Spike: I get this spell reversed, they’ll be finding your body for weeks!
Buffy: Oh, make a move. Please. I’m dying for a good slay!
        Something Blue
 

    The ritual the next evening was pretty much identical. Spike woke, woke Drusilla, snuggled with her a bit, and then was quietly rebuffed. He released Buffy, and the two vampires went hunting. The only difference was, in this instance, Dru left first, and Spike headed off – Buffy presumed to the CBGB club – alone.

    The Chinese food was cold, and even less appetizing today, but Spike hadn’t provided more food yet, so she made herself eat some of it. There was a bookshelf on the wall, filled with paperbacks. There were science fiction novels and some random magazines. There were also – Buffy smiled when she saw them – a few books of romantic poetry. There he was. It was those little remnants of the gentle Spike she loved inside that made this whole dark situation bearable for her. Even without a soul, he could still appreciate others’ poems, and did. She picked up a book and read, keeping an ear open for the door. She didn’t want to be surprised by Drusilla’s lone return.

    When she heard the door rattling, she jumped up off the couch and headed for her closet out of the way of the unpredictable vampiress. Except... as she closed the door two voices came into the room. Neither of them were female.

    “I dunno, man! The boss isn’t gonna like this!”

    Buffy didn’t like this much, either. What was it that Drusilla had said? The boys were getting restless?

    “The boss gets to go hunt when he chooses,” said another voice. “There wasn’t enough in that overseas chink last night to even be an appetizer.”

    “I think he was from Soho. And Korean.”

    “I don’t care where he was from, he was a tease.”

    “You know we can go hunting if we want.”

    “Yeah, the lowlives out there.” Uh-oh. Buffy was afraid she knew where this was heading. She prepared herself. Not a slayer, not in this body, but Willow had fought vampires. Xander had fought vampires. Hell, Anya had fought vampires, and her first impulse was always to run the hell away. “And you heard the boss last night. Bitching us out for making that chink scream when he’s torturing his own little slut right in front of us. He gets to make ‘em scream. How’s that fair?”

    “Well, yeah, man, but... the boss is the boss, right? I mean, that’s the point.”

    “Well, I gotta make my point. And my point is that we deserve as much fun as the boss, yeah?”

    “But–”

    “And he keeps his fun,” the first vampire added, “right here.” The door to Buffy’s closet was torn open. Two of Spike’s yellow-eyed, weak willed minions stood before her. One was tall and arrogant. The other slunk like a ferret, and looked nervous.

    “I wouldn’t,” Buffy said without preamble.

    The tall vampire laughed at her, and lunged. Buffy cracked the terra-cotta pot over his head and tried to push out past him, but the ferretty one grabbed her. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with her once he had her, and held her nervously. “Um...” he said.

    The tall vampire picked himself up from the floor and grabbed her from his partner. She elbowed him in the ribs, but her strength was negligible, and he was on the hunt. He held her by the throat and pushed her up against the lamp table. “Look at her! Look at that neck, and he expects us to eat winos off the streets?” He chuckled, and then held her out to his friend. “You wanna take a first bite?” he asked.

    “I dunno, Chet,” his partner said nervously. “I think the boss’ll get pissed.”

    “Maybe he shouldn’t be the boss anymore,” Chet muttered. “I’ll bet if you, me, and Danny get together, we could take him out.”

    “But he made us, man. That’s, like... wrong.”

    “Isn’t that the point?” Chet said. He pushed Buffy at him. “Here, you bite first.” He seemed reluctant to take full responsibility. Buffy knew he’d turn on his ferretty partner in a second if Spike came back. “Come on. No one’s looking.”

    The ferret wasn’t buying it. “No, man! This was your bright idea!”

    “I think neither one of you are very bright!” Buffy snapped. She shifted and kicked the lamp table, until the whole thing fell at their feet. The light went out, the bulb shattering with a pop, and Buffy used the vampire’s distraction to duck out of his grip. She twisted and dove in the direction of Drusilla’s room. She might have to share it with the blood doll, but she figured there’d be more chance of weapons being stashed in there.

    She didn’t get far. The vampire Chet grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her across the room. She rolled into the throw, keeping herself from being bruised, but she didn’t have the agility she usually had in order to hop up and face her attackers. God damn it! She realized they might actually manage to kill her in this pitiful junkie’s body. She wasn’t afraid. She was just annoyed. She’d expected to deal with Spike, evil or not. She’d accepted he might kill her. The chance of being bitten to death by his idiot disposable offspring was not supposed to be in the cards. It seemed quite the ignoble ending for a famous slayer. Offed by someone’s newborn minion.

    Not that anyone would ever know.

    She only managed to get up into a crawl before the vampire Chet was on her again. His partner didn’t seem to want to attack the boss’s pet. Buffy kicked Chet off and rolled away, but she didn’t get far. Chet grabbed hold of her ankles, dragging her back to him. Buffy scrabbled at the lower cupboards in the kitchenette, hanging on to the handle of one for dear life. It opened under her weight, and her scrabbling made the garbage can inside fall over. She threw it behind her, and it hit the vampire’s face, exploding into empty liquor bottles and sticky Chinese cartons. The vampire seized her hips and turned her. “Let’s see how loud you can scream for me!” he growled. He opened his fangs and lunged for her throat.

    He didn’t even have time to be surprised before he flickered into dust.

    The ferretty vampire stared at Buffy in horror as she forced herself back to her feet, her hand still clenched around the discarded chopstick she’d found amongst the refuse. It hurt. Her hand didn’t have the strength she was used to, but the stance felt right, and even this puny weapon filled her with confidence. “Boy did he have the wrong end of the stick,” Buffy said. She laughed, giddy with the slay. She felt like herself for the first time since she’d been dragged back.

    “You!” The other vampire backed away from her, confused and scared. “You dusted him! She –! You –! We’re –!”

    “Need me to stick it to you next?” Buffy asked with a grin. She advanced a step.

    “And what the bloody hell is going on!”

    Buffy and the ferretty vampire both stared at Spike in the doorway. How long he’d been there, Buffy had no idea. She wondered if he’d actually seen the slay.

    “She dusted him, boss!” the vampire cried out. He ran to Spike as if Spike were a rescuing parent. “She dusted Chet!”

    Spike looked at Buffy, the pile of dust on the floor, and the vamp panicking at his feet.

    “What the hell, right?” the minion continued. “We get her now, right? We get to eat her?”

    Spike knocked the vampire into the wall without really looking at him and advanced on Buffy. She tried to think of what to say, and didn’t have time to decide whether dropping the stick or holding it in a defensive posture was the best plan. Spike attacked her with a roundhouse, kicking at her hand with his boot. Her hand went numb, and the stick went flying. Spike rolled and picked it up in the same movement, and then faced her in defensive crouch. Buffy took several steps back, her hands up and empty. Buffy tried to look harmless. She didn’t know if she pulled it off. She wasn’t sure her perky-innocent dumb-blonde cheerleader grin would have the same effect in this body.

    “Do we get her now, boss?” the ferretty vampire continued from his position against the wall. “I can get Danny. We’ll tear her apart for you, right boss? It’ll be fun, right? She’s been–”

    Spike’s hand shot out, and he grabbed the vampire by the scruff. “What the hell were you doing in my lair?” he snarled.

    The vampire dangled like a kitten in its mother’s mouth. “It was... Chet, he... he thought....”

    “Shut up,” Spike said. “Chet thought. And Chet’s the boss, is he?”

    “He’s dusted, man!”

    “He shouldn’t have been in my fucking lair!” Spike snapped, shaking his minion. “And neither should you.”

    “Yeah, but she dusted him! With that... thing! And we’re still hungry, and–”

    “And you talk too much!” Spike glowered. He dragged his minion out the door. “Oi! Listen up, mates. Any of you think my orders don’t need to be obeyed?” he asked the nesting vamps. He staked the minion without ceremony, and let him go. The ferretty vampire screamed, and fell heavily to the floor with a thump before he exploded into dust. Spike smacked the chopstick between his hands then, crumbling it to splinters. “When I say stay out of my lair stay the bloody hell out of my lair!”

    There was dead silence from the hallway. Spike tossed the splinters onto the floor and came back into the room, slamming the door behind him.

    Buffy had no chance to think up any explanation before Spike had her against the wall. “What the bloody hell are you?” he demanded.

    “I’m... I’m just a girl,” Buffy said, her heart beating wildly. She wasn’t sure if it was Sarah’s instinctive terror or her own.

    “A girl who stakes vampires with kitchen ware!” he growled. “You’re not just a girl. You’re a witch or a demoness or – or... I don’t know. You don’t smell, or taste like a slayer, and I’ve met the slayer, so you’re something else. What are you?”

    “I told you! I’m just a girl!”

    “Bollocks! You know too much! You do too much.”

    “I saved my own life, because you left it in danger,” Buffy snapped. “What did you expect me to do? Just let them kill me?”

    “Any other bint would have.”

    “Well, clearly I’m better than that, aren’t I,” Buffy retorted.

    “What the hell are you?” Spike asked, pushing her a little higher up the wall. “Why the hell are you here?”

    “You know why I’m here.”

    “No, I bloody don’t. You're not a sub, or a junkie, or a runaway. You're not crazy or suicidal or homeless. You aren’t desperate, you don't get off on watching murders, and you're not even that much of a masochist. You bloody up and threw yourself at the biggest bad in the area, and now you’re staking my minions. What the bloody hell are you after?"

    “I’ve told you what I’m after!”     

    “And that doesn’t make any god damn sense!”

    “Life doesn’t!” Buffy yelled into his face.

    He looked incredulous. “And now you’re getting all existential in the face of certain death. Maybe you’re just insane.”

    “I’m not–”

    “I should kill you right now. You’re a liability.”

    A thought struck Buffy. “So why haven’t you?”

    Spike blinked.

    “You’re not actually pissed off at all, you just want to be.” Buffy laughed, realizing what his problem was. She let her eyes flicker seductively. “Having fun, Spike? I’ll bet the fact I just staked a vamp turns you on like a boiling kettle.”

    Spike growled and pushed her harder against the wall, but Buffy was herself again. She was not going to be afraid, not of Spike, not of any vampire. She was the slayer, god dammit. “But he was mine,” Spike snarled.

    “You didn’t want him anyway,” Buffy said, certain of that. “He was too independent.”

    “If you can stake him, what’s to keep you from staking me?”

    “A cup of your blood, and ten minutes to do what I want with it,” Buffy said.

    “That doesn’t mean you want me alive.”

    “Sure it does. I can’t get blood from you if you’re dust.”

    He pushed her harder. “And what’s to keep you from staking Dru when I’m not looking?”

    Buffy wanted to be hard, but she knew what Dru meant to him. At least, right now. It would also alter her own timeline too much, she knew it would. She let her face soften. "It would break your heart," she said. "I wouldn't do that to you.”

    Spike scoffed. “Bollocks. And if she comes to kill you?”

    Buffy shrugged. “She's no fledgling. I'll bet that minion was. He was too easy to kill."

    “What the hell do you know about it?”

    “Think about it,” Buffy said. “Someone knows the future. Bits of the future. She knows you. What do you think she’d do? She’d learn about vampires, right? She’d learn everything she could. She’d learn how to protect herself, wouldn’t she?”

    “That doesn’t explain why she’d follow the big bad into the dark of the night and throw herself into his bed.”

    “Well, that one you’ll have to figure out on your own,” Buffy said. “Why don’t you ask Drusilla?”

    “I did,” Spike said, not surprising her. “All I got were ravings about you not being who you are.”

    Buffy shrugged against the wall. “Then that’ll have to do you,” Buffy said, “because I don’t have a better explanation to give you. All I have is me.” She let her arms go up around him. “Come on, Spike,” she said. “I hid nothing from you. I told you I had teeth. You kept me anyway.” She smiled at him. “You want to feel me out? See how much of a liability I am?”

    “What do you mean?”

    “You know what I mean, warrior,” she said. “See what I can do.” She idly fingered the bright scar on his eyebrow – the one she knew he kept intentionally, his mark from his first slayer. He'd recently cut it open again, and stuck a safety pin through it for effect. He drew in a breath, aroused. "I'm not really strong enough for you, but... I know how to dance."

    He paused, and she felt him draw in a breath. "Do you, now?"

    Buffy nodded. She didn't have the strength, the agility, the speed, the endurance, or the instincts, but she still knew the moves. "Don’t you wanna dance with me?" she asked slyly. "You'll have to just play; you actually land a blow, you'll shatter me. But don't you wanna see my moves?"

    Spike's breath came a little harder and his eyes narrowed. "Show me." He backed away.

    "I may be a little rusty," Buffy admitted, and she started to stretch. Sarah's body was not as limber as her own, not by a long chalk. She'd have to take that into account. Her legs were shorter, too, and her breasts far larger. They were going to get in the way. Still, she thought she could come up with something in this ill-fitting suit she found herself in. “All right,” she said. She swallowed. “Come at me.”

    Spike’s eyes flickered down her form for a moment, and then he complied, pouncing like a tiger. Buffy sidestepped, shifted, and landed a blow on his ribs. And hurt her hand. “Ow,” she muttered. She shook her wrist. She changed styles, raising her hands up to block, and he swung at her. She knew he was going slow – for him – but she was still hard pressed to block the attacks. She hit his blows aside so hard she felt herself bruising her own arms, but she didn’t ask him to stop. She did have to retreat. She backed up until she felt the counter behind her, then ducked and rolled, rather than going for another block. Spike missed her move and punched his own cupboard. Drusilla’s rats squeaked as he rattled the cage.

    He laughed as his fist went through the wood, and he spun to catch her again. She hadn’t been able to get up fast enough, and he stepped on her hair. She shifted up on her shoulders and kicked at his stomach – futilely, but he chuckled and let her go as if her weakened blow had actually done damage. She jumped awkwardly to her feet and leaped for him, aiming her fists at his face, and he caught her arms and held her. “All right, cutie,” he chuckled. “You’re know you’re playing with one of the big boys–”

    Buffy kneed him in the groin, and he buckled. “Ough!”

    Buffy’s own knee was bruised, and she could hardly breathe for the adrenaline hit, and Sarah’s weakened muscles had formed a strident union and were picketing for better treatment. She knew she was already pretty much done with this fight. Shame. She was starting to get into it.

    Still in a crouch of pain, Spike grabbed her by the leg and dragged her to the floor. She kicked away and scrabbled to her feet. Spike growled and surged upright. He grabbed her by the throat and pushed her back up against the wall. “You’re a dangerous little mouse,” he grinned at her.

    “And I keep telling you,” Buffy panted up at him. “I’m no mouse.”

    “Who the hell have you been fighting?” he asked, still laughing at her. “That was so damn cute.” He kissed her then, and for the first time it felt real. She felt him against her, and knew the difference immediately. He actually wanted her this time. He wasn't just trying to take vengeance on Drusilla, or play the big bad for the sake of it, or even take her up on a tease. This was the first time she'd turned him on by herself, not just because he was lonely or angry or wanted to prove he owned her. He nibbled at her lips, and his body pulsed against her, muscles tensing, breath catching. Buffy felt electricity. Hot damn, he was still Spike... “All right then, pussycat,” he growled, and slid into his fangs “You just met the bad dog.”

    He bit her. She tensed under him, frightened. Maybe she was wrong, and she’d actually angered him. Maybe he was going to kill her. And then the pain faded and she felt him sliding over her and through her, and then she felt the first trickle of euphoria as he gave to her. “Oh, god,” she breathed, melting under him. She moaned and gasped. “You don’t... ung! You don’t have to do this... if you don’t... oh!” She had to stop talking.

    Spike released her throat and looked down at her. “And miss out on that look on your face?” he asked with his thickened eyebrow raised as much as it could. He reached for his jeans and unzipped, pulling out his already erect cock. “Can’t wait to see this one–!” He pulled up her skirt and slid inside her, and her eyes flickered. He turned back to her throat and lapped at the blood until her whole neck felt numb with it. He thrust in her against the wall as she wrapped her legs around him, and sucked as she groaned beneath him.

    She’d forgotten how nice it felt. The pain of the last two days had begun to block out the memory of Spike’s powerful bite, the need she felt when he gave it to her. Over their time together it had trickled into the love she felt, making the whole thing as intense as a first kiss. It was wonderful to feel it again. She hadn’t realized how lonely she’d felt without his soul – this was the next best thing. And... dangerous. She knew it was. Still...

    His fullness pulsed inside her, and his muscular arms held her secure, and he had her ride him, supported by the wall, and his cool breath tickled the back of her neck. Over and over, deep and deeper, little sounds of lust and pleasure escaping both of them. This really was Spike. Maybe it was the bite affecting her, but she felt like she’d come home. She could have sobbed with how good it felt.

    The blood and the sex and the euphoria bled into each other, and Buffy all but swooned against the wall. His movement against her was fierce, intense, single-minded in its passion. It caught every part of her. She felt it building, tensing inside her as if she were cording muscles to land a blow, and it struck her as hard as if she had landed one, an orgasm as fierce as her own strikes. It left her feeling warm and full of light – glowing. That was the word Spike always used. Glowing. She sagged against him like a ragdoll, spent, but enjoying every movement he still thrust against her.

    Then the front door opened, and in came Drusilla. Buffy was too dazed to protest, or even really register her presence. “I thought you’d already hunted, Spike,” Drusilla said with a teasing grin.

    Spike pulled his head away from Buffy’s throat and glanced at her, his eyes slipping back to blue. “Bit busy, Dru.”

    “Don’t let me spoil your fun,” Drusilla laughed. Then she looked about the room, the broken lamp, the upended garbage. “Your pet’s got into the rubbish bin. She’s messy.”

    Spike turned back to Buffy with mischief in his eyes. “Kittens will do that sometimes.” He thrust into her harder.

    Drusilla laughed again, and headed for her room. “I need to change my dollies.”

    “Mm,” Spike said, which might have been an acknowledgement, or might have just been enjoying Buffy. Buffy was still too dazed to even be embarrassed. In some way, this wasn’t even her. Spike gazed at her, his ice-blue eyes warm with his enjoyment of her. Over and over again he pushed her, thrust inside her, staring into her. He didn’t take his eyes off hers until he came. He grunted with it, his teeth clenched, and paused for a moment, looking as if he might growl. Then he sucked at her still bleeding wound again.

    Still bleeding. The anti-coagulant. She’d been immune to it in her old body. Buffy swallowed as she realized how much easier it would be for Spike to kill her in this form. Kill her accidentally, even. Spike released her wound with a final lick, and pulled back. He looked into her eyes as he set her on the ground. “You knew what I was doing.”

    She nodded.

    “But you haven’t been a blood junkie. No scars. You got friends?”

    “No,” Buffy said, finding it hard to talk through the bite. “I just know you.”

    Spike started to pull away, and she clutched at him. She’d never had him try to pull away after before. The sudden panic of the idea of losing contact with him frightened her. “S-sorry,” she said. She swallowed.

    He grinned, and looked down her body. “Don’t worry, pet. I’m not done with you yet.” He lifted her and carried her across the room and set her up before the sofa bed. He embraced her from behind, licking at the trickling bite, and then whispered into her ear, “Open it.”

    She licked her lips, longing for him to touch her more, and then made herself leave contact with him to open the sofa bed. It almost hurt, letting him go. She reeled, from the exertion, venom, blood loss, she wasn’t sure. Opening the sofa was harder than it should have been. She had to think carefully about what she was doing, and stop herself from following at his heels like a god-damned puppy. She had to tell herself  that two minutes out of Spike’s arms were not going to be the death of her. Quite the contrary.

    Spike went to fetch the pillows. A moment after she had the bed fully unfolded, Spike pushed her down and pulled her skirt off. She sighed with relief once she felt his hands on her again.

    He kissed her and caressed her as he stripped off the rest of her clothes. Her heart was racing – damn. The bite again. She was used to Spike being more careful with this stuff. She supposed that meant she couldn’t let herself fall as far as she usually liked to....

    Too late. She grabbed him, burying her head in his collar as if she’d burrow inside him, and she almost hated herself for it. She did not feel in control now. Not even knowing him as well as she did, not even being able to manipulate how he felt and what he wanted. He wanted her now, and only because she’d set him up with things she knew would turn him on, and still she felt out of control.

    “Sweet thing,” he said, and he lifted his shirt over his head. He pulled her close to him and licked at her throat. “That better?”

    She clutched at him. “You know exactly what you’ve done to me, don’t you.”

    “You seemed to have some idea what you were doing to me,” he said. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be in charge, here.”

    “Is that why you went all bitey?” Buffy asked. “Feeling out of control?”

    Spike grinned down at her. “I went all bitey ‘cause that’s what I do. It’s what you’re here for.” He closed his teeth on her nose, a teasing kiss before letting her go. “Or did you forget?”

    “Fair enough,” Buffy said, still clinging to him. He smelled of stale cigarettes, a different brand than she was used to him using. Harsher. She didn’t like it much. She still clung to him.

    He licked at her throat. “Your blood’s sweet,” he said. “Gentle trickle. You’ve a tiny little heartbeat. Almost like a child.”

    Buffy’s ardour cooled, and she went still beneath him. “I don’t want to know how children taste,” she said quietly.

    He pulled away a little and looked down at her. “And yet you’re willingly fucking a vampire,” he said. “What do you think I eat?”

    “Whoever you can get your hands on,” Buffy said. “That doesn’t mean I like it.”

    “So why are you here?” he asked – again.

    Buffy pulled him closer. “I love you. That can mask a lot of evils.”

    “You what?”

    Damn. That bite was really affecting her inhibitions. “Never mind,” she breathed.

    Spike stared at her for a long moment, curious, flattered. “Say it again.”

    “You won’t believe me if I say it again,” Buffy said. “You’ll think it’s the bite talking.”

    “Wasn’t it?”

    “You wouldn’t believe me either way.”

    He gazed at her, both fond and perplexed. “I don’t know what to believe. You could be extremely dangerous.”

    “Like you?” she asked with a soft smile. “You don’t trust me yet. I’m not saying it again.”

    “Why?”

    She shrugged. “Those are powerful words. You’ll think I’m trying to manipulate you.”

    “Now that, I know you’re doing,” Spike said.

    Buffy looked up at him. “Do you?”

    “You think me a fool?”

    “Sometimes,” Buffy teased.

    He laughed, not even insulted. “How the hell do you know me?” he asked in a whisper.

    “I’m inside you,” she whispered back, her eyes closed in euphoria.

    “Some of you,” Spike said. “Until I take all of you.”

    He really thought that idea was sexy. Damn, this was complicated. She knew her Spike was inside there – most of him. But there was also this really sadistic creature with no leash on him at all. She missed his soul, yes, but she hadn’t realized how much she’d miss the neuro-chip. He was still evil even with it in, but she had never realized exactly how much it had tempered him. Kinky was one thing, but this Spike was well past that, and it really disturbed her. But she had no choice, and it was easier to try and love him. Either way, she’d be gone in ten days. She knew this. This wasn’t her time. She just had to get through it, one way or another. She’d known his past. And much more importantly she knew his future. He had to be worth it.

    He slid his jeans down and kicked them off the bed, then arched over her. “Who taught you to fight?” he asked.

    “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Buffy said.

    He took hold of her arms and held them up above her head, pressed down against the mattress. His whole body weighed down on her. She grunted at how good it felt. “Try me,” he said.

    “My high school librarian,” she said. “And cheerleading practice.”

    He laughed and kissed her. “Are you trying to tell me I’ve stolen a school girl?”

    Buffy grinned up at him. “Do I look like a school girl?”

    “No,” Spike said. “You look like a naked little bint that I’m going to ravish, and never let go.”

    Buffy kissed him rather than respond, and he returned it passionately, pushing her head down into the mattress, barely giving her time to breathe. Spike loved to kiss – vampires and oral fixations. She liked it, she wanted him, but it started to get uncomfortable. Buffy hadn’t realized it before – Spike always let her breathe. Even from the beginning, even under that stupid spell Willow had cast, Spike was always careful to let Buffy breathe as they kissed. This Spike didn’t seem to care, or notice, that she was being half smothered by his lips, that she didn’t have time to take in air. He didn’t need to breathe himself, not really – not anywhere near as much as a human, at any rate – and it didn’t occur to him to take that into account when bedding a human girl.

    After a while she felt it necessary to pull her head away. He didn’t really let her. “Wait!” she gasped.

    He growled low, annoyed. “What. Now.”

    “Just give me a moment,” Buffy whispered against his jaw. She gasped and panted. “Give a girl some air.”

    Spike pulled away and looked down at her. “What?”

    “I need to breathe,” she said with a slightly giddy laugh, “give me a minute.”

    “You nee–” He cut himself off and gazed down at her, perplexed.

    Buffy looked up. “Have none of your other pets ever told you this?” she said, teasing more than anything else. “Humans need air sometimes.”

    The look on his face told her that in all honesty, none of them ever had.

    Her teasing demeanor changed as the truth struck her. “They’ve all been too scared to complain,” she realized. It seemed very sad, suddenly. He’d never been loved as a man, never even been kissed. He had no knowledge or memory of how to make love to someone like a man would. And every human victim would either have been terrified of him, or using him, or, at best, have no idea who or what he was. He’d had nothing but death or fear in his bed. “Oh, you poor baby.” She lifted her head and kissed him in earnest. He was still looking at her with bewilderment when she finished. She knew she was still a little high on the bite, but she felt such sympathy for him she couldn’t help but whisper, “I love you.”

    “Don’t lie to me.”

    There was no malice in his words. No accusation.

    Buffy moved beneath his body. “Make love to me,” she said. “You’ll know I’m not.”

    Spike regarded her for a long moment, and then finally released her arms. She put them around him and pulled him close, opening herself beneath him. He found her and slid inside, moving in her gently. “You really are a cutie,” he whispered.

    “And you’re dangerous,” she whispered back, both teasing him, and stroking his ego. “Kiss me.”

    He did, and stopped, and kissed her again. After the third awkward break, she chuckled. “You don’t have to stop. Just let me pick when to breathe.” She kissed him again, and then pulled away. He was trying. That meant... what? That he was changing? Toward her, at least.

    “Where did you come from?” he whispered as he moved in her.

    “It doesn’t matter.”

    “Tell me.”

    “The name is Sarah MacArthur. Look me up.”

    “I will,” Spike said. He arched over her, moving in her sensuously, occasionally grinning down at her until his tempo started to speed up.

    Buffy was annoyed that mostly what she felt was exhaustion. She was used to more endurance, more control, and the ability to go five hours straight, giving back as good as she got. As it was she felt weak, tired, sated – and her neck still bled a trickle. She could feel it pooling under her shoulder, sticky and wet.

    Still, he seemed to find it hot, which was sort of the point. He rocked over her, then grunted as he came inside her again. He sank his head down to her throat and kissed again at her wound.

    Finally, he seemed satisfied, and rolled off her. “You are a sweet little bit, I’ll give you that,” he said. He slid up higher on the sofa bed and reached down under the mattress. “Come here.”

    Buffy scooted over, and lay her head against his chest. He smiled. “Come here, cutie.” He took her arm and lifted it. A dull clanking drew her attention. A second later, Spike slid a manacle over her wrist, and screwed her into it.

    “What’s this?” Buffy asked. Her tone was languid, rather than worried.

    “Chains, pet,” he said. They’d been stuffed under the mattress, probably bound to the bedframe. He pulled out a second manacle and pulled up her other arm.

    “What are they for?

    “What do you think?” He kissed her.

    “No closet?”

    “Not today,” he said. “I’m cold, you’re warm. You’re gonna be my hot water bottle.”

    Buffy laughed. Spike loved to just hold her, keep himself warm against her life. It was good to see that reflected in him from this time. But still.... “And the chains are supposed to...?”

    “Keep you locked up,” he said.

    Buffy looked at him. “You’re an idiot.”

    Spike blinked at her in surprise. “Excuse me?”

    “You’re an idiot,” Buffy said.

    “And you’re insulting the guy with the fangs, love.”

    “And you want to keep me quiescent, why give me a weapon?”

    “What?”

    Buffy shifted, twisted, and crossed her arms. The chains were loose enough she managed to loop them around Spike’s neck. She pinned him down, pulling the chains taut, and grinned down into his face. “I probably couldn’t kill you,” she said. She knew she probably could in her slayer body, using the chains to break his neck and then rip the soft flesh, but Sarah wasn’t up for that. “But it’s still a damn fool idea.”

    “You are so damn cute,” he said again. He breathed heavily under her, an amused grin still on his face. “So I take it it’s back to the closet.”

    “Well, that’s dumb too,” Buffy said. “Do you want to hold me, or not?”

    His grin faded and he gazed up at her. “What am I supposed to do. Trust you?”

    “Take the gamble,” she said. “Is it worth it for a hot water bottle?”

    “You just staked my minion. I trust you about as far as I could throw you.”

    “Well that’s pretty far, big bad.” Buffy considered this. “Got any handcuffs?” she asked. She shook her head. “Of course you do. Just bind me to you.” She kissed him. “Then I can’t go finding anymore chopsticks... and you won’t be going anywhere without me.”

    “You want to lock me up.”

    “Just a little. To me. And you hold the key.” She kissed him, nibbling at his lips with her teeth. “Come on, Spike. You know you wanna hold me. I’ll snuggle up... keep you warm and toasty... all... day... long.” She kissed and nibbled him again as she spoke, and he groaned quietly. He kissed her briefly, and then sat up. Buffy’s arms were wrenched by the chains as he shifted her. “Ow.”

    “All right, then,” he said. “Give us a minute.”

    He went into the bathroom, and Buffy yanked at the manacles. She felt a little better, despite his leaving – the euphoria of his bite was wearing off. He hadn’t given her as much as she’d feared. He came back with a bowl in his hand, and she grinned at him. “These are pretty good chains,” she said. “Good sound. Musical.”

    He tilted his head at her, perplexed.

    “We should use them some other time.”

    “Now you’re volunteering for them?’

    “Of course,” Buffy said. “Did you think I was complaining on principle?” She sat up. “Okay, why do you think I’m here?” she asked. “Do you really think you’re keeping me prisoner?”

    “Yes,” he said flatly.

    Buffy’s smile softened, and she twitched her nose flirtatiously. “I’d be here, anyway.”

    “Until you got your pound of flesh.”

    “Cup of blood, and it’s really more complicated than that.” She shook her head. “Lets not talk about it. It doesn’t matter right now.”

    “What does matter?”

    Buffy shrugged. “Well, I thought you were cold. Doesn’t that matter?”

    Spike sat down on the bed beside her and unscrewed the manacles. “I was right. You’re definitely insane.”

    “No,” Buffy said. She slid her hand over his shoulder as soon as it was loose. “I’m just already yours.” She let her hand slide down his chest. “You don’t need to train me. You don’t need to bind me. You don’t need to threaten me. What do you want, hon?” she asked. She slipped her hand back up his throat, and touched his lips with her thumb. “Ropes? Chains? I’m breakable – you don’t want to waste me – but I don’t mind if you hurt me. Much,” she added with a wink. “I’m all yours.”

    “I still don’t trust you,” he said quietly, but his eyes were half closed. He was clearly feeling very fond of her just then.

    “Then break out the handcuffs,” Buffy said. “But I can’t wait to hold you.”

    He released the second manacle and then wiped her neck with a wet wash cloth he’d brought in the bowl. “What are...?”

    “Don’t want to waste all that sweet blood,” he whispered. He pulled out another bandage and covered the wound.

    “I guess I should be flattered,” Buffy said. She snuggled against his chest as he made sure the tape was secure. She hummed with contentment. He really did smell good. And feel good. And maybe that bite wasn’t out of her system yet, after all.

    “You really are a sodding pussycat,” he said. He snapped a handcuff around her wrist and pulled her against him. “Do you purr?” he asked in her ear.

    “Only if you ask me to,” Buffy whispered.

    He chuckled, stood up, and turned off the light. The rising sun trickled in through the painted, grated windows, and he closed one of the curtains to block more of it out. He started picking up the fallen trash can.

    Buffy shifted on the bed. “I can help with–”

    “You can stay right where you are,” Spike snapped, not sounding particularly fond. “I’m not letting you get your hands on a weapon again.”

    “Now it’s bothering you?”

    Spike glanced up. “Just because I like risk doesn’t mean I’m an idiot,” he said. “You sit right there where I can see you till I clean this room up a bit.” Buffy noticed he found and destroyed three more chopsticks. He threw out the broken lamp, collected all the wood splinters from the broken cabinet, and for good measure put the whole trash bin out into the hall with his minions. Buffy slid in between the bloodstained sheets, and waited for him to join her. He did a moment later and pulled her close against him, proprietorial. “Don’t keep me awake.”

    “No?” Buffy asked. She let her hand slide up his bare thigh, and just tickle his cock.

    He chuckled. “Maybe in the evening.”

    “Plan,” Buffy said. Spike snapped the second handcuff around his own wrist and slid his leg over her. She knew the gesture. Often, he’d murmur mine when he did that back home... back in her time. Then it was mostly a joke, my love,more than, my property. Now, she knew he really was thinking that way.

    Still. Even with the awkwardness of the handcuff, it was nice to curl up against him. Much nicer than being tied up alone in the closet. He’d softened toward her. He wanted her more. He trusted her more.

    All she’d needed to do was stake a vampire, do a little play sparring, and volunteer for the chains. Basically, be herself. She snuggled in. Maybe she was finally getting somewhere with him.
 

 

Chapter End Notes:

I don’t want to hear a blessed thing about Xin Rong’s supposedly blessed blade. My explanation for Spike still having a scar on his eyebrow from back then makes much more logical sense, and her blade can still be blessed.