“No.”

    Buffy glared at Spike, annoyed. She’d broken her own vow – again – and come to beg for release at the hands (and lips, and other things) of the evil-blood-sucking-fiend, and now he was turning her away? “What do you mean, no?”

    “I mean no!” Spike said. He jumped up out of his bed and poured himself a drink. “You show up, you beat me around a bit, and then you run off. It’s getting bloody boring.”

    “You’re bored with me?”

    “Love... why do you think I’m in for this?” She knew the answer. She knew how he felt. She knew she didn’t feel the same way. He shook his head. “It’s always the same, pet. I’m sick of playing your slayer victim.”

    That pissed Buffy off. “I’ve played yours. Run and catch, break out the chains, gonna eat me up and make me your toy, right?”

    He swallowed his drink.“Okay. So let’s play something else.”

    So he wasn’t saying no. Just... he wanted something else. Buffy tilted her head back. They had played games before. Racing through the cemetery very very late, one or the other on the hunt. Down here in his lower chamber, smaller, more intimate games; the chained vampire, or the captured slayer. Play something else?

    “Love?” he asked at her sudden silence. “What do you say?”

    “Um. Like what?”

    “Well....” He shrugged. “Who do you know how to play?”

    Buffy thought about this.“Well... I used to be a cheerlea –  No.” She’d dressed up in the outfit for Riley, but she wasn’t going to go all the way back to her house to get it.

    “No?”

    “Well, I have some ideas, but you don’t have the right... well... stuff here. Like props or outfits....”

    Spike smiled wickedly. “I’ve got a few things. ‘Sides. I think we can use our imaginations.”
 

***

    Buffy Summers lay on her stomach on her bed, flipping through a Cosmo, chewing on a piece of bubble gum, her feet in the air. Just back from cheerleading practice, she was bored, kinda annoyed, and not looking forward to the evening. She had some idea what was coming, after all. Homework. She had other ideas.

    A nervous sounding voice sounded in the door of her bedroom. “Um... you... um... you’re Buffy?”

    “Like you didn’t know,” Buffy snapped. She looked up and glared at the mousy little guy who had been sent as her English tutor. “How’d you get in here?”

    “Your mum sent me up,” her tutor said. He was wearing a ridiculous looking brown suit, which made him seem somehow younger than she knew he was, and a pair of fussy looking glasses under tousled blond hair.

    “Right. Well. I don’t wanna do this.”

    The tutor looked lost, and straightened up. “Um...”

    “I mean this English thing,” she added, and his face cleared. “I should get points just for speaking it, right? What do I need to ace a test for?”

    Her tutor smiled. He was a cute little thing, she had to admit. Kinda short for a guy, but he had pretty blue eyes, and it wasn’t skin and bones under that prim button up shirt. “I understood you weren’t to be allowed to remain in the cheerleading squad unless your grades picked up.”

    Buffy sat up, surprised. “What’s the accent?”

    “What do you mean?”

    “The accent.” She hadn’t expected him to sound quite like that, and she let herself giggle. It sounded so cute.

    “I’m English,” he said, stone faced.

    “Yeah, but since when...?” His voice was pristine. Upper-class and... posh was the word. She giggled again. “How long you been in the states?”

    “Long enough to know how to correct your spelling,” he said primly. “William - ah... Cambridge.” He held out his hand.

    “Cambridge, huh?” Buffy reached up and took his hand, pulling him and his books down to the bed with her. She was not going to waste precious time. “That a family name?”

    “I don’t think it matters, Miss Summers.”

    Buffy giggled again.

    “Since when do you giggle?”

    “Since always. Cheerleaders always giggle, you gotta know that.” Buffy tossed her pigtails, and William bit his lip, looking her over. Well. She knew she was turning him on, that was for sure. “Well, look, the thing is, Mr. Cambridge–”

    “You can... call me William,” he said shyly.

    Buffy reached up and touched the side of his face. He had remarkably strong cheekbones, this English tutor. Really, really bright eyes... And since she’d never met him before (right) and she knew next to nothing about him, (nothing at all) she was allowed to just admire how very pretty he was. And he was. Very. All cobalt blue eyes and sharp high cheekbones and long sweet smelling throat and... Oh, yeah. This might be fun, after all. “Okay,” she said, her voice soft. “William.”

    He shuddered as her voice caressed the name.

    “Thing is...,” Buffy said, coquettish, “I don’t think I really need to study to ace this class. I think... there are other ways.” She let her hand travel down his arm, just slowly enough to be a little more than friendly.

    William tilted his head back, beginning to see where this was going. “Oh.”

    “Yeah,” Buffy said. She inched closer to him on the bed. “See, the thing is... William... I kinda hoped that my report... well... wouldn’t take very long to write. Like, if I had someone who really knew what they were talking about to... you know... do some preliminary work....”

    “Preliminary work, huh?” William asked.

    “Yeah. Preliminary work. Like... writing up a whole report for me or something. So I wouldn’t have to.”

    “You want your poncy English tutor to just do the work for you,” William said with his eyes narrowed.

    “Yeah. And I’d be very... very... grateful....” Buffy slid her hand inside William’s suit coat and found that his body really was very toned beneath that crisp cotton shirt. She wondered how much longer she’d have to play this game before she could be fucking him.

    “I don’t think I need to buy your gratitude,” William said. He pulled abruptly away and pushed his book between them. “And I truly don’t believe you need to sell it.” He pushed the glasses up his nose in a businesslike fashion. “Now. Let us get started, shall we? You have to write a report on Keats, was it?”

    “Yeah, yeah, I guess,” Buffy said, disappointed. “Not really into all this poetry stuff, though.” She was about to say she’d rather be doing something else, and then show him exactly what she meant, already.

    He had other ideas. “You’d be surprised,” William said softly. Before she could respond he leaned forward and put his finger on her lips. His hand was cool and smooth, and smelled like cigarettes and Jack Daniel’s and, to Buffy’s surprise, old books. These books had been his, and he really had been fondling them before he came in. “Darkling I listen;” he breathed. His voice had taken on a sultry tone that made Buffy’s heart start to race.“And, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death.” His blue eyes bored into her. He was very close.“Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath.”

    Buffy swallowed, though her jaw quivered. The words spoke to her in a way she hadn’t expected. Why these words, why this poem? And why...? She tried to pretend it wasn’t having an effect on her. Back to where she was supposed to be. English tutors. Dull geeks. The head cheerleader was the one everyone wanted to be with. She was the one supposedly in control, here. And she didn’t like poetry. Cheerleaders were supposed to be stupid, air-headed bimbos and not like poetry. She knew that. “Yeah. Boring,” she said, dismissive, but he wasn’t listening.

    “Now more than ever seems it rich to die,” he murmured. “To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad, In such an ecstasy.” His cold eyes would not release her.

    Buffy’s groin clenched. Damn that voice. “Where’d you learn that?” she asked.

    “What?”

    “You’re not reading,” she noted, glancing down at the book before him. It was only opened to the flyleaf.

    William smiled. “You’d be surprised the things you’d find in my head, Miss Summers.”

    “Yeah, I think I would,” she said. She reached forward and grabbed him by the back of the head, pulling his mouth to hers. She didn’t have any more patience for games.

    To her surprise, he pulled away. “Really not why I’m here,” he said.

    “Isn’t it?” she asked.

    “I’m here...,” he took in a deep breath and steeled his face, though his tell-tale erection told a different tale, “to teach you poetry.”

    “Well, you start teaching,” Buffy said, pushing the books off the bed, “and I’ll start learning.” She climbed up onto her knees and straddled him, pushing off his suit coat. He had a matching waistcoat beneath it, and she set about unbuttoning it.

    He didn’t push her off, though she could see him debating it.“This isn’t... precisely how... most tutoring sessions go,” William said, but she could feel him tensing under her.

    “Isn’t it?” Buffy asked. This was ridiculous. She had reached the bottom of the waistcoat now, and found his erection straining at his clothes. She caressed it wickedly and leaned forward to kiss him. She’d show him what he wanted.

    William did kiss her back, almost reluctantly. It was... shy. Buffy pulled away. “William Cambridge, are you playing hard to get?”

    “Not used to my students being so... forward,” he said earnestly.

    Buffy sat back a bit. “You’re really getting into this, aren’t you. The accent, the suit–”

    “Miss Summers,” he said, stopping her. He tilted his head forward, looking into her eyes. “Why are you here?”

    Buffy stopped. Why was she here? Where was here? A clean white bedroom, a peppy cheerleading squad, an innocent English tutor, a forbidden tryst, a quiet life with a exciting sting of forbidden lust... not darkness. Not death. Not hatred or loneliness. Just Buffy Summers, head cheerleader, trying to improve her grades.

    “You see,” he continued, his voice very precise and careful, “Most of my students aren’t so eager to learn... poetry.”

    Buffy shrugged. “Yeah, well.” She reached forward and started to loosen his bow tie. “I suppose I kind of am.”

    “And if I’m not?”

    Buffy stopped. “Is William Cambridge inexperienced in the ways of the world?” she asked in a poor mock of his accent.

    “And if he is?”

    Buffy slowed down. “Then I think the head cheerleader is going to have to teach him a few things, herself.” She slowly and sensuously pulled his bow tie from his throat, and bent in to whisper in his ear. “But he still has to play the tutor, now, doesn’t he.”

    William smiled, and let his hand slide up her throat. His cool fingers caressed her hot flesh. “Still wouldst thou sing,” he said softly, “and I have ears in vain—To thy high requiem become a sod.”

    “Which poem is this?” Buffy asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

    “Ode to a Nightingale.”

    Buffy sat back, still on his lap. With all the innocence of her youth she asked, “What’s a nightingale sound like?”

    William regarded her. “Like heaven took a little piece of the day and gave it to the night time,” he said. It still sounded like he was reciting a poem, his voice smooth like that. “Nightingales don’t twitter, love. They sing. They hum like woodwinds, and warble, and call. It seems impossible that all those songs can come out of a single bird.” He smiled, touching her face. His touch made her heart flutter. It was so gentle... so tender. It had been a long time since Buffy had felt... let herself feel... anything like that.... “But they do,” he said. “Dozens of different voices, all from the same small throat. Like a little piece of magic.” He let his thumb caress her heated lips. “And it was all gifted to the night, when all the humans are sleeping. The nightingale sings the music of shadows. And of moonlight. And of death....” He leaned forward and almost kissed her. “That’s what the poem’s about,” he whispered into her mouth. His breath smelled sweet and dangerous. “Almost crying out for death.”

    “Odd choice for an innocent English tutor to throw around,” Buffy said.

    “You’d be surprised, the darkness that can hide inside innocent men,” he said. He leaned back and let his eyes travel down her seductive form. “Not everyone can rely on the light. Death calls to us all.”

    “Don’t I know it.”

    William smiled. “What would a perky California cheerleader know of darkness and death?” he asked.

    Buffy shrugged. “Maybe I know other things.” She reached down and pulled up her sweater. She wore no bra beneath it. William drew in a breath at the sight of her pert, pink nipples. “Things I can teach my tutor.” She had managed to unbutton his shirt, and she slid it off his shoulders, revealing a pale and muscular chest.

    “Don’t you think your mum might hear us?” he whispered with a slight smile. “I could lose my job, love. We’d better stay quiet.”

    Buffy couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, don’t you know anything, William?” She writhed atop him, making her breasts dance. “Cheerleaders cheer.”

    He gasped, and his hands went round her waist, firmly caressing the flesh.“Perhaps we shouldn’t do this, Miss Summers,” he said, though his tone belied his words. His sharp nails scratched little lines along her skin.

    “Oh, yeah. It’s really naughty.”

    His eyes closed, and he made a sound deep in the back of his throat. Buffy sank down over his erection, letting the bulge of it press at her through her underwear, under her short little skirt. She kissed him, tasting his cool lips, dancing and writhing atop him, and he groaned. He kissed her back, his hands caressing her smooth, warm flesh, and they both squirmed and thrust against each other, straining through clothes they were suddenly annoyed were still there. Buffy pushed him back onto the bed, her hands all over his torso, and William moaned. “Good god, you’re a hungry little thing, aren’t you.”

    “Starved,” Buffy said, running her nails down his chest. She found his trousers and unbuttoned them, hurriedly.

    William turned and pushed her down on the bed. “What could an innocent cheerleader be so hungry for, eh?” he asked. “There’s nothing you need. There’s no pain, no fear, no responsibilities. There’s nothing you need to do, no one you need to protect.” He kissed her gently. “No darkness. No grief.  Just how to move your body, and who wins the game.”

    “That’s what I’m doing,” Buffy said. She dragged his head back for a kiss and almost devoured him. “Winning the game.”

    He moaned, and finally reached up and held her arms down. He pulled his head back.  “I’m not doing this, Miss Summers,” he said. He stared into her eyes with a mischief she couldn’t miss. “It’s wrong.”

    Buffy blinked. “Wrong?”

    “Very wrong,” he said, though his baited breath seemed to be saying the opposite. “So very, very wrong.” He lifted himself off her and lay back on the bed. “I’m here to teach you poetry, not corrupt a young lady’s virtue.”

    Buffy was losing patience with this. She wanted that hot body, she wanted it now, and she was sick of him playing coy. It was damn clear he wanted her, no matter how virtuous he was pretending to be. “Fine then, you teach poetry, and I won’t be any more corrupt than I already am,” she insisted. She flipped over and started dragging down his trousers. His cock was uncut, and large enough to please her, and she wanted it inside her.  “You don’t have to do a thing.”

    “I–”

    “Poetry,” Buffy demanded. “Tutoring me was your dumb idea.”

    William laughed. “Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird,” he whispered. Buffy found herself making a low sound at that, and he stopped. “Shall I continue?”

    “Yes,” she said. She pulled aside her panties and straddled him, no seductive preamble. He was hard and smooth and he filled the empty places inside her. She jammed her already wet pussy over him and started to ride him.

    “You are wanton little bint, aren’t you,” he groaned.

    “What happened to your accent?”

    “It got distracted,” William said. “I didn’t take this job for this, you know.”

    “Oh, didn’t you? Where’s the damn tutoring session. Poetry, or shut the fuck up.”

    William laughed and rolled over, pinning her down. “You want to hear the rest of the poem, Miss Summers?” He thrust inside her hard. “How’s this, then?” He carefully measured his thrusts along with the lines. “Fade... far away..., dissolve, and quite forget... What thou among the leaves... hast never known....” Buffy gasped beneath him, her legs spread wide, her cunt slick and hungry, as it had been since before he’d even walked into the damn room in that ridiculous suit.... “The weariness..., the fever,” he twisted his hips, and Buffy cried out as his cock caressed against her. “...and the fret... Here..., where men sit... and hear each other groan.” He said the last word in a groan himself. His deep, sexy voice was like an extra hand, caressing inside her, making her chest hum and her breath catch.

    “God, I hate this,” Buffy said, meaning the opposite.

    “Do you, pet?” William said. “Bad slutty cheerleader seducing her tutor?” He sped up his thrusts, and she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him close. She grabbed him, scratching down his back hard, and he grunted with the pain of it. “Maybe he’s not so innocent, under that posh veneer.” He sat up and grabbed her hips, up on his knees, thrusting against her with force.

    “Are you saying... you’re no saint?”

    “Worst kind of tutor, baby. Use his position to take advantage of the innocent teenage vixen.”

    “He doesn’t sound so posh anymore.”

    “Camouflage,” he said. “Best way to get invited in.”

    Invited. Buffy opened her eyes and looked up at him. “How evil is he?” she asked.

    Yellow suddenly flashed through his beautiful blue eyes, and dark fangs sprouted in his mouth. “Incarnate,” he said darkly.

    Buffy stared up at the vampire as he thrust in her wildly.

    “That’s right, baby. You should scream.”

    She could see it. Screams, blows, wrestling, victim, beast. That was nothing new.

    She’d been enjoying the poem.

    Buffy gazed up at the vampire with clear green eyes, and she bit her lip. Buffy Summers, head cheerleader, did not scream. “Where’s my poetry, Mr. Cambridge?” she asked. “I won’t pass the test if you don’t teach me.”

    William Cambridge paused, slowly smiled, and his eyes slipped back to blue. Buffy sat up, turning him over, and pressed him down onto the bed, covering him with kisses. “I never knew poetry could be so exciting,” she said. She slid up and down over him, riding atop him. “This is so naughty of us. I hope my mom doesn’t catch us.”

    “I’ll lose my job for sure,” William murmured.

    Buffy was very close now, and William knew it. He slid his hand between her legs, sliding beneath her trimmed hair into the cleft that hid her clit. He moved his fingers, working her deftly, and she was almost there... “Worth it?” she asked, striving toward climax.

    “Every second.”

    Buffy cried out as the climax struck her, and William twisted beneath her. “Oh, thank god,” he muttered, and then groaned. How long he’d been holding back, Buffy had no idea. She fell down atop him, her hot body caressing his. He put his arms around her and kissed her temple.

    “How does that poem end?” she asked.

    “Was it a vision, or a waking dream?” William whispered heady in her ear. “Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?”