitely did not smell human. He'd swear his unlife on it. When finally the pain had subsided enough he braced himself and stood, all of his features concentrated in rage. He wasn't in the mood to be messed around with and this cocky froggy bastard was getting on his last fucking nerve.

"Look mon ami," He made a face mocking the French man who stood again, that smile still plastered on his face, "Why don't you bugger off and go eat some snails or something." He gritted his teeth with only a slim hold on his calm.

The man shook his head and tutted, "Je suis desolee, mais I cannot do that William."

"Why the hell not and how the hell do you know my name you froggy bastard?" Spike spat, really just wanting to go home curl up with a nice warm cup of blood and watch a good movie.

"Dat's not important mon ami. Dere is much more interesting tings to address, Oui?" He smiled his eyes sparkling in this dim light and he still smiled inanely.

Just my fucking luck, Spike though, a mad foreigner who's been stalking me, just bloody great. Really is true what they say, what goes around comes around.

"I tink not. Oui?" Spike mocked, storming off in the opposite direction, he was not in the mood for this. He licked his lips and cursed, the pain was still a dull ache in his head, but he knew that sleep probably wouldn't help it. Especially when he was always dreaming of her.

"Wait mon ami!" The french man shouted after him, but he didn't move just merely leant against a lamp post fingering the pendant around his neck, "I have a gift pour tu."

Spike slowed his pace slightly but still kept walking, a gift. The last gift he'd received was from his dark goddess, from his Dru. A pair of lovebirds in a golden cage. Fair enough they'd been long dead when she'd given them to him, but it was the thought that counted.

The french man licked his lips, "I can get dat petit chip outta your head." He taunted, in almost a sing song voice.

Spike stopped in his tracks and thought for a second. Why the hell should he trust this guy? Why the hell should he give him the time of day? Spike thought for a moment and weighed up his options for tonight; Harmony's company or mad French bastard, Harmony's company or mad French bastard.

No contest.

He turned stuffing his hands in his pockets and wore a look of scepticism.

"And why the hell would you do that for me mate?"

The french man regarded him completely sincerely, "Tink of it as a gift from de goddness of my heart." The man drawled, and a slight smile tugged at his lips. "Dere is a catch though." He held up a hand.

Spike rolled his eyes, always a catch. He folded his arms and cocked his head to one side, his pale eyebrows raised, "What's the catch mate?" He said his voice curious and low.

"You must fulfill one desire." He held a finger in the air, but still didn't move.

Spike bit his lip for a moment but it was no good he began to laugh sarcastically, "You must be bloody joking? Couldn't have been very good at this stalking lark Frenchie."

The french man still grinned, his teeth a bleak white and the warm glow from the lamp post bathed his face, picking up on the impeccable neatness of his hair. Not a strand out of place. There wasn't a spec of dust on his suit, not a mark on his shoes or a blemish on his skin. Spike rolled his eyes and sighed at the French git's inability to understand,

"I'm a vampire, mate. That means no soul, no desires." He gestured madly as if he was trying to get through to someone who was retarded, bitter and exhausted laughter still echoed from his throat, his cheeks starting to hurt from laughing. And although he was trying to convince this weirdo, the words felt odd after he said them. Maybe he was trying to convince himself as well. He ignored that feeling quickly.

"Really?" He folded his arms across a broad, muscular chest. "But you desire da petit non?" The stranger frowned to emphasize his point.

Spike's laughter died, and he traced his tongue over his teeth. "You don't know anything about that mate. So why don't you keep your trap shut, got it?" He shook angrily, dammit if he'd found his sore spot. What the hell did he know anyway and who the hell was he?

"Dat's where tu est wrong mon ami, I know more den you could ever imagin. So dis is my deal. I take out de chip and you stop broodin over la fille et actually do sommat."

Spike contemplated him for a moment. He was a bloody French loon, and what did he mean brooding? He wasn't brooding.

"Alors mon ami, we have a deal?"

He raised one eyebrow, and Spike sighed. What did he have to lose?

"Deal." He said quietly, nodding ever so slightly.

The man grinned broadly and laughed opening his arms palms widespread. "Den it is done." He shouted and chuckled wildly again.

The dimly lit streetway was plunged into a darkness which blanketed Spike's eyes rendering him blind. "What the fuck?" He shouted, even his vampire senses couldn't pick up a single shadow, make out a single shape. It was literally blackness, and it made him feel helpless and exposed.

After a few seconds lightness slowly emanated around the street again. Spike looked to the street light. The froggy bastard was no where to be seen. Shit Spike mate, you've just been had you bloody wanker. Probably some kind of twisted demon gets his jollies out of making prats out of others.

Cursing he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked down the isolated alleyway. He kicked a beer bottle angrily and it smashed to his satisfaction on a nearby dumpster. He'd never liked the French. "Froggy gits." He mumbled again.

Some time later he'd wandered aimlessly about Sunnydale's streets, ambling wherever his tired feet took him. The streets around the town centre were now filled with quite a few people, coming home from partying. Laughing and smiling and joking. Soddin hell he wanted to lop everyone of their bloody heads off just so that they'd shut the hell up.

He glared at anyone that made eye contact with him, any of the women who walked past pulling their skirts up extra high and fluttering their eyelashes. He just wanted to be left the hell alone. He was William the bloody for crying out loud, they shouldn't be smiling at him or flirting, they should be running in terror. He sighed. That was him William the bloody, William the sucker, his nostrils flared.

He should have realised when the demon had started spouting that crap about fulfilling a desire. Known then it was a load of bullshit, Spike would have known, but he was turning more and more into William every day. The guy probably got some demon brownie points by tricking people and he'd just gotten him about twenty.

Yeah maybe that was it, and maybe it wasn't. He hated to admit it but the possibilities Frenchie had opened up had started the blood pumping in him again, well not literally. He wasn't sure if it was the fact that he'd be able to kill humans again which excited him or the other part, that part about fulfilling desires. That would have forced him to have do something. Nah that was a load of bollocks, he assured himself, wasn't it?

He made a mental note to put whatever type of demon he was on his "To kill" list, above Feral demons but below those Initiative wankers. He wasn't sure whether that was above the Slayer or below. At anytime she was either right at the top of the list, or not on it at all.

"Oi! Watch where you're going mate." He shouted as someone barged straight into him, not looking where he was going, but then neither was Spike, too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

"No you're the one who should look where you're going, you bleached blonde arsehole." The guy sneered, it was obvious he'd had a couple of drinks. He was muscular about the same height as Spike dressed in the same kind of stuff that wimpy friend of the Slayer's wore. And that was it, William the bloody couldn't hold it in anymore. What was a pounding headache to the satisfaction he'd get from hitting this guy? He had short black hair and a a large nose. Actually the hair reminded him a bit of Angel, hell this was going to be even more satisfying then he first thought. Narrowing his features, his upper lip curling, he punched him square in the jaw sending the Angel lookalike flying onto his backside and knocking that lop sided grin off his sneering face.

And Spike waited for the familiar pain.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Nadda, nothing, bollocks, crap all, sweet FA. No sodding pain. He began to laugh. It started as a silent heave of his chest, a relieved chuckle but then it escalated into full blown ecstatic laughter; crazed and deranged. Dru would have been proud.

He whooped and called, by now the crowd that had gathered around for the prospects of a fight were edging away nervously and pulling strange faces at the laughing man with bleached blonde hair. But Spike couldn't give a shit. Even the guy nursing his jaw on the floor didn't bother to get up, instead his eyes widened as he wondered what kind of freak he'd gotten himself involved with and slowly he crawled away.

The circle around Spike began to part, but not before a few people were sent flying as an ecstatic vampire barged his way through the crowd with extra force. Loving the grunts of pain the men gave, or the suprised screams from the women.

So the froggy bastard had gotten it out of his head. How? He didn't know, and he didn't really care. Well this left him with some options. He could not even bother with his side of the bargain, but who knows maybe if he didn't the guy would put the chip back in again, not for a second did he want that.

But Spike was never one to face up to reality, knocking over bins and smiling inanely, he ran.

"William the bloody is back world. So you better bloody look out."

He gave a pained yelp as he stubbed his toe on the pavement.

And across from him sitting on a park bench he didn't even see a man with long black hair tied back in a pony tail, conspicuous in the black night. Who smiled slightly and tapped a finger thoughtfully against the side of his face, as he watched the vampire disappear into the darkness, on his way to the Slayer's house.

"Hello cutie."

It was symbolic right from the beginning. A phrase he'd uttered the first time he'd met her. Had it been that long? Had things changed that much? Well yes, a lot of things had changed. But emotions, emotions and desires had stayed the same, just changed their shape.

"Spike what are you doing in my house?" The slayer jumped and frowned when she saw the blonde vampire, quickly doing up the buttons on the loose shirt she wore with merely her underwear underneath, "No wait what are you doing in my bedroom?"

He looked her up and down, making sure she saw the way his eyes lingered all over her body. Might as well make his intentions clear from the start. He took in her tanned and toned legs; smooth and silky. The dark blue shirt which hung loosely to the top of her thighs, the sleeves rolled up as if she were always ready for a fight. The midnight blue colour of the shirt picked up the flecks of colour in her eyes as well as tracing the outline of a curvaceous figure. No curvaceous wasn't the right word, he licked his lips. Delicious was the right word. She wore little makeup and looked tenderly exposed and innocent, a brush of gloss on the curve of her lips, the rest of her face was bare and naked. She'd just showered after the witch had left, she smelt fresh with a slight hint of vanilla. He swallowed the scent and the Slayer regarded him peculiarly, before her eyes narrowed,

"You have got some nerve Mister, now get out before I stake you." She threatened, going through her junk was one thing, intruding into her bedroom in the middle of the night was another.

He was making her nervous. He could tell by the way she kept on swallowing, the way her elegant throat moved with each stilted breath. Her pulse increased, and he swore he could hear it beating in his ears.

Once a poet, always a poet he mused.

Her blonde hair cascaded about her face and hastily she brushed it back behind her ears. She couldn't stand still, hopping from foot to foot like a cat on a hot tin roof. Why was she nervous? As far as she was concerned he posed no threat. Was it the fact that she might have to slay him, or was it that his mere presence sent her heart racing? Riley, she told herself, I'm with Riley.

It was the last time his name ever graced her mind that night.

"Not that game tonight Slayer." He shook his head, "I'm tired of that game."

He strolled casually nearer to her, never once losing eye contact. She moistened her lips and exhaled slowly from her nostrils. She was trying to be authoritative and usually that would work with Spike. But not tonight. There was something different about tonight, and she couldn't put a finger on it but that was why she was constantly swallowing and edging backwards.

She didn't need Spike going AWOL on her right now. Everything else was so crazy; her mum, Dawn, Riley and just about everything else she had absolutely no control over. But she could always count on Spike to be that constant pain in the ass. Always rely on him to be brutally honest with her in their never ending game of trading insults. But it seemed that was going to hell too.

But tonight there wasn't a flicker of dry British humour in his eyes, sardonic wit or amusement. Tonight his eyes were completely serious, never leaving her for a moment. He looked almost tender, almost exposed. A poet ready to bear his soul for the object of his affections. A great sense of dread lulled inside of her with flashbacks of that night. An exposed Spike is something you don't want to see. When you see that you know your whole entire world has collapsed around you.

She stood still, expecting him to do the same. But he kept coming closer, even closer. Behind him her window was open but the night was still, the shadows of moonlight flickering across his white face, cheekbones so high and exquisitely sculpted.

He'd taken off his coat.

If she hadn't have been so in the dark she wouldn't have missed the symbolism.

It lay across the chair in the corner of her room, the red shirt neatly folded on top of it. He wore only his black t-shirt, exposing his toned biceps and clinging to his taunt abdomen, outlining each defined muscle.

It was too quiet. When Spike was around they were either shouting at eachother, or fighting. With only one option that meant they should be jibing eachother right now. But his face still hung in a look of sobriety, his lips pursed and his eyes low and serious.

"Look Spike I'm not in the mood for this. I've got to get up early tomorrow to pick up Dawn from her friend's to go to the hospital so I am not in the mood for staying up all night kicking your ass."

She widened her eyes daringly and briskly walked across the other side of the room, tidying away her belongings as she did so, and closing the window with a thump so that maybe she'd stop shivering. And this way she could avoid contact with his shadowy blue irises. When they weren't narrowed in sarcasm he looked sensitive, almost caring and that realisation lay very uneasily with her. She turned, he hadn't moved, his eyes still hauntingly empty. She was starting to get pissed off, flustered maybe, why couldn't he just leave her alone?

"You always do that Slayer." He said plainly, his arms folded across his chest.

She narrowed her eyes quizzically. Hear him out then maybe he'll leave, she decided. "Do what?" She asked.

"Turn your back on people, avoid eye contact." He said slowly, his accent strong.

"Did I miss something, are you lecturing me on relationships?" She asked incredulous. He's got to be drunk, she told herself. Great just what she needed a drunk and emotional Spike. She'd met one of them before and some stark facts had been nastily exposed.

"Someone needs to luv."

She stood in front of him her eyes narrowed angrily, "Spike get out." She said bluntly, not liking where this conversation was headed.

A moment or what felt like an eternity passed and he wondered if she could feel it too. Or if she was ignoring it again. She was close to punching him, using her fists to solve problems as always and usually that would have been his way too. But tonight, tonight he felt like changing the game. He swallowed and remembered the last time he'd done this, taken this kind of chance with his heart, it had ended in pain. Well time to take a chance again,


"The deepest words could not explain
The hate I feel for you." He cocked his head to one side, it was meant to be love poetry but it sounded dangerous and sinister when his face was so bland and cold,
"And yet somewhere in your possession,
A piece of my heart
writhes and tremors with you."


As soon as he said it he wasn't sure whether it was regret or relief which flooded over him. He'd promised himself so many times that he'd shut William the bloody awful poet in a dark dungeon deep in the crevasses of his mind, but he'd opened that door just for her. Better not throw it back in my face Slayer, I'm being who you want to be. I'm being like the ponces you seem to be so fond of, the foolish wankers you're drawn to, don't let me down, he asked, I've got desires too.

She shook her head, touched at first but she couldn't let it go any further. They were mortal enemies, the game could never change. She shook her head, slowly at first. And she could have been hurtful and sarcastic but something about the desperation in his eyes made him look so helpless she couldn't bring herself to. Couldn't bear to face the fact that he; a killer, a vampire, could love. Could love her. And she couldn't face that fact that maybe she loved him back.

He saw her start to shake her head, the dullness in her eyes of refusal and he didn't care if he looked pathetic anymore, didn't care if he was being a foolish wanker, he wanted her. Wanted her sweet lips, wanted her soft hair, wanted her touches andher body next to his. He needed to end this hunger otherwise it was going to tear him apart.

"I'm offering myself to you Slayer."

He started his eyes darting backwards and forwards to find some mercy, some understanding in her own. The need was a pulsing in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him, he usually gave into his desires so easily. If he wanted something he took it.

She heard the hunger in his sighs, felt the need, saw the want and it was scaring her. Because now her own pulse was racing, her chest heaving at the way his eyes were penetrating into her very core, and it scared he so much because she wanted it too. To be in the arms of a ruthless killer. She wanted it.

"I'd give it all up for you." It wasn't an empty offer, he acknowledged the graveness of his words. He gave it sincerity with the low curve of his eyebrows, with the dark shadows playing across his harsh cheekbones in the pale moonlight.

She said nothing, her lip beginning to tremble, exhaling and inhaling sharply through her nostrils.

"The killing, the violence. I'll fight by your bloody side for crying out loud if you'll have me." He told her, his voice slightly quivering, but still essentially Spike.

You're beneath me William, you're beneath me Spike, the phrases echoed in his mind and he pushed them away by shutting his eyes tight briefly.

He meant it this time. He'd never meant it before, he was foolish William or blood thirsty Spike. Who he was now he didn't know, and he didn't care as long as whoever that person was, was alright with her.

Yes he meant it this time. He'd give up his favourite game, because he had a new one. But he hated it, the way she had him in the palm of her hand, the way her next words would decide everything. Would decide exactly how he was going to fulfil his goddamn desire. But he'd forgotten about mad French gits now, with strange propositions. This had always been inevitable, one way or another.

She wouldn't say anything. She just stood there and it was killing him. Say something forgodsake Slayer, he cursed. But he didn't dare turn his face into anger, for fear he'd lose her eyes in the acreless turn of her head.

Her lips were slightly parted drawing in scant breath, and even that slight movement was torture for him. He felt the madness again, wanting to hit her, wanting to bite her pale tender neck just so that she'd say something, just so that she'd scream. It was a craving that was rupturing his soul. But then vampires weren't meant to have a soul.

No time for theology now. The chains she held were digging into his still heart, creating an unstoppable hunger for destruction if she wouldn't take them off.

She drew breath, her bottom lip quivering so invitingly, her eyes still shaking slightly as thoughts raced around her mind. It was like a plague slowly destroying him, insensitive bitch. Hated friend that was holding his body with her quickening pulse, with her denial. With her failure to face up to the truth.

The addiction was killing him, feeding it with the way she drew air between her full, trembling lips.

He gave in.

Soulmates, mortal enemies who knows. And who cares when his lips were on hers he felt release. That same release when he felt a victim's heart shudder it's final beat, when that final scream echoed in his mind. But none of those were as sweet a torment as denying himself this.

She didn't respond at first, too startled, but as soon as she felt his tongue intertwined with hers she savoured every touch. A vampire's kiss shouldn't be so tender she thought. Spike's kiss shouldn't be so tender. She ignored the Slayer warnings that screamed wrong. As the world fell down around her, who was she to deny herself this one certainty?

He drew her body closer to his, his arms gentle around her waist, brushing against the supple skin of her exposed upper thigh. He strived for the sensations he hadn't felt in so long, and prayed they wouldn't leave soon. Their warm and cold breath combined, dancing their lovers dance. And now they had touched it would never be the same, they both knew that. But that didn't matter, when your soaring in perfection. When you're fulfilling your favourite desire, fulfilling your favourite addiction.

Tasting and touching eachother they stayed, until he broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, her softly swaying into his touch, moans of pleasure echoing in her throat. His lips found the pulse at her neck, and felt it quicken. There was a moment of uncertainty as his lips hovered over that tender spot. His breathing like ice making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. And then after an eternity, when she didn't back away he gently pressed a soft kiss to the spot, before meeting her lips again.

She raked her fingers through the short locks of his hair, pressing his lips harder onto her own. Deepening the kiss. Soft thighs met hard muscle and desire, setting her body on fire. His mouth was pressing her own into her teeth with it's sheer force and she tasted the metallic tang of blood. The kiss became lethal and she began to feel drowned in his embrace. Not a single part of her body felt her own. Excited and scared, but too uncertain in the change of the game to carry on. Unwilling to trust her own desires she hastily broke away from him and retreated to the opposite side of the room.

Spike dropped his arms which seconds ago had been around her soft petite form and cursed, feeling as hungry as always. Feeling as unfulfilled and as fucking needy as before.

She stood at the bay window next to the seat and wrapped her arms around her body, staring out into the empty night and tried to get her breathing back to normal.

"That shouldn't have happened. You're a vampire, I slay vampires."

She told him and herself. He let a few long moments pass and narrowed his face in disbelief. In disgust at her cowardice.

"Are you telling me you don't enjoy our game Slayer?"

He licked his lips and she said nothing. He swallowed.

"Are you telling me that you don't love me?" He murmured completely serious.

She didn't turn, didn't breathe, and answered without looking into his eyes.

"Yes."

It was a dagger, rammed through his temples. A stake shoved ruthlessly into his heart. It was his signal to run and leave. But he was still so hungry. The need and the desire still raced through his body. Her back was turned to him, that tender spot on her neck still deliciously exposed. He hadn't filled that desire yet.

When her senses picked up no movement she sighed and turned.

"Spike just g-"

Her words were cut off and she gasped as she was thrown onto the window seat, a blood thirsty vampire's soft lips at her neck. By the time she had figured out what was happening she was too weak and too drained to protest, she had turned her back and paid the price. Instead she closed her tired eyes and sank into the embrace and Buffy Ann Summers was the victim of desire.

But neither of them had won the game.

He wished he could finish that goddamn poem. Make her understand. But that was for foolish ponces. She didn't understand so to hell with her. She didn't understand that she'd been slowly killing him since he'd first seen her, turning his body to grey ashes. Didn't know that there was more than one way to terminate the need that pulsed in his chest, and he'd given her the choice. If only she could understand his addiction.

But this was what she had chose.

The crimson blood filled him like an elixir. Drowning his wounds, satiating his desire. And he felt release with the final agonizingly slow beats of her heart. Goodbye Slayer, guess I'll just have to find a new favourite game.

And in the garden below Buffy Summer's window, leaning against a large oak tree a figure with long black hair stood. Streetlights behind him did not cast any shadow on his muscular form. He could have been a shadow himself, merging in with time and scenery, indistinguishable from one moment to the next.

For once he was not grinning, he wore a look of weariness and disappointment in the way he twirled a pendant on his neck between long elegant fingers. He stood and watched the tragic scene in the window above with detachment. Didn't run to help or scream for the girl's life.

Instead he turned and sighed and the street was flooded with a blinding darkness.

So then let's go back, because only one way can the record come unstuck.

But where to go back to? Where could it not have ended in bloodshed and tears? Back to Sunnydale high? Back to broken hearts and an alliance of convenience? Back to Army men playing vampire killers and a blind refusal?

Or maybe we can only change fate so much. Maybe we can only go back to dark alleyways and suspicious gifts.

Or maybe we can only go back to an honest offer and a night of choices to be made and fates to be sealed.

Maybe if we open our eyes, and don't turn our back on our desires we can change the paths we walk. And who we walk them with.

Maybe.

She raked her fingers through the short locks of his hair, pressing his lips harder onto her own. Deepening the kiss. Soft thighs met hard muscle and desire, setting her body on fire. His lips were pressing her own into her teeth with their sheer force and she tasted the metallic tang of blood. The kiss became lethal and she began to feel drowned in his embrace. Not a single part of her body felt her own. Excited and scared but too uncertain in the change of the game, and unwilling to trust her own desires to carry on she hastily broke away from him and retreated to the opposite side of the room.

Spike dropped his arms which seconds ago had been around her soft petite form and cursed, feeling as hungry as always. Feeling as unfulfilled and as fucking needy as before.

She stood at the bay window next to the seat and wrapped her arms around her body, staring out into the empty night and tried to get her breathing back to normal.

"That shouldn't have happened. You're a vampire, I slay vampires."

She told him and herself. He let a few long moments pass and narrowed his face in disbelief. In disgust at her cowardice.

"Are you telling me you don't enjoy our game Slayer?"

He licked his lips and she said nothing. Spike swallowed.

"Are you telling me that you don't love me?" He murmured completely serious.

Buffy breathed deeply. Her next decision would change the path they both took. And a silent figure in the garden below could only ever leave if they took the right path, if desire was admitted.

Her next word would change both their life's forever, or else doom them to repeat a vicious and tragic fate, to play the same old game.

She'd died a thousand times and he had killed a thousand times more.

But maybe this time, just maybe......


I don't really write romances so that was probably why this was a load of bull, but somebody asked whether Spike could ever admit and use the word love to Buffy. Fair enough I had to create a whole new character and scenario to do so but....

You might have also noted that I'm a poet, lol, nit not a very good one.

Oh and french wise in case anyone's wondering, but I reckon you'll all know anyway

Je suis desolee - I'm sorry
Mais - But
Alors - So

And if you didn't already know that than shame on you, you shoulda paid attention in school.