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Stunned by her question as well as her actions, Spike opened his mouth to respond – but was suddenly unsure of what he should say.

He had told Buffy vehemently the day before that he *did* trust her – had made quite the bloody issue of it, too, actually – and he wanted to prove it to her, once and for all. He somehow felt that if he could force her to admit that his feelings for her went deeper than the mere lust and desire that she constantly insisted were all he was capable of feeling for her – then maybe, just *maybe*, it might be easier for her to face up to her own feelings

Unfortunately, those feelings had been buried under the weight of her depression and repressed by her inexplicable desire to live up to the unfair expectations of her friends.

But they were *there*, just the same – no matter how strongly she tried to deny it.

He could see it, in brief, fleeting moments during their clandestine encounters – just before she would desperately rush to draw the mask back into place. He knew in his heart that she *did* love him – she just had yet to face the truth of that fact herself.

She tried so hard to disprove it, constantly, telling them both over and over how much she hated him, despised him, hated herself for even lowering herself to touch him. And yet he was certain, deep down, that every cruel word or random blow she sent his way was nothing more than a desperate attempt to escape the truth of her own feelings.

He was sure – most of the time.

In the time between their secret meetings, when she was struggling to go about her everyday façade of normalcy with her sister and her friends, and he had nothing but time in which to analyze everything and then analyze it again – he had his doubts. He wondered what sort of a bloody fool he had to be to put up with the appalling way that he allowed her to treat him.

And he wondered, in those moments of insecurity and doubt, if every single insult and declaration of her disgust and hatred were actually the truth, and he was simply building lies to shield his heart from the pain of the truth.

But when she was with him – there were moments, rare but beautiful, in which he *knew* beyond all doubt – she *had* to love him – or such moments would not have even been possible.

He could hear it in her voice when she cried out his name in the heights of her passion – could feel it in the tenderness of the rare kisses she bestowed on him in her moments of weakness, when she was too tired, or too worried, or simply too needy for the affection and reassurance that her friends no longer offered her, to resist her impulse to reach out – even if it *was* to him.

She rarely kissed him – on the mouth, anyway.

It was one of her unspoken rules, a laughably useless means of keeping him from getting “too close”.

He had to admit one point – somehow, kissing *did* seem so much more intimate than so many of the things they did. She could easily claim that she was using his body simply for her own physical pleasure, and that could be accepted as truth. But what physical pleasure did the slow, sensuous kisses he craved give her, besides the sweet closeness and intimacy that she claimed she did not want – not with him?

Her refusal seemed bitterly ironic to him, considering that she had initiated their relationship with a kiss – but she clung to that useless piece of control, refusing most times to allow it. He rarely tried to kiss her anymore, having tired of the agony of her rejection of his attempts.

On the few occasions when he did dare, she would usually turn her head away, lowering her mouth to kiss his throat, or his chest – burying her hurt and fears in his body, while denying him what it was that he really sought – to see her face…to know her in all her flaws and insecurities, as well as in her glorious and terrible power.

But every now and then, the craving for the closeness and connection – the connection that she found had somehow been removed from her life when it was so abruptly returned to her – would come upon her with a vengeance, overtaking her and driving her to let down the walls – if only for a few moments.

Spike treasured every moment of those rare occasions, when she was slow and tender, and yet touched him with an intensity that sent a consuming heat through him so powerful that he sometimes feared he would dust simply from the overwhelming power of it.

And then – she *would* kiss him.

And he would clutch desperately at the opportunity to show her with his kiss how deeply he felt for her. He would hold her close, gently but deeply kissing her until she was breathless and yearning when she finally drew away…

And that was when he would see it.

In her eyes, in the bare moment or two before she managed to hide her feelings again with a cold emotionless mask, he would see the truth. Through the haze of her pleasure and desire, she would stare at him with a sort of soft shock of affection in her wide green eyes – an almost awed expression that seemed to say that she could scarcely believe or comprehend what she had just felt – could hardly dare to put a name to it.

But Spike could – and he did, every time. He took these moments and hid them away, reminding himself, calling to mind the image of that look of awe and adoration in his most insecure moments, when he was hurting over some cruel thing she had said, some calloused dismissal of him and his feelings.

He always opened his eyes, the instant that he felt her drawing out of a kiss they had shared.

He never missed that stunning, breathtaking look.

Well -- except this time.

He hesitated, trying to decide what would be the wisest response to her question. He wanted to take this chance she was offering to prove his point – he *did* trust her. Yet at the same time, he knew that she wanted to prove *her* point just as badly – to prove that he didn’t trust her.

She was the one running this “test”; she would certainly be doing everything in her power to be sure that he failed it.

And *that* thought was bloody scary.

But – not if he really *did* trust her – right? If he really did trust her, than why should the thought of surrendering control to her be frightening? If he really trusted her, then he could be sure that she would not do anything to break that trust…

The confusing circle of his thoughts was softly interrupted as the Slayer whispered near his ear, so close that he could feel her lips curve upward into a smile of triumph at his hesitation.

“Well? Do you?” she pressed him, and he could not mistake the subtle note of amusement and satisfaction in her voice. It was clear that she thought she knew what he was going to say – she thought she had won already.

Not bloody likely.

He reached a hand up quickly to grasp the back of her neck with unerring aim and pull her down, surprising her with another kiss, sudden and intense. He felt her tense against his hand as if about to pull away – an instant before she surrendered to the kiss, returning it with equal intensity.

A consolation prize, to the vampire that she believed she had already bested?

When she drew back to catch her breath, he released her, returning the smirk he knew had to be on her face about now, as he finally answered her question sweetly, “Why of course I trust you, love!” Slowly and deliberately, he removed his hands from her back and raised them, crossing his wrists over his head in a provocative way that made it very clear what his decision was, as he added in a low, suggestive voice,

“I’m all yours, pet…”

He could only imagine the smirk of satisfaction on her face giving way to a wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of shock at his actions – but as he moved his hips just slightly under her, throwing her slightly off balance and bringing her into closer contact with the proof of just how *very* willing he was to take this particular little test – the heavy scent of her arousal reached his nostrils, and his smile widened.

Whatever the expression on her face that was kept from his eyes – he knew his words and actions had had their desired effect.

To her credit, the Slayer recovered quickly, rising up on her knees over him. “Okay,” she said in a lightly warning tone, “if you’re sure about this…” As she spoke, she leaned forward, one hand behind his head gently pushing him to sit up a bit.

He complied, raising up on his elbows and leaning his head slightly forward to give her better access as she tied the soft scarf firmly but not too tightly around his eyes, pulling at it slightly to be sure it was secure.

“I can pass any test you can come up with, pet,” Spike assured her, his tone infuriatingly confident. “You forget, Slayer – I’d been playing these games for nearly a century when you were born!”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice soft, amused – but a bit distracted as she countered, “But you haven’t ever played them with *me*!” Frowning slightly, not sure if the fabric was thick enough, Buffy drew back a fist and plunged it forward, stopping a bare half an inch from his face.

The vampire did not flinch, did not move at all, apparently completely oblivious to the blow that had not quite fallen.

With a satisfied nod, Buffy stood up, moving from over him, unknowingly carrying another powerful waft of her intoxicating scent to his sensitive nose, and deepening his arousal.

It made him feel more than a little vulnerable, not being able to see how obvious her effect on him was, if she had noticed the ever-rising erection she had caused – unable to see her reaction to it, if she *had* noticed it. He hesitated for a moment, trying to focus his other senses to read exactly where she was, unsure of whether or not to get up yet.

She was completely silent, not giving him the slightest clue for a long moment.

Then, he felt her soft, warm hand in his – trembling a bit, was she? so the Slayer wasn’t all as confident as she was trying to seem, then – gently pulling on his hand to help him to his feet. He knew he had to trust her, at least a little, to feel as reassured as he did by the steady support of her hand in his.

He stumbled a bit as he stood, uncertain of his footing, and his free hand automatically rose to the blindfold, in an instinctive reaction, not really thinking about it, but simply instinct telling him he needed to see.

A second strong, small hand caught his wrist before he could reach it, and with one quick movement, he was spun around, both of his hands clasped in Buffy’s, as he felt her press in close behind him, her chest against his back as she held his offending hand in hers, gently but firmly keeping it down at his side.

“Just like any time you take a test,” she said, her voice soft and even just behind him, her warm breath lightly tickling his throat. “there are rules, if you want to pass. First rule: the blindfold comes off when I take it off. I mean, *of course* you can take it off any time you want to…”

He could almost see her shrug her shoulders carelessly as she paused a moment before adding quietly with a slightly smug smile, “…but then you fail. You’ve gotta trust me.”

He could feel her breasts, firmer and heaving slightly against his back, as she waited a bit breathlessly for his response. *So the little chit’s getting turned on by the dominant act, is she?* he thought with amusement – and arousal. *This little test could turn out to be a bit of fun.*

He felt his erection swell slightly at her firm touch and commanding words.

She was not the only one turned on by her little game. Again he wondered if she was noticing the effect she had on him, both unnerved and excited by the fact that attempting to conceal it, judging her reaction by her expression, her body language, were all things that were withheld from him at the moment.

The answer to his first question came quickly, as one of her hands released his and surprised him by sliding around his hip to cup gently over his begging member.

“Well,” she said with a gently mocking note to her voice. “*Somebody’s* ready to get started!”

He let out a low moan as she squeezed just slightly, before releasing him and moving around to face him. He did not know exactly where she was, as he could not see her, and felt a bit silly trying to face her, not sure if he was actually facing the headstone a couple of yards to her left, or her.

He was surprised by the consideration when she placed a gentle hand on his arm and turned him slightly, increasing his sense of security at knowing where he was in relation to her. Again, he felt reassured at the idea of trusting her.

Her tone was soft, and a bit uncertain herself, when she finally spoke again. “You’re *really sure* you want to do this.” It sounded like a statement, but it was really a question, an opportunity to back out now if he was not sure.

And give her the satisfaction of winning this little battle of wills so easily?

*Not a soddin’ chance.*

“I’m sure,” he replied firmly. “I told you I trust you, and I do, Buffy.”

He knew her so well, although she would have denied in a heartbeat that he knew her at all. He could picture her, standing in front of him, her smooth, pretty brow creased in a thoughtful frown, studying his face in an attempt to determine whether or not he did.

He did. Oh, he *really* did!

“Okay,” she finally conceded, reaching out to take his hand – and he thought with a smug smile that he quickly suppressed, that she was awfully tentative for a wanna-be dominatrix. “First question on this test…you’ve gotta trust me not to walk you into the nearest headstone or something.” She paused before adding teasingly, “And that’s a harder question than it might seem like – because you have no idea how tempting that is!”

He laughed, congratulating himself that his nervousness did not show in his voice. He *did* trust her, really – he was sure that she would not do anything to *actually* hurt him – but it was definitely a disconcerting thought, placing complete control in the Slayer’s hands.

Everything in his nature rose up screaming in protest at the idea.

Everything except his love for Buffy, and his determination to prove it – once and for all.

“I trust you, love,” he repeated, slowly and deliberately in a tone resembling one that a person might use with a retarded child. “I said it and I meant it. I. Trust. You.” He took a deep breath before stepping forward in the direction her hand was lightly tugging him.

“By all means, pet – lead on.”





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