‘Why does the bitch torture me?’
This thought was in the forefront of Spike’s mind as he reached into his fridge for a mug of pig’s blood.
‘Better yet, why do I let her?’
But as he tilted the mug to his lips, letting the slightly bitter taste of animal blood slide down his throat, he answered his own question.
‘ Because you’re love’s bitch, that’s why. You let her turn you into the biggest lovesick ponce this side of the planet.’
He shook his head, taking a seat in his arm chair.
“I’m pathetic,” He said out loud, only to himself as he was alone in his crypt.
‘Can’t stand to be near her, can’t stand to be away from her. Can’t be a man, can’t be a monster….’
“It’s the soddin’ chip!” He shouted into the darkness, trying to drown out the unrelenting thoughts dancing around in his skull as he hurtled his mug across the room, feeling only slightly satisfied as it hit the wall and shattered into a million tiny pieces, the blood trickling in little drops to the crypt floor.
Then, his brief smile faded.
“Bloody hell. That was my favorite mug.”
Shrugging, he scooped up his duster off the floor and slid it on, making sure there was a stake in the interior pocket. He needed to find something to kill, and fast. Too much thinking, he just needed the thrill of the hunt to make the thinking go away, for a brief while, at least.
But as he walked toward the crypt entrance, he paused as he heard a loud pounding at the door, and then none other than the object of his affection as well as his grief came barging inside.
“Oh, balls,” He muttered under his breath. “What now?”
Buffy approached him with long strides, the look on her face one of all business.
“Spike, I need-“
“Lemme guess, information.” He finished for her, pausing long enough to fish for his pack of smokes and lighter. He knew lighting up a cigarette in her face irked her, and, momentarily, he wanted to piss her off. “You really oughta start singin’ me a new tune sometime, luv.”
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, not amused, as he let out a puff of smoke.
“How many times-“ She began, but she caught herself, clenching her jaw as she looked at the infuriating vampire.
Though as he stood there clad all in black in stark contrast with his nearly white hair, cigarette dangling from his lips and cerulean eyes sparkling in the darkness, she couldn’t help thinking how hot he looked. And she cursed herself for the thought. Forcing her mind clear, she began to speak.
“Group of vampires, new in town, made a nice mess of the welcoming committee last night.” She paused. “Massacre…you know anything?”
Spike thought about it a brief moment, taking another drag of his cigarette before shaking his head.
“Nope, not a thing.”
He snuffed out his cigarette under his boot and quickly closed the distance between them in one long stride, looking down at her with expectant eyes. She returned his gaze for a moment until she felt that familiar, unwelcome heat course through her body at his close proximity. Quickly, before things could escalate out of control, she turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” Though he already knew the answer.
Buffy paused, but didn’t turn to face him.
“Out. Patrolling. Slay evil demons.”
Spike smirked at the back of her head. Two could play at this game.
Casually, he breezed past her and out the crypt door, Buffy right on his heels.
“What are you doing?” She demanded, and he spun around, tilting his head slightly as he narrowed his eyes at her.
“Going with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
Spike quickly advanced on her, shoving her backwards a few steps until he had her pinned against the exterior wall of the crypt, hands at either side of her head and braced against the cold stone to prevent her escape. And Buffy once again felt her heart beat escalate slightly, heat creeping through her veins and rushing downward. Again, she cursed herself.
Spike lowered his head until he was at eye level with her.
“You know,” He began, “Much as you like to think you are, you’re not the boss of me, goldilocks. I do as I please. So knock off the high and mighty routine.”
Buffy pushed against his chest, shoving him out of the way as his close proximity was again making it hard for her to think anything but lustful thoughts.
“Oh yeah, I’m not the boss of you?” She challenged. “That why you follow me around like a lost puppy?”
Spike growled at her. It was a low blow, and she knew it.
Clenching his jaw, he squeezed his eyes shut and took in a deep breath, desperately trying to keep his anger in check.
“I don’t follow,” He said calmly, evenly, “I help.”
“I don’t need your help.” But as she turned to walk away, Spike grabbed her arm, spinning her around to face him.
“Don’t touch me!” She exclaimed, delivering a right hook to his jaw that nearly knocked him off his feet. And she hadn’t even punched him at full force.
Grinning, Spike lifted his arm and delivered a matching punch, catching the side of her chin.
“See, not your puppy dog,” He reminded her, with utter cockiness.
Buffy’s chest heaved with anger and she jumped on him, knocking him to the cemetery ground and straddling him. But as she raised her fist to deliver another blow, he grabbed her by the hips and quickly flipped them, pinning her to the grass. Infuriated, she let her small fists fly at his chest, and he shook his head, tsk-tsking her.
“None of that, luv.” Grabbing her wrists, he pinned them to either side of her head with all his might as she struggled underneath him, fighting to be released from his grip. But the longer she felt the hard lines of his body on top of hers, the weaker her struggle became. Her resolve was crumbling. She could feel it slipping away by the minute.
Spike felt it too.
Licking his lips as he noticed her sudden change in mood, he ground his covered erection in between her legs, watching as her eyes widened slightly and a soft moan of pleasure escaped her lips.
Her body was betraying her. And Spike wanted to take full advantage of that while he could.
Making sure to keep her securely trapped underneath him, he slid a hand between their bodies, looking at Buffy with intense eyes as he reached for the clasp of her jeans.
As she felt the zipper being pulled down, her mind let forth a final warning cry.
“Don’t,” She said softly, weakly. But as Spike pushed her panties aside and forced a finger inside her slick folds, the last of her resolve crumbled, and she fully gave in to the temptation. Because, God help her, it felt good.
His finger found the sensitive bundle of nerves, her most intense pleasure area, and with a grin again bordering on cocky, he began to stroke her softly, loving her response as she squirmed beneath him in anticipation.
“Oh,” Buffy moaned, arching her back slightly. She rocked her hips against his busy fingers, wanting more, craving it.
Reaching upwards, she weaved her fingers through his platinum curls and tugged his head downward, smashing his mouth to hers, his lips cool and soft against her own. And when she felt his tongue tracing the crease of her lips, she parted them, allowing his eager muscle to enter and explore.
Spike swallowed her cry of pleasure as he slid two long fingers inside her tight channel, working in and out, in and out, in time with his tongue that continued to plunder her mouth. And when he felt her inner walls begin to tighten around his fingers with her impending climax, he broke off the kiss abruptly, pulling back slightly so he could watch the pleasure on her face. He pumped faster, faster, hitting her in just the right spot until she reached her edge and went plummeting over without warning, her orgasm quick and intense as it washed over her, making every nerve ending feel as though it were on fire. And, in the midst of her ecstasy, Spike bent down and placed a moist open-mouthed kiss to her neck, tracing more kisses up the smooth column of her throat as he felt the blood rushing underneath, speeding through her veins. He could smell it.
Brushing his lips underneath her jaw, over her delicate pulse point and upwards, Buffy shuddered as his mouth just barely came into contact with the shell of her ear. He began to speak, his voice low and seductive.
“You feel something for me, slayer. I know it.” He bit gently down on her ear lobe, letting his tongue dart out to lap at the smooth flesh.
“I can taste it.”
Buffy didn’t reply. She couldn’t deny it, she did feel something for him. Exactly what she felt, however, she didn’t know, though she knew that it was most definitely something other than loathing and disgust. And that, in itself, terrified her.
So, since she couldn’t deny what he said was true, she did the next best thing.
She’d make herself forget.
Quickly, she used her slayer-strength to flip them both over and once again take control of the situation, straddling his thighs and making quick work of his black jeans as she unfastened the buckle and forced them down around his ankles. Her eyes drifted to his prominent erection as she tugged at her own jeans, lifting enough to pull them completely off before she climbed back up his body. Pushing her panties aside, she sunk down onto him, taking the hardened length all the way in until she felt the tip embedded so deep it touched the entrance to her womb.
“Oh, fuck,” Spike hissed in pleasure, his eyes rolling back into his head as the intense heat emanating from her body began to work its magic on him.
Buffy rocked her hips back and forth slightly, throwing her head back as he stretched her, filled her completely, felt oh-so-good. She could feel his cool member throbbing inside of her, and she experimentally rolled her hips in a small circle, squeezing her internal muscles around him until his lust-darkened eyes looked about ready to pop out of his head.
Smiling slightly, she bent down and nipped at his jaw, loving the power she had over him as she began to move, slowly, letting him slip almost completely out of her before taking him all the way back in. Then, as the slow pace quickly became more torturous than pleasurable, she straightened herself upright again and braced her hands against the smooth and sculpted planes of his chest so she could move at a quicker pace.
“That’s it, slayer…” Spike encouraged, and Buffy allowed him to grab her hips, raising her up and slamming her down onto him with more force, his fingers digging into her flesh. The pace continued to become increasingly frantic until Spike was desperate in his need for release. Sitting upright, he changed the angle of penetration such that he hit Buffy in just the right spot.
“Y-yes! Oh, God…” Buffy wrapped her legs around his slim waist, forcing him even deeper inside her warm center, their bodies so melded together it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended.
Their bodies worked together in perfect syncopation, the rhythm swift and steady, almost fierce as they engaged in this timeless and most pleasurable dance.
Noticing Buffy’s eyes were closed, Spike slowed his pace for a moment.
“Open your eyes. Look at me.” He demanded. But Buffy stubbornly refused, shaking her head. Whenever she looked in his eyes, it became too intimate. His eyes were always so expressive, so intense with emotion that she felt uncomfortable. It stirred something inside of her that she didn’t want to face.
This was just physical between them, right?
But the sheer idea that she herself could doubt that fact was what made her hesitate to look into his eyes while they made love.
‘ When the hell did it become “making love”?’
Spike noticed she was slipping away and he halted his movements completely, earning a whimper of protest from Buffy. He weaved a hand through her golden silky hair and tugged, forcing her head slightly backward.
“Look at me, damnit!” He growled, and this time Buffy was powerless to do anything but obey. Her eyes fluttered open, emerald meeting sparkling cerulean, and she was once again left breathless by the intense look he exuded.
He loved her. He hated her. He craved her like blood. And she could see it all in the pools of his eyes.
When had things become something other than black and white? The rules of engagement had always been so clearly defined; the vampire hates the slayer, the slayer stakes the vampire. So why had things reached a grey area of sorts, the line between good and evil itself seeming blurred?
But Buffy forced all of this from the forefront of her mind, and, just for a moment, she allowed herself to completely let go, surprising both of them as she rested her forehead against his, allowing a rare tender moment as they searched each other’s eyes. She had let her guard down.
As Spike began to move again, she moved with him, capturing his lips in another kiss, Their noses bumped lightly as she bounced in his lap, up and down, up and down, and he rocked faster against her, pistoning in and out of her slick depths with wild abandon. And suddenly, the tender moment had passed, the animal in both of them coming to the forefront as their most primal needs demanded fulfillment.
Spike’s hands once again went to her hips when he felt her inner walls clench him like a vice. She was almost there.
Spike gritted his teeth, fighting for control.
“Say my name.” This time, it was more of a request than a demand, his own vulnerability surfacing. Love’s bitch, yet again.
But she obliged without hesitation as her second orgasm exploded, stars dancing behind her eyes.
“Oh God, Spike, yes!” Bending forward, Buffy bit down onto his shoulder to stop herself from screaming anymore as she rode out the force of a very powerful orgasm and, as Spike felt her internal muscles fluttering wildly, he gave one final thrust and came inside her, shooting his cold seed deep within her welcoming heat.
Buffy gasped for breath, and they both sat there, trying to recover as they remained intimately joined. Her head was buried in the crook of his shoulder, mouth open, and he held her tight, one hand moving to gently stroke her hair and coax her back down from her high. He wanted to show her some affection while she would allow it.
“Stay with me.” He said suddenly, his voice low and raspy.
Buffy jerked her head up, caught off guard. “Huh?”
“Stay with me tonight,” He repeated, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face and caressing her cheek. “Here, in the crypt.”
Though Spike already knew the answer.
“I-I can’t,” She sputtered, quickly extracting herself from his grip and breaking their union as she reached for her jeans. “I, uh, need to finish patrolling, and get home to Dawn.” Spike sighed loudly, and stood, pulling up his pants and fastening the buckle. It was almost always the same excuse. He’d heard it a thousand times over.
“Fine, then. Leave.” At his dismissive tone, she turned and, moving at a quick pace, began to walk away from him. She needed to distance herself from the situation, fast.
“But just remember,” He called after her retreating form, “That you’ll never have it as good as me, you’ll come crawling back. You crave it just as much as I do, and you know it!” And as his voice faded into the night, she realized, without a doubt, that he was right.
Spike watched her disappear into the darkness, and he kicked at a stone in frustration.
“Bloody, buggering, HELL!” Again, he cursed himself, then he cursed her. “Daft bint’ll be the death of me.” He muttered, shaking his head.
But he paused, and a smirk slowly appeared on his lips, knowing that the next time the sun went down, she’d be back again.
Then, in a flourish of black leather, Spike spun around and swaggered into the crypt, nearly taking the door off the hinges in the process.
Passions was on.
The End
Author's Chapter Notes:
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