Disclaimer: Spike belongs to Joss Whedon. Thanks for the vampire, Joss.
 
********************
 
Chapter 4: Of Lust
 
Your rosy breasts beneath my pale hands
Most beautiful hair in all the land
The heady fragrance of your quim…
 
Spike paused in his scribbling and thought for a moment. Something appropriate that rhymes with quim… He stared off into the distance for a minute, trying to come up with something. Then he reread what he wrote, growled at its inanity, and crumpled it up, hurling it at the wall, where it fell and joined a growing pile of similar balls of paper.
 
Spike had woken up around one o’clock, sporting a raging hard-on. He had relieved himself while standing under his makeshift shower, but it only seemed to partially dull his continued horniness. He had had his breakfast of pig’s blood, tidied up his room a bit, and then sat down with some whiskey, a pen and some paper and started writing erotic poetry. He had never really tried writing pornographic poetry, and this morning he felt inspired to give it a go. But now, a couple of hours on, he found he was as much of a bloody awful poet as ever.
 
He went upstairs to see if there was anything worth watching on TV. I’d bloody kill for the Playboy channel today. He flipped through the limited selection offered by a battered TV with no cable hookup, but found nothing even remotely worth watching. He turned it off again with a sigh. Sometimes being a vampire could be a drag. Here he was in California, with scantily clad women sunning themselves everywhere, and he was stuck inside until the sun went down and they covered most of it back up. Bloody unfair, that is. And back when I could go out in the sunlight, nothing but corsets and floor length dresses as far as the eye could see. He sighed again at the cosmic unfairness of it all.
 
He got up and checked his supplies and found he was out of burba weed. Might as well make a run to the Magic Box, he thought. Nothing else on around here. He threw on his duster and made his way into the tunnels, making the turns almost automatically. While he walked he thought about his first shag. Drusilla. His eyes half closed as he remembered that first time. Her creamy white skin had gleamed in the moonlight coming through the window of some flat they had borrowed from one of their victims. She had run her pale hands down his shoulders, relieving him of his braces and trousers. He had fumbled with the strings of her corset, finally accepting her help to expose her breasts to his virgin explorations. It had been so wet and cool in her center, and he had hardly lasted ten minutes before blowing his load…
 
He found he was stroking himself through his jeans as he walked, desperate for release. What brought that memory up? he wondered. Truthfully, he hadn’t thought about Drusilla in a while. He was still rather pissed at her about the whole chaos demon thing. He wasn’t sure what he would do if she showed up at his doorstep again. Actually, if she showed up today, he would shag her right into the ground, but the way he was feeling today he could probably shag anything short of Xander. He shuddered. The thought of Xander naked killed his mood, relieving a bit of the tightness in his jeans.
 
He reached the trapdoor which led into the basement of the Magic Box and lifted it quietly. He silently entered the basement, moving around the stacked boxes and shelving until he reached the boxes of stored herbs. As he rummaged for the burba weed, he heard the door open upstairs. Listening carefully, he heard Giles greet Buffy, and Buffy saying she needed to work out. He slipped the bag of herbs into his pocket as he listened. Buffy had started hitting the punching bag. He imagined her, kicking, whirling, punching. She was so amazingly hot when she fought. He closed his eyes and followed the sounds in his mind, knowing exactly what she would look like – blonde hair swinging, breath panting, green eyes snapping. Before he knew what he was doing his cock was in his hand again. He stroked himself, eyes still closed, panting at the thought of the Slayer, right above him, her gorgeous body moving in that deadly dance of hers. After a few moments he came with a barely stifled groan, followed by a noisy crash upstairs. He jumped, coming back to his senses. He had come all over the floor, and had nailed some candles as well. Somewhat sheepishly, he zipped his jeans and dashed back to the tunnels. Wonder what that crash was? Then a moment later he thought, Did I just have a wank in the Magic Box?
 
Spike paused for a moment in his travels, fumbling for a cigarette. He was not a shy person. Most of the inhibitions he had felt as a human had disappeared within a couple of weeks of being turned. But even he didn’t usually go for semi-public masturbation. Harmony’s only been gone for a few weeks. Hell, during World War II I went about 6 months without getting any, after those fucking Nazi bastards caught me. Why am I so bloody desperate? He couldn’t explain it at all.
 
He got back to his crypt still confused by his own behavior. He was 148 years old for God’s sake, not some pimply faced teenager with raging hormones. He poured himself some blood and sprinkled in the pilfered herbs. Settling down in his chair, he turned on Passions and tried to relish his Pig’s Blood Cocktail. The herbs made it at least semi-tolerable, but it would never pass for human.
 
Now some Slayer would go down nicely about now. He remembered the Chinese Slayer’s blood. That was good. And with that Drusilla chaser… God that was hot. His hand started drifting southward again when he realized what was happening. “What the bloody hell is wrong with me today?” he growled aloud. He finished off the blood and put the glass down, pacing around and running his hands through his hair. Gone completely off your rocker, William.
 
He threw himself back down in front of the TV and watched some old movie until sundown, trying with all his might to keep his mind off sex. But it was like the old joke about telling someone not to think of the elephant. Try as he might, that was all he could think of. Drusilla naked, bent over some barrel in a stable somewhere. Darla on her knees, sucking off Angelus. Fucking Harmony’s enormous tits. And Buffy. He had only rarely fucked human girls, and while he loved the heat of their bodies, they were usually unable to keep up with a supernaturally strong lover. But the Slayer – she would have the strength and stamina. She could probably go all night, in every position possible. Vampire-like strength plus human heat would probably kill him outright. Yeah, but what a way to go. He found himself climaxing again, almost without realizing he had been masturbating once more. He realized with some embarrassment that his dick was actually getting sore from all this. I have got to get out of here before I pull something off.
 
At last, the sun went down and Spike headed out. He found himself in completely unfamiliar territory. He desperately needed a shag. He wasn’t sure if vamps could dust from a case of blue balls, but he was well on his way to getting experimental data on this subject. But he had never, in all his years, been alone like this. Oh, sure, Drusilla had run off sometimes. But she always came back, and then he had had Harmony. And before this sodding chip in his head, he could take by force what he wasn’t getting willingly, usually immediately prior to dining on his unwilling bed partner. He had only rarely resorted to rape, preferring seduction as a more sporting way of fulfilling his needs. However here he was. No steady girl, couldn’t attack anyone, didn’t know any female vamps in town that weren’t pissed at him over bringing the Slayer down on their vampire brothel. And girls were a lot more careful these days. Back in the ‘60’s he could waltz into almost any club and be reasonably assured of finding some way to get laid. But now, with AIDS and all that rubbish, he was going to have a harder time picking someone up. At least he assumed so – he hadn’t really had to try in ages.
 
Finally, he decided he was going to have to at least check out a bar or club, see if he could get lucky. He thought about the Bronze, but didn’t fancy running into the Scoobies in this state. He was reaching the strip of nightclubs when a female voice called from a dark corner. “Looking for some fun?”
 
Spike turned to see a scrawny girl who couldn’t have been more than 19 coming out of an alley. She had black hair, streaked with pink, overdone makeup, and was wearing a tight leather miniskirt with black leather boots. Prostitutes were pretty rare in Sunnydale. Spike was sure that the good people of the town thought it was due to their incredible police force or some rot, but actually, they just tended to get eaten fairly quickly. Word spread among the few working girls that stayed to either wear a cross or check for a pulse in this town. But this girl was either new, or from the faintly off scent of her blood, completely strung out on drugs to the point that she didn’t care.
 
Never, in all my years, have I had to pay for a shag. Bloody well not going to start now. But as the girl moved closer to him his erection swelled even further, if that were possible, and his resolve wavered. “What if I was looking for something, pet?” he found himself saying.
 
“I could show you a good time,” she purred. The girl must have weighed 100 pounds soaking wet, and was clearly high as a kite. Spike wavered for a moment, but then she ran her hand up his arm.
 
Fuck it. Gotta get some or I’m gonna explode. “Where to?” he said in a low voice.
 
The girl led him to a decrepit apartment building a block away. He followed her up to a dingy room with a bed that had clearly seen a lot of use over the years. She turned to him after closing the door and said, “You gonna show me your cash?” Spike sighed, and reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of odd bills. He wasn’t even sure how much there was there, but she took it, tossed it on her dresser and stripped without further ceremony, lying back on the bed. She must be as desperate for her next fix as I am for a shag.
 
She wasn’t particularly appealing, but he was beyond caring at this point. He shed his duster and boots, and had his jeans off in a matter of seconds. The girl’s drug-hazed eyes widened at the size of his jutting cock. Spike climbed on the bed next to her, running a hand down over her thin body and between her legs. “You got a name?” he asked quietly.
 
“Raven,” she replied. Her pupils were far too large, but she ran her tongue over her lips in what approximated a sensual gesture. Spike fingered her expertly, and she grew wetter and writhed under his hands. Finally, he could bear it no longer, and rolled on top of her, entering her in one smooth motion. She was tiny, and tight, and he found that he could barely fit inside her. But she was warm, and he began thrusting, getting a little farther with each thrust. Oh yeah, need a good fuck, he thought. He was so pent up that he could barely hold himself in check. As his climax neared he started to lose control. He fought hard to keep his demon at bay, but as he was about to come he lost it. Roaring, he vamped out and grabbed the girl’s hips with bruising fingers, thrusting as hard as he could.
 
“Bloody FUCK!” he screamed as his chip fired. The girl screamed as well, both from pain and fright. He pulled out of her, reeling back to fall to his knees on the floor, clutching his head in agony as his erection promptly wilted. Raven scrambled backward, curling into a ball at the headboard, crying and shuddering. The sound of running feet in the hallway was followed by pounding at the door. “Raven!” yelled a woman’s voice. “You okay in there?”
 
Spike staggered to his feet, grabbing for his clothes. He had gotten his jeans and shoes on when the cheap door lock snapped and a slightly larger whore burst in, wielding a butcher knife. She took one look at Raven, who was still shaking and bleeding slightly, and went after Spike screeching, “What did you do to her you motherfucker?”
 
Deciding he had had quite enough of this scene, Spike grabbed his duster and dived out the window. He landed hard 2 stories down, then staggered to his feet, bruised and battered. He took a brief look back at the shocked face of Raven’s friend in the window, then headed back toward his crypt.
 
TBC