Perplexed, Spike lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He had never felt so satisfied and so – so – well, *not* satisfied – at the same time before. This little game with the Slayer was fun; he loved the fact that with just a look and a few words he could make her squirm.

But he was beginning to have the sneaking suspicion that maybe, just maybe, he was getting a little *too* into the game. That last time when she had leaned toward him, her full perfect lips moist, her eyes shining with desire, he had actually almost forgotten the game and actually allowed that kiss to happen.

The Slayer had left the bedroom door open when she left, and he clearly heard the sound of the main door to his suite being opened again. So she was back for more, was she? he thought with a smug smile to himself, and a vague sense of…relief? No! Surely not.

*Stay. In. Control,* he reminded himself firmly, preparing himself for her entrance.

Except that he was in no way prepared.

In a matter of moments the Slayer was through the doorway. He knew in an instant that this was not the same flustered, blushing girl who had just left mere moments ago. A predatory smile played about her lips, and there was a feral gleam in her dark green eyes, which never left his as she pointedly, deliberately, closed and locked the bedroom door behind her.

His eyes widened in surprise, and he swallowed hard, forcing the forgotten smirk back to his face. So the Slayer was onto the game, then. All right. He could deal with this. Just had to change the rules a bit.

“Are you sure you can take any more, Slayer?” he asked in a mockingly suggestive tone as she began her slow advance toward his bed.

“I think the question is, Spike,” she said, her voice low and sultry as she slowly sauntered toward him. “How much can *you* take?”

*Bloody hell.* Where had *this* version of the Slayer come from?

When she reached him, she braced one hand on the headboard as she leaned down so that her face was a bare foot or so from his, giving him an excellent view straight down the front of her white button-down blouse.

He quickly, almost instinctively forced himself to avert his eyes, simply for the sake of self-preservation. If the Slayer caught him looking she would most likely break his nose for about the thousandth time. But when he raised his eyes to meet hers, the look she gave him was teasingly reproving. She *had* caught him looking, but instead of flying into an indignant Slayer-rage, she simply cast an appreciative, can’t-really-blame-you sort of glance down at herself, before meeting his eyes again with seduction in her own.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said softly, “about how you can thank me.”

*Oh, God.* His mouth went dry; he could already feel his body beginning to respond to her advances, wanting her, the temptation set before him almost overwhelming. Although he knew that it couldn’t possibly, he would have sworn that his heart was pounding.

“And what…” His voice broke on the word and he quickly composed himself to try again, lower, calmer – he hoped. “And what did you think of, Slayer?”

“I think,” Buffy said slowly, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she braced one knee on the bed to swing the other over him, so that she was straddling his hips. “that after all you’ve done for me lately…risking your life for this plan…finding that information for me…I owe you a favor…that *I* should be thanking *you*,” she concluded, leaning forward so that her lips were mere inches from his mouth by the time she finished.

He realized suddenly that he was breathing hard as he watched, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as this strange, irresistible sex siren took over the Slayer’s body before his eyes.

Placing one hand on the pillow beside his head and trailing the other lightly down his side to his hip, Buffy continued slowly in a low, husky voice, “Now how do you think that I should thank you?” As she spoke she hooked her finger under the low waistband of his jeans and moved it just slightly inward from his hip.

*Bloody hell!* he thought desperately. If his body was wanting her before, now it was begging for her. He struggled to control his need, but it was no use. Another two seconds and the Slayer would know beyond all doubt that she was getting to him. He tried to sit up, knowing only one thing: he had to *get her off him, now*!

But when he tried to push up against her, she just pushed him back down, and all he got for his resistance was a slight pain in his head from his chip. Only a slight one. He was not really resisting all that hard.

Still, he let the wince show in his face, thinking that it might give her pause, might get the sex kitten the Slayer had turned into to back off a little, just long enough for him to regain control.

It didn’t. The Slayer merely smiled, mercilessly brushing her taut lower body up across the growing evidence that he was not in *that* much pain, as she leaned forward to whisper, so close that her lips brushed against his ear, “Any ideas?”

Words failed him as she punctuated her question with another slow downward movement as she leaned back. A gasp of desire escaped his lips as he reached out his hands for her.

Smoothly, expertly, she caught his wrists and pulled them up to hold them with one hand over his head. “No,” she whispered sharply, then softened her tone as she added, “I’m supposed to thank *you*…remember?” Still pinning his wrists, she leaned back up to whisper again, “What do you want me to do?” Down again.

Oh bloody hell, she was killing him! He couldn’t even think to form words to tell her any of the many options running through his mind at that moment. Options! At any other time the suggestions he wanted to make would surely have gotten him staked…and *now* they were options.

That alone should have made him think.

But he was past thinking.

Suddenly, the Slayer smiled…a smug, cheerful smile. Her tone all at once vastly different, she said brightly, “Can’t think of anything? Ok. Let me know if you do,” and she was suddenly swinging her leg back over and climbing off him, off the bed.

His mouth dropped open in shock and disbelief. She could *not* be bloody serious! But she was heading toward the door, a triumphant swing to her hips. At the door she stopped, turning slightly to give him a coy smile over her shoulder.

“You should have known that this is a game for two,” she told him, and left without another word.

He lay there in stunned, frustrated silence as he listened to the door closing and locking behind her when she left.

Then he let out a savage animal roar of rage. “That bloody *bitch*!”


Buffy felt smug and satisfied as she stalked down the hallway toward the exit. Well…smug. Not so much with the satisfied, she realized suddenly. She had expected for Spike to respond to her advances; his underlying attraction to her was so obvious, she thought. What she had not expected was her body’s reaction to his reaction.

The open desire, the need in his eyes, as he had gazed up at her; the taut muscles in his arms and chest as he had reached up for her, straining against her restraining hand just to touch her…

She stopped in her tracks.

*No, Buffy. No,* she told herself firmly, warning herself away from what she already knew she was going to do. *Don’t do this to yourself. This is a Big. Mistake.* But even as she thought the words, she found herself turning and heading back down the hall toward the suite.


Spike was up out of the bed and raging, slamming the door to his bedroom as he stalked out into the kitchen. A couple of used mugs sat on the counter where he had left them the night before. With a furious sweep of his arm he sent them crashing to the floor where they shattered loudly.

“I’ll kill her!” he raged. “When this bloody chip goes down I’m gonna use my twenty minutes to rip her soddin’ throat out!” he snarled, his voice quickly approaching a roar. “Bloody little tease! Game for two! I’ll show *her* a *game*!”

The door opened again. It was her.

He could not believe that she had the gall to show up here *again*! Pointing a furious, accusing finger at her, he snarled, “Get out! You bloody bitch!” As he spoke he advanced on her until he was right in her face and practically spat the last word at her.

She could feel her own anger rising at his words and tone, his aggressive stance toward her. But that was not all that those things made her feel.

Slamming the door, she shoved him back a few steps, her eyes blazing. “*I’m* a bitch!” she said incredulously, stalking toward him, backing him toward the wall. “Because I turned your little game around on you!”

“Glad we’re agreed then,” he sneered, still seething with fury. He would have loved to slap that smug expression off her face, to push her back, but the chip prevented it, and his inability only fueled his rage.

Pushing him back again, into the wall, hard, she snapped, “Shut up, Spike. You should never start a game that you can’t finish, and you shouldn’t play if you can’t handle losing!”

“Losing?” He was getting angrier by the moment, his blue eyes shooting flames of fury at her. “Oh, I bloody well haven’t lost yet, Slayer! If you think that I’ve…”

His words were cut off in an instant as she silenced him with her mouth suddenly on his, urgently pressing, her tongue edging past her lips to seek entrance, which was swiftly granted as she pushed him back against the wall again.

Suddenly he broke away from the kiss, eyes wide with shock. Though he was breathing hard with desire and arousal, those eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If this is just another part of the bloody game, Slayer, I swear, I’m gonna…”

“Shut up,” she whispered, her lips finding his again with a desperate intensity as her hands slid from his shoulders down his body to rest on his hips.

His own hands were moving up and down her arms as he returned the kiss in spite of himself, before he suddenly realized what he was doing. Opening his eyes and pulling away again with an effort, he said, between gasps for unnecessary breath, “I mean it, Slayer, if this is about winning the soddin’ game…”

“Screw the game,” she gasped harshly, her hand rising to grip the back of his head, her eyes wide and glazed with need as they met his. “You win, ok? So just shut up.” And with that she claimed his mouth again with her own, pulling his body to hers.

Satisfied, he gave in to his own desire. Still kissing hungrily, as if they were trying to literally devour each other, they stumbled blindly toward his bedroom door.